Effort, Uncertainty, and Cerridwen’s potion

“It is above all by the imagination that we achieve perception and compassion and hope.”
–Ursula K. LeGuin

This episode revolves around the Welsh myth of Cerridwen and the Birth of Taliesin. I’ve worked with this story a number of times. It comes to mind this time of year because Cerridwen is both a goddess and a witch, and this story includes potions, cauldrons, shapeshifting, and poetry.

A different theme emerged for me this time in response to our collective uncertainty and questions about action, control, and faith.

I hope you find something of value in this meditation.

Transcript of Effort, Uncertainty, and Cerridwen’s potion

Hello and welcome to Myth Matters an exploration at the intersection of mythology, creativity and consciousness. I’m your host Dr. Catherine Svehla. Wherever you may be in this wide beautiful crazy world of ours, I’m glad that you decided to join me here today.

Happy Halloween, Samhain, Day of the Dead—whatever your paradigm and whichever holiday you mark on your calendar, this is a powerful time. The ancient Celts called this period between Halloween (All Saint’s Day/Samhain) and the winter solstice (Dec. 22nd) the season of sleep. The time of rest and renewal. Time of incubation, and hibernation. Time to go into the depths, to visit the dark realms and wander the dreamtime.

But. If only, right? The condition of the world right now makes it more difficult to heed the call to step into a sweet darkness. A challenge for me is my concern about the upcoming elections here in the states, worry at the seesawing polls which may be flawed–or worse. Thoughts about how to participate. And knowing that the results are critical in the short term, for my vision of a more just, beautiful, and sustainable world– and at the same time what underlies the current chaos and cruelty won’t be resolved for some time.

I feel that I’ve been saying this for years, “We’re in process, we’re in process,”  and it’s true and we’re still in process. These concerns shape my response to the story that I have for you today,  the myth of Cerridwen and the Birth of Taliesin. This story is part of the Welsh Mabinogi. Texts date from the 14th to 16th century but the original language suggest that these tales are much older.

I’ve worked with this story a number of times. It comes to mind this time of year because Cerridwen is both a goddess and a witch, and this story includes potions, cauldrons, shapeshifting, and poetry. I find the story interesting as part of the goddess witch heritage. It also provides great metaphors and images for the creative process. A different theme emerged for me this time in response to our collective uncertainty. 

I want to introduce that theme with a poem by Mary Oliver called “A Dream of Trees.” This is after all, the time of year when it is appropriate to approach all great forces and possible truths a bit slant. 

A Dream of Trees

There is a thing in me that dreamed of trees,
A quiet house, some green and modest acres
A little way from every troubling town,
A little way from factories, schools, laments.
I would have time I thought, and time to spare,
With only birds and streams for company,
To build out of my life a few wild stanzas.
And then it came to me, that so was death,
A little way away from everywhere.

There is a thing in me still dreams of trees.
But let it go. Homesick for moderation,
Half the world’s artists shrink or fall away.
If any find solution, let him tell it.
Meanwhile, I bend my heart toward lamentation
Where, as the times implore our true involvement,
The blades of every crisis point the way.

I would it were not so, but so it is.
Who ever made music of a mild day?

—Mary Oliver, from New and Selected Poems

The blades of every crisis point the way. Now I Invite you to relax and listen to the story. You may hold Oliver’s poem lightly in your mind if it resonates or let it go. Whatever catches your attention in the story can be meaningful for you. I’ll share more of my reflections with you after the story.

Cerridwen and the Birth of Taliesin

In the early days there was a woman named Cerridwen who moved between the unseen and visible worlds. Some say she was a moon goddess or the Great Mother of the grains. Others call her a witch. It is said that she was quite beautiful, with flowing dark hair and skin like milk, and she surely possessed great magic, as this story will reveal.

Cerridwen lived with her husband and three children on an island in Bala Lake, in the hard rock country of northern Gwynedd. Her eldest son was well blessed. Her only daughter was the fairest maiden for miles around with a voice like silver bells. But her middle child, the boy called Morvran, was ugly and ill formed. This caused his mother great concern. It’s hard to get along well in the world without some measure of beauty and grace. 

Cerridwen decided to concoct a potion that would instill wisdom in her son. Wisdom and a poetic tongue, so that he too would prosper. His face cannot be beautiful she thought, but his voice, his words, and his thoughts will be.

She built a fire and took out her great cauldron and filled it with water and honey, acorns, barley, and other grains. Her magic would take one year and a day to complete. The fire would need to be tended and the pot would need to be stirred this whole time, so the contents wouldn’t burn and stick.

Cerridwen called upon her ancient manservant Morda. “You sir,” she said, “must tend this fire day and night and make sure that it does not go out.” Morda was half-blind and he could manage no more than this, so she also called the young servant boy Gwion and gave him the important task of stirring the pot. “This is your job for one year and one day,” she told the lad, “See that you perform it faithfully— or suffer the consequences.”

The potion Cerridwen needed was quite tricky to concoct. Every day she went into the woods and fields to find the herbs and other necessary ingredients. These she chopped and ground and handled carefully. She added them to her great cauldron when the astrological signs were right, sometimes under the light of the full moon, sometimes in the deep darkness of the new moon. She said the right prayers and sang the right songs and brought all of her powers to the task, even in silence. 

A huge pot sat simmering on the fire but only the first three drops could be consumed. Whoever partook of the first three drops would instantly know past, present, and future, and perceive the underlying unity of all things. This person would be wise. The rest of the potion was poison.

Slowly, slowly, day by day, and night by night, the vital strength of Cerridwen’s potion took shape and grew.  Morda faithfully tended the fire and Gwion stirred the pot.

At last, the year and a day was up. The last herb had been duly added. Cerridwen brought her son Morvran into the room to receive her blessing and the three potent drops of the potion. Gwion stood by the pot with his long spoon in his hand. “Come,” she said to her young servant, “bring forth what I have created for my son.” Gwion moved to obey her. 

The fire leapt and the potion in the great pot sputtered. Several drops flew out and landed on Gwion’s tender fingers .Instinctively, he put his burning fingers into his mouth and in that moment, he knew all that was true. Gwion also knew that he had received Morvran’s birthright and that Cerridwen would kill him.

He ran for the door and Cerridwen left her son to follow him, arms outstretched. “Come back here,” she cried, “there is no escape from what comes next!” But Gwion understood the full extent of his new powers. He turned himself into a hare and in rabbit form he raced across the fields fifty times faster than any boy could run. But Cerridwen turned herself into a greyhound and swiftly followed, snapping at his heels.

When he reached the river Gwion jumped in and turned himself into a fish. Down, down, down into the cold depths he dove. His silver fins flashed. But Cerridwen turned herself into an otter, sleek and speedy, and dove in after him.

When he felt her whiskers brush his tail, Gwion burst from the water into the sunlight. He turned himself into a bird and flew away. But Cerridwen turned herself into a hawk. She beat her powerful wings. In the last moment, just before she plunged down to grip him in her sharp talons, Gwion spied a farmyard and barn down below. 

He ceased his flapping and as he fell to the earth, he changed himself into a grain of wheat and dropped onto the threshing floor.

Cerridwen followed him down to the farmyard. “Oh, you are clever my dear Gwion,” she said, “But not clever enough.” She turned herself into a black hen and began scratching the ground and sorting the many seeds. She found Gwion and ate him.

Cerridwen went home to her island in the middle of the lake, full of frustration at her wasted efforts. Days passed and to her horror she discovered that she was pregnant. She knew it was that little grain of wheat. She decided to kill the child as soon as it was born. But the baby boy was so beautiful that she could not raise her hand against him.

Two days before May Day she sewed him into a leather bag and threw him into the sea. The baby drifted into Cardigan Bay and was found by Prince Elphin, who had come there to net fish. Prince Elphin took the child home and brought him up as his own. He named him Taliesin, which means “shining brow,” because the boy was so beautiful.

All was well for several years, until royal enemies imprisoned Prince Elphin. The child Taliesin made his way to the court to demand Prince Elphin’s release. Everyone laughed although many were impressed by his boldness. “My lord” the boy said to the king, “If this is your court and you are a true king, make me a wager for the life of my guardian. I will pose a riddle to you and your court. If anyone can answer it I will go quietly home, but if I confound you all, then Elphin goes free.”

“I see no harm in that” answered the king, quite certain that no child could perplex him and all of the wise men in his court. “Proceed with your riddle.”

“Discover what it is” said the boy, “The strong creature that can wreak havoc, from before the Flood, without flesh, without bone, without vein, without blood, without head, without feet… in field and in forest roams… without hand, without foot. It is also as wide as the surface of the earth, and it was not born, nor was it seen.”

The great men of the court pondered. Even the poets, the bards of the courts were called. But none knew the answer. So, Prince Elphin was freed. Thus began the fame of Taliesin, the greatest bard to ever live. It is said that he even sang for King Arthur. And the answer to his riddle: the wind.

Now as I mentioned, I’ve told this story a number of times and in the past, I’ve often connected it to the creative process and explicitly creative projects like a poem or a painting or a song that one might labor to produce. That one does labor to produce, let me say. And the punchline for me in those reflections has been that we don’t own the ideas. That inspiration comes and we participate. We must act. We have to accept the invitation, so to speak. And then the outcome, the product, the potion, has a life of its own.

All of this still feels true and useful to me and yet today, Cerridwen’s plans and efforts land with me in a somewhat different way because I find myself thinking about our collective struggles and the prospect of collective transformation. About all that we intend. About our personal aspirations and our community needs. About what we avoid and how we are thwarted in executing our intentions. 

How little we know right now, from this particular moment in history, about what is in play and where it’s all going.

Here we have Cerridwen, clearly very powerful and skilled, and look at how hard she works only to have her plan circumvented by something unexpected that she couldn’t control. And she did her damndest to get control right? That whole chase, trying to track down Gwion and ultimately swallowing that little seed of wheat.

And to what end? To prevent the elevation of the servant boy, it appears. If my son can’t have the gift I labored to bestow on him, then you certainly won’t have it either. Was that it? Was it to remedy this loss of control over her situation, frustration at her plans being thwarted? Maybe uncertainty about what could come? Here she generated this, this power, this wisdom and what if it was placed in in lowly hands, in the hands of someone outside the family, or maybe the wrong hands

I relate. I feel this and I sympathize. I might aspire to be greater or bigger than this and yet to be taken by surprise– I understand that frustration and anger and also the discouragement. There’s something discouraging about putting all of this effort into something with some goal in mind, and then seeing it all go, go where, go to waste, I don’t know. Difficult to accept that you might not see the fruition.

And then, and then she’s forced to do something that she doesn’t want to do. She’s pregnant. How challenging it is to be forced into situations and called to confront something or incubate something against your will. And it takes time. It takes time to resolve all of this.

Cerridwen has a change of heart once the baby is born. She responds to the beauty, to the beauty of the boy and I suspect the beauty of her original dream, which is still powerful. There is a sense of destiny and an acceptance of fate in those moments when she makes the leather pouch, sows the boy in and tosses him out onto the water. Do you think that she does this in a spirit of resignation or with some sense of fate?

Maybe she recognizes, I think she does, that each of us plays a part in a larger drama, and the nature of our part, and even of the story that we’re in, and the possible outcome, if there is such a thing in the end, are mysteries.

I think that you have to have a certain faith in the goodness and love or beauty, something like this, on a cosmic level, to accept this notion of participation and to live with this point of view. Maybe you have it, this faith, and maybe you don’t. Being with myth certainly helps me. It helps me hold my intentions and goals and desires lightly and accept that there is a great deal that I don’t know.

This works in a couple of ways, being with myths. You see that other people have been here before, that is, they have lived through times when they felt that they were losing everything that they valued, everything that mattered, that their world was even coming to an end. We know this because they told stories, and because those stories mattered enough to other people to be handed down and to survive. We, the human species, share so much and have so much in common.

When you sit with the stories, you see all of the shared dreams. The shared dreams and needs and aspirations, the images and the points of meaning that are common to our species.

These are the content of our stories and they are conveyed by our stories, by the fact that we are, no matter where we are or who we are or when we’ve lived, the makers and the tellers of story. The meaning this holds for me offers me a place to put my faith, and I think faith is a decision in the face of uncertainty that includes acceptance of uncertainty. It doesn’t erase all doubt, but acts as a touchstone, a grounding in what inspires you, what beauty and love can sustain you. Like Cerridwen. She looks at the baby. She has her dream of poetry and wisdom. She lets the baby and the poetry and all of those possibilities live and she lets them go.

She could have raised that baby, and I wonder if she dropped him into the water out of a sense that she was an agent in something much larger than her personal aspirations. I have a poem for you about faith that I hope will add to this discussion. It’s especially resonant as the new moon rises in Scorpio, as this poem revolves around the image of the moon and the moon cycle.

This Scorpio time, election or not, is an intense time. It’s a time where you can make a deep dive. And yet we have to remember that that deep dive is going to include the underbelly, the scorpion hiding under the stone. It’s a time to connect with the ancestors, to be in touch with your heritage, with who and what preceded you.

Scorpio is associated with death and rebirth. It’s an opportunity to consciously release what needs to be released. And so, I think it is a good time, an especially good time, to face uncertainty and to court the mystery. This is why Step Into the Fairy Glen, my journey into story and support for the inner life, begins today. 

I’ve been talking about it in the other episodes and if you’re listening to this on November 1st or 2nd, it’s not too late for you to join. This journey takes place from the first through the 15th with the rising of the full moon. You do a little bit every day, 10 or 15 minutes on your own time. I’m going to post the link to Step Into the Fairy Glen, in case you are now ready to step into the liminal space of the story. 

Now, before I read you the poem, I want to welcome new subscribers:  Claude, Asher,  Pasionaria, Virginia, Janet, Ashley, Suyin, and David. Welcome to Myth Matters! You can also join the email list, if you’d like to receive links to new Myth Matters episodes in your inbox. Simply go to my Mythic Mojo website.

And thank you to the patreon patrons and bandcamp supporters of Myth Matters for your support, for your dollars and your companionship. The reciprocity means a lot. And if you’re listening and you’re not a patron, and you wonder what’s involved, the link to details is at mythicmojo.com

Now that closing poem. It’s called “Faith” by David Whyte.

Faith

I want to write about faith,
about the way the moon rises
over cold snow, night after night,

faithful even as it fades from fullness,
slowly becoming that last impossible curving
and impossible
sliver of light before final darkness.

But I have no faith myself,
I refuse it even the smallest entry.

Let this then, my small poem,
Like a new moon, slender and barely open,
be the first prayer that opens me to
faith.

David Whyte, from Where Many Rivers Meet

Each of us belongs to this moment my friend, and we all have a role to play, whether you prioritize inner work or outer action, I encourage you to move past discouragement  and like Cerridwen, keep stirring the pot. Keep stirring the pot. 

And if you are here in the United States, vote. Please vote. Please vote blue. My vision of the future depends on allegiance to democratic ideals and the reality of climate change. Maybe yours does, too.

If we have a better understanding of our need for myth, and all that our old stories offer, we can live more satisfying lives. We can inhabit a better story and create a more beautiful, just and sustainable world. 

And that’s it for me, Catherine Svehla and Myth Matters. Thank you so much for listening. I’m wishing you a magical New Moon in Scorpio and until next time, keep the mystery in your life alive.

Past episodes that investigate the myth of Cerridwen and Taliesin:

20MM 2021 Cerridwen’s cauldron of inspiration

MITM 2014 Birth of Taliesin  (this is a Myth in the Mojave episode)