Celebrating Samhuin; Through the Gates of Annwn

         Gwyn ap Nudd: Wild God of Faerie, Guardian of Annwfn - Watkins MIND ... www.watkinsmagazine.com       

Winter looms on the horizon, the Wheel of the Year turns once more, the boundary between our world and the spirit world is fragile and thin. In cultures all over the world, the spirit of Death has been celebrated at this time of the year. 

How do you celebrate Hallowe'en, the night of all souls, which the Irish call Samhuin, and the Welsh call Calan Gaeaf?

 Is it for you a chance to move through the veil between the worlds and communicate with those you loved, and have lost in this world? 

Or is it a chance to drum into trance and search for ancestor wisdom?

Or do you search for the gods and goddesses who are associated with death and darkness, such as Gwyn ap Nudd, Arawn, Hecate, the Morrighan, Anubis and Osiris, Hades, and, of course Hel, daughter of Loki, with her bones on the outside of her body, portrayed in black and white,

Do you avoid it altogether, as a time when death is abroad and best avoided?

Or do you just think that we imagine such things, and make it all up, as the darkness descends at this time of year, that silly idea of a thinning of a veil between worlds, and that other being can contact humans at these times?

Certain, we must surely agree that somewhere in all the ancient myths there are acorns of truth. The last time I was in Ireland, my taxi driver explained, as we passed a fairy hill, that the Sidhe lived beneath it, and that the farmer would never drive a tractor across it. 

The  otherworld had many names across the world we now think of as Celtic, including Tir-na-nog, the land of Youth, Tir-Innambeo, The Land of the Living, Tir- Tairngire, The Land of Promise, Tir N-aill, the Other World, Mag More, The Great Plain,  The Isle of Women, Isle of Apples. This otherworld was located quite far away, over sea or though mist, or deep below the ground. It was thought of as a world of peace, harmony and abundance, where no ailment or death could be found. Hy-Brasil (from Gaelic, “Isle of the Blessed”) was an “enchanted island“ off the coast of Ireland – seen by many people over a thousand years, but never remaining in one location, it then disappeared from maps completely. 

In The Adventure of Bran,  Son of Febal from the seventh century, Bran travels to Hy-Brasil a paradise supported on golden pillars. No one is ever sad or ill there; they are always happy, continually playing games to musical accompaniment. When early sailors crossed the Atlantic and landed on the coast of South America, they imagined they had found Hy-Brasil at last, and that country is called Brasil to this day.

I'm not sure we do need to wait until Samhuin to contact the ancestors, though. In lockdown, we did a summer outdoor ritual which focused on those relations recently passed; our parents, our grandparents and their parents. Read it here.

There is another side to Samhuin, which is to explore, in this winter darkness, our own weaknesses and difficulties. Often, this is harder than speaking to loved ones who have passed into the next life. Old wounds might be ignored in the busy light of day, but in candlelight on the 31st of October, when the veil is thin, they confront us, allowing us to pass over normal boundaries and examine our human condition in the raw. These wounds, personal, family, historic or from a wider experience, can be forceful, they can create a disconnect, they can chip away at our soul, and destroy our enjoyment of life. They can obstruct us, actually create a spiral where we can't heal them because the wounds prevent that healing.  Going on such a journey at Samhiun, meeting ones otherworldly allies and speaking honestly with our guides and guardians can help reverse this spiral.

The Spoils of Annwn is an ancient Welsh myth that tells of a heroic journey of King Arther and a group of warriors. They take their ship Prydwen (wen means white, pure, or blessed) on a perilous voyage into the otherworld. They visit seven different forts on seven otherworldly islands in search of a magical cauldron. 

My first words were spoken concerning the cauldron: from the breath of nine maidens it is warmed. It is the cauldron of the Head of Annwfn; what is its purpose with its dark rim and edged with pearls? It will not boil the food of a coward; it is not destined to do so.

This poem was written down in the fourteenth-century Llyfr Taliesin (Book of Taliesin)  It is hauntingly beautiful, There is a translation of this poem in Robert Graves' The White Goddess.

 It can be used to create ritual, or it can be use to access a shamanic journey. Studying it closely brings it alive. To me, this white ship is a trancelike journey to meet ancestors and learn from them, while also learning more about one's "self", and one's "life journey". In ritual, we can visit each castle or 'Caer' and look at them from whatever approach we need on our journey; maybe aspects of our characters, or goals to drive towards, or weaknesses we'd like to be strong about removing from our lives.

One thing is clear though, it's not a place for the fainthearted. The texts reminds us constantly that; And when we went with Arthur,/   dolorous visit, / except seven/    none rose up.  Other translations say ...none returned.

Stay safe in ritual by laying down ground rules with the other ritualists, and discussing the ideas beforehand. Stay safe when journeying by knowing you can return to your 'home space' the chosen place that should start and end a journey, and by calling your animal allies to you to accompany you and guide you on your way...and on your way back. 

A CELEBRATION OF THE AUTUMN EQUINOX 21st of September

 21st September

At six in the evening of the, people began to gather at Rhos Hill

They came from the east, the west, the south and the north (even as far as Aberystwyth). Evening was falling on a special day; autumn equinox, which Druids call the Light of Autumn; Alban Hefen, in Welsh. This is the moment of seasonal balance which to many ancient people was the most important time in the year; final harvests and a general flurry of farm and homestead activity. Winter is now not far away.

There were twelve of us at this evening’s celebration and an eclectic and talented mix they were; a shaman, some Druids, Ovates, Hedge Witches and Wiccans.

We began the evening gently, as some people had met for the first time. After sorting out drinks for everyone and chatting for a while we held a ‘talking stick’, as usual. This enables everyone to say something and introduce themselves without interruption. At that point, Jim and I described how the ritual would unfold, and we asked everyone to chose a harvest gift from our table of gifts. 

I’d scoured the hedgerows and garden earlier, and gathered a great bounty, which Jim arranged on a golden cloth; a branch of hazel with cobnuts, a branch of oak with their acorns, and even a branch of sweet chestnuts with the spiky cases that contain the delicious winter treat. We created a spray of autumn coloured leaves, and added apples, pine cones, a jewel of a Mandarin, a spray of blackberries, elderberries, hawthorn, sweetcorn cobs, and much more. 

We processed into our little stone circle, with the fire in the pit lit and sparking and the lanterns in the four quarters of East South West and North glowing. After setting up our circle in the usual way, each person placed their chosen autumn gift into a basket, using one word or phrase to describe their feelings about this time of year. The basket of goodies was dedicated to the goddess. 

All photos by Carni

After beautiful poems and readingS by several members of the circle, we moved on to the middle, magical centre of the ritual where we investigated the balance of this moment in the year by actively working with it.

Each person planted a 'tete a tete' bulb in a pot, with an intent that used this planting to symbolise our own lives.  Like the bulbs, we all had our own process of moving from the scurry of getting ready for winter, down into gentle hibernation until the warming of spring. To exentuate the magic of the action, our of our number, representing the elements, blessed the pots of bulbs. Air, representing the oxygen of life, blew over the pots. Fire, representing the sun, warmed the pots with a candle’s glow, Water sprinkled spring water over them. Finally a little more Earth was then scattered onto the bulbs with a blessing.

The final part of the ritual was highlighted with a wonderful visualization created by a member of the circle, in which we celebrated the Blackberry moon with a lovely Journey to choose moon or sun fruits from an Avalon apple tree.

The apple branch talking stick went round again, and the tempo slowed as we sat on cushioned logs around the fire and shared our experiences of the journey and the ritual. It was so warming to see the glow of the fire on the circle of faces and hear them speak.

Before we closed the circle down, we drummed a chant of Balance in our lives.

Then, as always, we went into the house and tucked into the table of goodies...and the heather mead that a guest had generously provided!

Thank you all so much for making the autumn equinox rite a success and a delight, and I wish everyone a very happy autumn. 

Yewberry, My Best Piece of Magic Ever.

I'm at a Druid gathering, and we've settled after ritual to tell stories, sing songs, recite poems. Hubbie Jim began the story of Aengus, god of youth; 

"Aengus fell asleep one night and dreamt of a hauntingly beautiful young woman. He fell deeply in love with the mysterious woman in his dreams and grew so lovesick that a doctor was sent for. After a long search, the girl was finally found near Loch Bel Dracon. Oengus was taken in a chariot : a great feast was prepared for him which lasted three days and three nights. after which he was taken to a the lake, and asked to recognise the girl from 150 beautiful  young girls. Each pair of them was linked by a silver chain, but one girl's chain was of burnished gold. At that point they were all transformed into a swans. Oengus Aengus had inherited the ability to shapeshift. He changed into a swan as well and called out to Caer Ibormeith in the language of birds. The pair flew three times around the lake and then up and away togetherto became lovers."

 A nice story, but as it finished, one of the company, a musical instrument maker, came to me with something wrapped in soft, black cloth. "Your birthday gift from your family," he said. "Meet Yewberry,  Caer Ibormeith, you new harp." 

Yewberry

A surprise gift, more beautiful than I could have imagined. About a year before, I had 'asked' for a harp, using a piece of magic, but I had already had that magic answered, and there, in the circle, it was being answered for a second, magical time. 

People often ask me if I ‘do’ magic spells. The answer is – not often. As few as possible, in fact. There’s two main reasons for that. I’m not a discontent sort of person, I tend to be happy with my lot. Okay, an ocean-going yacht might be nice….but honestly, I suspect it would only be another thing to clean. The other reason I don’t do magic is that I believe that once a spell is cast, if the result isn’t as instantaneous as one was hoping, then that magic hasn’t worked. So I avoid doing lots and lots, on a weekly or monthly basis, so that I can heartily prove to myself that when I do some magic, it really has an effect.

 I’ve experienced quite a few (definitely a high percentage) of successful spells in my time. The secret always seems to be desire (LOADS of it), strong intent (preparation and concentration are important) and then… pwuffff! allowing the wish to go…out into the ether, the astral, the spaces between particles…wherever you think wishes might go once you release them.

The letting go is last is the most essential part. Hanging onto hopes, desires and dreams doesn’t get you anywhere. In fact, it holds you back. Everyone knows someone who has spent most of their life pining after the thing they always wanted but never got. This makes a person shrivel up. It stops them loving the life that is actually out there for them.

At a druid gathering with my first lap harp

So how did I enchant a harp? 

This may have been one of the earliest pieces of magical work I can remember physically compiling and releasing, and it  took place over twenty years ago. 

My friend had been given a beautiful harp,  with a sonorous tone and extraordinary carvings in beautiful wood.  Out of the blue, I found myself looking it over and fervently wishing for a harp like that. I stroked in lovingly, and was allowed to play it, for a few moments. Harps are very forgiving instruments, and instantly it made angelic sounds for me. But I said nothing. I knew that this harp had cost far more than I could ever afford – harps are very expensive.

The following week I was at a Druid Camp. It was high summer and there were tents all over a huge field in the West Country. The first workshop I went to was pretty arbitrary; Making a Mosaic Tile. I had no idea why I’d chosen it; I’m not good with my hands, or able to work with shape and colour with any panache. Quite quickly, among all the art-and-crafty types around me, I felt out of place and rather uncomfortable.

Then I had a flash of inspiration. I wouldn’t worry about art. I’d make a spell. I worked all through the morning, to create a mosaic tile with the picture of a harp. I put my deep yearning for a harp into every bit of ceramic I glued onto the base. 

Perhaps because I wasn’t concentrating on getting an artistic likeness (something I do find hard!) in the picture, it came out okay. It looked like a harp. People commended it. I left the workshop alone, and found a sunlit glade at the edge of the campsite. I lay the tile down and called to the spirits of the place to hear my call. I was asking for my very own harp. Then, I let the desire go…pwufff!

That was Saturday. The following day, the friend with the beatuful new harp turned up at the camp, to give a workshop herself. She pulled me to one side, as we shared a meal in the cafe tent. “Nina, you know I’ve got a new harp, don’t you?” I nodded, trying not to let my eyes show the envy I felt. “Well, it occurred to me – you could have my old lap harp!” She produced it from under a piece of black velvet. 

It wasn’t as glorious as her new, carved harp, but that didn’t matter. It was for me, to make my own music on.

“Jim told you about my mosaic, didn’t he?” I said. But she just looked puzzled. She’d had no idea I’d been doing harp magic. As she’d got ready for the camp, she’d passed the old harp and thought, “I’ll take that with me for Ninahare.” In my view, that was not a coincidence. My magic, which had materialised out of a strong, sudden yearning, and executed with care and intent all that previous morning, then let go, by dedicating my desire to the spirits of the place, had wafted up out out, until it reached my friend's generously-hearted mind.

Learning to play a harp isn’t easy. You have to hold your fingers in an odd position which I’ve never really mastered. But I could already play the piano a bit, and this was just a naked piano, wasn’t it? I discovered that I was fine, so long as I invented (I hesitate to say ‘composed’), little tunes of my own, often with little songs that half drowned out my early mistakes. And the lap harp was very portable; I could take it into the wild to play on my own or to other druids (druids are very forgiving!)

The following April, my birthday arrived At the druid grove that month, Jim told his story, and I was given my birthday present from my family – Yewberry, my harp, carved into the shape of a swan, with a golden chain around her neck.  I was thrilled that my original magic had such a lasting effect. 

Since then, my connection to magic has mostly been part of other people creating their own magic, to stunning effect. But about six years ago, I an idea came to me, a story about a shamanic practitioner, Sabbie Dare. This book would be a thriller, in which Sabbie discovers that the people who come to her for help include those in deep trouble…people threatened by crime…people caught up in crime…people capable, even, of murder. She soon understands that it is her nature, through her connection with the spirit world, which draws these people to her. And, slowly, she learns that her ancestral past also has that link. 

At the book launch for In the Moors

The first Shaman Mystery, available from Amazon

It felt like a good idea, so I started writing. Once I’d sent a draft to my agent, I created a piece of magic to send it on its way. 

This, like the ceramic tile, was a physical act, which I hid in a small golden casket (that I found in a charity shop – not really gold, of course!). On that equally magical day when my agent rang to say that I’d been offered a four-book contract, I dismantled the items inside the golden casket and lifted a thought of thanks to Ogham. 

Find out more about Sabbie Dare and the Shaman Mysteries here

Blue Super Moon; Magic in the Moonlight

When I was a child I especially loved a book I'd been given called Twice in a Blue Moon by Edith Mary Bell,  published in 1947. The main character was a goblin called Nab, and Granny Grouch, who also featured in her earlier book, The Fairy Months. I loved this book so much, it took me somewhere secret and mysterious. It felt like it needed a key to fully understand what it was all about. I made me wonder; is a blue moon something real? But I didn't find out for many years, that a blue moon is simply a calendar month with two full moons. This only happens every two or three years, so yes, a blue moon is special, rare and rather mysterious.

This recent full moon, which came into its fullness from the night of Wednesday 29th August, was also a blue super moon. 

The moon is full when it is at the point where we can see an entire side – the only side of the moon we ever see. For magical purposes, this is a good time to do rituals focused on personal growth and spiritual development, and to rid oneself of anything no longer needed; to move away, in other words from a feeling of 'over fullness', The powerful Full Moon energy can help to dispel any heavy or old energy that does not serve us anymore   

There can be a difference of up to 30,000 miles in the distance of the Moon from our planet. The closest point is called the perigee (and the furthest is called the apogee). 

If the moon becomes full when it is reaching or approaching its closest perigee to the Earth, it appears bigger in the sky when viewed from Earth, and is considered a super moon. To have a blue super moon is an even rarer occasion, and one that calls out for magic.

At the end of August this year we gathered to celebrate the blue super moon and do some moon magic.  

Firstly I set up a place where we could gather in a circle and picked some blue hydrangeas, which represented this lovely moon. We laid out a yew wand to cast a circle and some moon water (made by leaving spring water out in the light of the full moon) and some joss sticks to consecrate it. We had paper to write down our thoughts and a drum so that we could journey to the full moon. People brought their Tarot packs to share and to use. 

We opened a circle, calling in moon power from the four quarters. Finally, to begin, we chanted three Awens. This helps raise the power of this circle. Awen is a Brittonic word for “poetic inspiration”. We call out the Awen three times to call for the inspirational muse of all creative magicians to flood into our beings. 

So then the eight of us were ready to do some Full Blue Super Moon Magic.

This sort of thinking about our personal lives and experiences needs strong intuitive awareness and the full moon can be used to increase understanding to aid this. We were asked to consider,  "'What is it that you don’t need in your life at this moment" This could have been anything that we needed rid of  to prevent that 'overfull feeling'; a change in one's own behaviour, or in our working life, or in relationships, or regarding items we no longer needed. 

As we considered this – the ridding of some unwanted thing –  we were thinking  also about the vacuum that might be left, as the unwanted departed. To make sure we attracted what we needed and required in our lives as we got rid of what no longer served us, we needed to make sure that vacuum was filled consciously. 

For instance, I decided I no longer needed to go at full pace all the time; I can stop rushing, as I get a little older, and take time to smell the roses and 'stop and stare', something I am very bad at achieving! So I decided to use this magic to be rid of unnecessary bustle, and the pressure I put on myself to always be busy. But into that vacuum, I had to think about what being 'less rushed' actually meant, what it felt like, and what I had to do to maintain that feeling. 

We wrote down what we needed to rid ourselves of, using  as few words as possible, and being careful how we phrased our words, so that we didn't ask for the wrong things. We also, if needed, wrote down the things we wished to retain or gain, to fill up any vacuum, and thought also about things that might help us grow stronger, more rounded, like this supermoon, in all her fullness.

Once everyone had completed their work, we burnt our papers. This  allowed the thoughts, wished, desires and hopes that we have written down, to dissipate into the ether. We cast our papers into the flames one by one and watched them turn to ash, as the magic moved into a different realm. 

Then we made ourselves comfortable. The Herald talked us quietly into relaxation at the start of our magical journeys in the otherworld, and the drumming began; that steady beat which seems fast, but actually slows our brain waves into an Alpha rhythm.

Each of us had a satisfying journey. As we slowly woke from our journeys, back from the depths of our dreaming time to the perceived world, we took a moment to feel back in our bodies and in the room, then began to relate our journeys to each other. 

I will tell you about mine. 

"In my safe circle of trees, Hare came bounding up to me. 'Well,' I said, you're not exactly who I was expecting. You are a very busy, rushy animal, yourself, Hare.' He grew in size until I was able to clamber on his back. 'I'll take you to someone I know, called Slothful.' We raced (hared!) over the meadows and up a hill. The huge full moon was glowing just above the peak of the hill. There, Hare became his usual shape and size and I was confronted by a giant tortoise. This was Slothful! I sat patiently, because waiting for him to impart wisdom was a slow business. It taught me a valuable lesson just to wait like this. Slothful spoke slowly and every so often would retract his ancient head back into his shell and make me wait again. But eventually he had imparted all his steady wisdom. I suddenly realised I loved him very much. I went to hug his darling head, but it disappeared into his shell; 'don't touch me', he warned. At that point we said goodbye formally and Hare returned to take me back to my circle of trees, just as the call back sign came from the drummer."

Once we had taken time to listen to each other's journeys, and ponder our own, we brought out our Tarot packs. Each of us had a different pack; the Waite-Rider, Crowley's Thoth Tarot, the Matthew's Hallowquest, the Mythic Tarot, the Wildwood Tarot drawn by Bill Worthington and the Beginners Tarot, by Juliet Sharman-Burke.  

We individually pulled out the Moon card (XVIII) from our chosen pack. These had some similarities throughout, but often were quite powerfully different depending on the pack. 

Once we'd taken all this varied 'moon energy' in, we each randomly chose another card. This worked hugely well; The Sun, The Star, the Wolf King of Stones (the king of pentangles), and Pryyowen (VII, the Chariot), all came through. Often what had been shed, and what had been journeyed for, came through strongly. 

It was time to close the circle, thanking the quarters and unwinding with yew wand. It was late, and the moon was up. We all crowded outside to watch clouds scud over its bright surface. It felt powerful, calming, determined. By then, we were are peckish, and went back inside to ground ourselves with cheeses, cakes and wines. 

It will take me some time to process this journey and the card I pulled from the Hallowquest pack. But already I can feel the influence of the Giant Tortoise on my life!  

Taliesin; Transfigurative Poet

Wales has a number of figures, both in history and legend, who stand so tall, their story is told across the world. Taliesin is one of those, especially with his many incarnations – from ugly boy to the ‘chief of poets' across more than a thousand years.

The earliest place you can find  a written reference to this magical poet, is in the Historia Britonum (The History of the Britons). This account of the Ancient Britons was written around 828 CE, his name is among a list of honoured poets.

'Branwen' by Christopher Williams 1915

In the Mabinogion, it is made clear that he is poet at the court of King Arthur, firstly in the story of Cullwch and Olwen (which you can read about here), where Arthur and his associates helps Cullwch gain Olwen’s hand in marriage. Perhaps even earlier he is described as a survivor of the disastrous battle  between Ireland and Wales, over Branwen, daughter of Llyr, King of all Britons. Her brother, Bendigeidfran (Bran the Blessed or  blessed crow) took an army across the Irish Sea to bring her back from captivity. Only seven of the Welsh army returned with Branwen; one of those was Taliesin. It’s possible that this story is of Iron Age origin, or even earlier, at least five hundred years before Arthur was said to rule Briton. 

The story of Taliesin’s nativity, found also in the Mabinogion, may be even older, and it is that story we turn to when we think of Taliesin’s magical, transfigurative  being. It may be so old, that it refers to very ancient and lost gods, such as 'Afagddu the Dark', 'Morfran, the Great Sea Crow', Tegid Foel, tutelary deity  of Llyn Tegid (Lake Bala), and Ceridwen, the Fair Bard, goddess of the cauldron of transformation. 

Taliesin can’t live in the Bronze Age, the Iron Age, and the 5th century BCE all at the same time, can he?  Unless, that story of his birth holds a clue to what is happening here. 

Lake Bala

On the shores of Lake Bala in Mid Wales, Ceredwin lived with her husband Tegid
Foel. They had two children; a girl, who was the most beautiful every seen, and a boy, who was stupid and ugly. Ceredwin was a great witch and enchantress, and she used her cauldron of transfiguration to boil up a magic potion which would make Afagddu both wise and handsome. She employed an old man and a young boy to stir the cauldron for a year and a day, until the first three drops were ready to create the magical transformation. Gwion Back stirred and stirred for all that time, getting more bored and restless as the year wore on. Finally, at the moment, the brew was ready, he become so careless with his stirring that the first three drops fell upon his hand. He instinctively put his hand to his mouth to stop the burning, and in a flash became wonderful to look at, knew all there was to know, and accomplished in magical ways. 

The Radiant Brow

Ceredwin roared with horror and anger and chased after him. He fled, and quickly turned himself into a hare to increase his speed. But Ceredwin could also shape-shift and turned herself into a dog. And this continue, around Lake Bala and across the land – fish – otter. Bird – hawk. Finally, Taliesin came to a granary. Cleverly, he transformed into a grain of sand. Ceredwin was surely hoodwinked now! Until she transformed into a hen, and pecked her way though the grain until she’d swallowed him up. 

This is where the ultimate magic begins, that allows Taliesin to be one of the most transfigured figures in magical history. From poor servant through many animals into the womb of a powerful goddess; surely nothing could stop him now. But as soon as he was born, Ceredwin was determined to kill this usurper. 

Perhaps even Ceredwin could not completely bring herself to murder her own beautiful baby, because she took the infant and placed it in a skin bag (possibly a coracle) and cast it onto the water,  giving him ‘a lucky chance’ to survive. The bag washed up on the Dyfy (Dovey) River, where the annual salmon catch was taking place.

Aberdyfy

Looking for salmon was a most unlucky prince. Elffin ap Gwyddno, son of the Lord of Ceredigion, who had sent him salmon hunting in the hope of improving his luck, but so far, Elffin had found none. He opened the bag, hoping someone else had left their catch behind, and discovered it contained a baby boy of exquisite beauty. ‘Behold, Taliesin – the radiant brow!’ he exclaimed. As the rode back to his father, the baby began speaking beautiful poetry, claiming that Effin would defeat his enemies and change his luck.Of course the prophesy came true, and Taliesin became the famous poet of so many eras and generations. 

 Very ancient fish traps made from timber and stone has  been found across the globe. Good examples of fish traps at least 1,000 years old can also be found on the Teifi estuary, and the Towy estuary where recent exploratory dive revealed an ancient trap 1m wide, protruding 30cm above the underwater sand. There may well have been an ancient fish trap at Aberdyfy. 

fish trap discovered on the Towy

As Bard of King Arthur's retinue, his stories range wide. He appears both in the Welsh Triads and in the medieval Arthurian tale Breuddwyd Rhonabwy as well as Hanes Taliesin and the Mabinogion. 

According to the Dream of Rhonabwy

A sample from the Red Book of Hergest,
telling the story of the Dream of Rhonabwy

, retold in the Mabonigion, Taliesin had a son, Afaon, who fought alongside Arthur at the Battle of Badon as one of his chief counsellors, ‘the wisest and most accomplished in the kingdom’.

By the 6th century CE, it was said that Taliesin was the son of Saint Henwg of Caerlleon upon Usk, and was resident bard at the court of King Arthur of Caerlleon.

 Later, Taliesin made a prophecy about the fate of Britons which still has resonance today.

Their Lord they shall praise,

Their language they shall keep,

Their land they shall lose –

Except wild Wales.

The Book of Taliesin (Llyfr Taliesin) dates from the first half of the 14th century though many of the fifty-six poems it preserves are taken to originate in the 10th century or before. There is an  introduction to Rowan Williams's translation of The Book of Taliesin suggests that later Welsh writers came to see Taliesin as a sort of shaman. His poetry shows how he can not only channel other entities and the Awen,  but that writers can in turn channel Talliesin's magic ability to transform. We can work with Taliesin to experience shapshifting, shamanic herbalism and of course, to write our own poems.

His poems are a mystic and mysteriously transformational as his story:

I have been a multitude of shapes,
Before I assumed a consistent form.
I have been a sword, narrow, variegated…

Finding your Lorica – a Prayer for Protection.

THE KEEPER OF THE LORICAS

We often share our shamanic journey experiences when in circle. I've also found  it's appreciated when I share the notes I take on my journeys with others So this series will document journeys I've experienced in the past. All these journeys will be found the the  SHAMANISM PAGE.           This journey was taken in April 2000.

All the great Irish saints had their Lorica; a song or verse that could be recited as a prayer to

https://www.learnreligions.com/the-breastplate-of-saint-patrick-542668

protect from, harm, either physical, emotional or spiritual. Sometimes, the verse is also called the 'breastplate' as in this, the breastplate of St Patrick. 

Sometimes called a Caim,  a word with a Scottish root meaning loop, the Lorica or Caim conjures an image of a sanctuary. It is created when in fear, danger or distress, by using one's hand to form a circle around oneself,  while reciting the verse.

The  St. Columbain Caim goes thus:

Be to me a bright flame before me

Be to me a guiding star above me,

Be to me a smooth path below me,

Be to me a kind shepherd behind me,

Today, tonight, and forever.

At a Shamanic Gathering, we we all asked to journey to find ourselves a Lorica, 

 I began, as always in my home circle, the stream running to the south, the waist-high stone in the middle of it, the yews and oaks all around. I walked east, through a thicket of hazel, and quite quickly came to a wide lake. There was a concrete causeway stretching out onto it. As I climbed up onto it, a  naked man barred my way – he looked rather like 'The Thinker'.

  "I seek a Lorica," I told him.

He stepped out of my way, and I found I was in a room, or rather a hut, as there were outdoor windows in each wall. On a chair were four red rods, each about a foot long. They slipped away from me as I reached for them, disappearing from the room, but I intercepted each one, and held them strong. Each was different, but each held a power, I could feel it through my grasp.

I knew my Lorica would start with the word 'Power', and that each rod would be a verse. I sat down on the chair and held each one in my hands individually.

After some time, I started to 'get' my Lorica. I had to hold tightly onto it, by clutching the rods. I needed to get to my home circe and return to the apparent world so I could write it down. Outside the hut, it was thick woodland. In the distance, I saw a bridge, and made for it.  The Thinker appeared again, his face blocking my entire vision.        

   "I need payment for you to cross."

   I only had my rods. I looked at them. One was a jewel-encrusted rod, the thickness of a baby's arm. The next had a 'beaked' end. The third was shorter, and shaped like a bare bone. The fourth seemed to be a branch of eucalyptus, it's bark peeling away.  I handed the man the fourth branch. 

 "I need payment on paper."

I didn't understand him, but he stripped the thin bark from the rod and handed it back; now it was fully striped and beautifully white. 

I hid my rods in my hazel thicket, and sat on my central rock, until the call-back signal came, allowing the Lorica to form in my mind. 

When I returned to the group, I wrote it down:

POWER in our springtime  

    sap rising

    no mountain is too tall

POWER in our summer days

    resting after labours

    we hear the children play

POWER in our autumn 

    the land ripe and golden

    ready for the harvest

POWER in depths of our winter

    for only when the earth is cold and bare

    can we detect the small, green shoots of spring. 

Sacred Rose: The Soul’s Path to Beauty and Wisdom – Book Review.

 

Mara Freeman  is already known in Druidic and Western Magical circles as the founder and director of the Avalon Mystery School and her life’s work has been to offer seekers on the path a profound route into their personal quest. Her earlier books, Kindling the Celtic Spirit and Grail Alchemy, are two of my go-to resources for finding the depths of mystery in this world and in others. I was keen to read her latest book, Sacred Rose: The Soul’s Path to Beauty and Wisdom. Filled with magnificent colour illustrations, and with rose-centred meditations which can be undertaken to fully illuminate the deeper messages and learning within the book, this book will delight any person on a spiritual quest.

I knew, as I began to read Sacred Rose that it would be a work of scholarship. Freeman’s careful research is combined with an attractive writing style that is never difficult to read, and she offers the sacred rose to us on two amazing levels, carefully covering both the outward and inward story of the rose. Throughout the book, we journey through historical fact, literature, sacred religious thought, legend and myth to find roses at the very heart of humankind’s longing to experience the mysteries. But at intervals, we are asked to stop, to meditate, following a visualised inner journey to take us into an aspect of sacred rose.

Freeman begins with the connection between roses and goddesses, especially Isis, Aphrodite and Venus. She then examines the relationship the medieval church had with the rose, especially though Mary, the Mother of Christ, who is often portrayed in a rose garden. She offers refreshing insights into the Rosary and the amazing rose windows in cathedrals across Christendom.

Looking across the ancient world, Freeman compares the rose to the many-petaled lotus,  explores its hermetic connections, and its honouring in the Arabic world, both Islamic and Zoroastrian.

The story of the ‘rosy cross’ and the Rosicrucian movement takes us forward to the special links between roses and alchemy, the Order of the Golden Dawn, the Tarot, and the more recent resurgence of interest in the sacred world. 

Freeman uses poetry to illustrate this. From Roman writers  to  Danté’s ‘celestial rose’, to the 13th century Sufi poet, Rumi, to Yeats and Elliot, she demonstrates how the rose is a portal leading us closer to the mysteries of life. 

The core  message of the book is how the reader can enter the ‘language of the rose’– how the Mystic Rose…also blooms within the individual soul. This is not achieved by the physical act of reading the book, thoughtful commentary though it is, but through the work the reader will do around the text, including using that combination of concentration of will and the creative imagery of the mind to walk into the world of the meditations that accompany the text. These allow a personal journey that certainly connected me to my deepest inner parts, and from there, to moments where I felt able to reach the spirit of the rose. My intention is to return to each meditation time after time, reaching deeper into the
magic.

Freeman sets out methods of attaining this beauty and peace, including the use of rose essences and by creating a sacred space which would include the perfection of a plucked rose. 

You can purchase this beautiful book here