The Nature of Awen

An understanding of Awen is fundamental to Bardism: it underpins and influences everything we do. It is deceptively simple and incredibly complex, in fact, like the nature of Deity itself. This similarity is not surprising considering its literal meaning: ‘flowing spirit’. It is a Welsh word meaning ‘inspiration’, but what is it to be inspired but to be in-spirited, to be taken over by Spirit; be it in the form of the Muse, Poetic Genius, Goddess, a creative frenzy, a fire in the head. Philip Shallcrass calls it ‘the Holy Spirit of Druidry’, and this is an appropriate analogy for several reasons: on one level, there’s the comparison with those faithful who are taken over by the Holy Spirit in a Service and start talking in tongues – there’s a Celtic Bardic equivalent to this to be found in the Irish seer-poets and Welsh Awenyddion, which we’ll look at later. In a mythopoetic sense, the Holy Spirit is the Christian analog for the Goddess, to balance the Father and Son patriarchy – although it is seldom acknowledged as such, except through the Madonna. Finally, I think it is no coincidence that Awen sounds like Amen in pronunciation – certainly in the South West of England, with softer vowels. Awen is pronounced: Aah-OO-Whenn. It punctuates druidic ceremonies in the way ‘amen’ does in Christian ones, which is an interesting echo. But Awen is neither Christian or Pagan, or any other Faith – it is universal, it is Spirit, on its own terms, whatever our cultural frame of reference. There are equivalents in other traditions, notably Buddhism, with its most famous mantra: AUM (OM) meaning, in essence: ‘the jewel takes its seat in the heart of the lotus’ – a symbol worth meditating upon for its own sake. It could be seen as the opening of the Brow Chakra – the centre of Vision. I would argue that is why when Elphin, son of Gwyddno, discovers the twice-born Bard at the weir on May Eve he declaims: ‘Behold, the Radiant Brow!’ Those filled with Awen shine, because of this ‘jewel’ of enlightenment, giving Spirit tongue, the voice of Creation. Furthermore, the mantra of AUM has four syllables, each letter a distinct sound – an Awen-like Ahh-OO-Mmm – the fourth being the most important: silence. This is what I call the Endless Sound, underpinning everything.

Druids and Bards traditionally chant Awen three times (Celts and Pagans like to do things in threes, i.e. Bard, Ovate, Druid; the Threefold Effect; the Welsh Triads – it is the number of the Goddess: maiden, mother, crone…Is that why the feminine Holy Spirit is the third aspect of Christian Deity?) When I chant it, I always include a moment of silence, for it is important to listen if we speak – to sense the impact of our words, of the change in energy. If you get a circle of people to chant Awen, most effectively in an enclosed space (room, marquee, gorsedd circle), then with each wave of energy the atmosphere within changes significantly as the space is charged up – that is why I like to get the audience or workshop members to help me do this at the start of a performance or workshop. It is a simple and effective way of raising energy, but also it gets everybody contributing straight away, feeling the energy, and being fully present. But why chant Awen? Because it is a way of asking for inspiration – something we can continually benefit from. It is, in effect, asking for guidance and wisdom from Spirit, from Deity, the Creator, the Great Mystery, however you conceive it. Personally, I like to chant the Awen before a Bardic performance, to ask for eloquence, and privately, when writing, to ask for inspiration. It can be done discreetly, or from the top of mountain, verbally, or just through visualisation (see Raising the Awen).

The symbol of Awen (/|\) is known as the Three Rays (that number again!): three beams of inspiration, of Imbas (the Irish equivalent to Awen) streaming down from the Source, or Sources (as it is normally depicted as coming from three circles – perhaps symbolising the Triple-aspect Deity, normally associated with the phases of the moon and faces of the Goddess (Maiden, Mother, Crone). Ross Nichols, founding father of the Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids describes the Awen as: ‘the Three Rays of Light or Three Pillars of Wisdom, also called in Brittany the Tribann, in India the Tri-Sul’. However universal this icon seems, the symbol of the three rays, as associated with Awen, was invented by Edward Williams, aka Iolo Morgannwg, that great visionary ‘inventor’ of the Bardic Tradition. The Gorsedd of Bards ceremony, as devised by Morgannwg in 1792, shaped the modern Eisteddfod system. In 1907, the Rev. J. Griffith, in an article in Nature, describes a Gorsedd Circle with twelve bards and a ring of stones, outside of which a triad are set out in the pattern of the Three Rays: ‘the ancient Kymric symbol of Awen, or Holy Wings, the three rays or rods of light signifying the Eye of Light, or radiating light of the Divine Intelligence shed upon the Druidic Circle’. The Awen has been central to Druidry ever since.

So, does this invalidate the use of Awen and its symbol in Bardism? No, because the word Awen was mentioned by Bards from at least the Sixth Century, in poems by Taliesin and others. It was used to infer gifted inspiration, possibly from a divine source – especially Ceridwen, initiatorix of Taliesin, and Bards in general. The Three Rays itself seems to have been lifted straight from Freemasonry – you can glimpse them on old buildings to this day – but modern Bards can still use it to signify inspiration received from the Gods, from All That Is, to use a term of Caitlin Matthews. It’s as good a symbol as any, and I have grown fond of it. As elegantly as the White Horse of Uffington, it does evoke, in its lean economy, the rays of a sunrise, as seen from a stone circle on solstice morning. When form and function meet, you have something beautiful and valid.

As for the word ‘Awen’ – if it did not actually mean anything (which it does), one could just as easily chant another vowel-rich word and it would be equally as effective in opening up to inspiration and opening up the vocal chords, because that is what it is doing. Chanting the Awen, or any mantra, quietens the mind, drowns out the white noise of life, that eternal internal dialogue – the background chatter of trivia and mundane concerns – and helps us to ‘tune into a higher frequency’, to align with a different, more subtle vibration: perhaps that Field of Potential mentioned earlier; the Platonic Realm of ideal forms, what writer Alan Moore calls ‘Idea Space’. It is ‘the stuff that dreams are made on’, the place where dreams are born perhaps: the aether, where they wait to manifest, to be drawn down by the visionaries, the avant garde.

If these ideas pre-exist in the aether waiting to ‘come down to Earth’ (a Qabalistic idea) then that would explain simultaneous discovery or invention – when some new invention or innovation is ‘discovered’ simultaneously in different parts of the world, independently, i.e. by Think Tanks, Research Teams, etc. And that could explain why we get s batch of movies turning up at the same time about the same thing (i.e. two Robin Hood movies in the early Nineties). The Origin of the Species is the classic example of this, with Darwin getting all the glory at the expense of his colleague/rival. This would also explain why that deeply annoying thing occurs – when you’ve had a genius brainwave, made notes, drawings, plans etc, and then discover someone else has pipped you to the post, so that it either becomes redundant, or you are accused of plagiarism! Ideas have their time (everything has its season) and if you are tapped into the ‘aether’ and have the resources, connections and wherewithal to make it happen, then you’ll be the first to manifest it and to claim the credit.

Some druids use I-A-O as their chant, most memorably Rollo Maughling of the Glastonbury Order of Druids, who described the I as representing the phallus of the God; the A as the open legs of the Goddess, ready to receive Him; and O the sound of their ecstatic love-making, creating the Earth, perhaps even creating the Cosmos – literally, the Big Bang!

Like a lot of things to do with Spirit, the Awen is something we can project whatever we like into. Iolo gave it his own set of associations, as has Rollo. There’s nothing wrong with this, as long as we are conscious of doing it. Personally, I see the Awen as a portal to Spirit, and a very portable one at that: chanting the Awen is a very simple technique for tapping into it, for aligning oneself with Spirit, that force of creativity all around us, at the heart of Creation. I think it is the same as what that great Twentieth Century Bard, Dylan Thomas, memorably describes as: ‘the force that through the green fuse drives the flower.’ Another master Bard, WB Yeats, captured its essence in the immortal phrase: now known as the ‘Fire in the Head’, taken from ‘The Song of Wandering Aengus’: ‘I went for a walk in a hazel wood, because a fire was in my head…’ This poem will be looked at in more detail later, (see Fire in the Head) but for now I want to give a brief resume of the creative process.

The Bard who has the fire in the head – when one is consumed by an idea, that is haunting, disturbing, maddening even – may suffer from insomnia or hyperactivity. You may be restless, distracted, ill-at-ease – perhaps knocking things over, or forgetting/losing things if you’re not careful. It is a form of obsession – like falling in love. A storm is brewing – the ions of Awen charging in one’s skull. Depression, anxiety, illness may precede it: the Cloud of Unknowing descends – you are in the doldrums, perhaps unable to see the ‘way ahead’, the solution. A composition may become stagnant. It’s the classic Writer’s block. Then suddenly, boom! Synapses fire across the hemispheres of your mind, you experience literally a brain storm and, in a flash, you have the answer – you experience illumination. It is the famous Eureka moment. You may or may not leap out of the bath like Copernicus, who had suddenly worked out a way of lifting water (Copernican Screw), but metaphorically you have reached saturation point and the thunder clouds have broken, the waters of inspiration ‘break’, the Awen flows and you ‘speak like rain’, as you can’t get the ideas, poem, notes and so on down fast enough – you are in the white heat of creativity: the best ‘buzz’ in the world I think. The Grail Winner was known as the Freer of the Waters, the waters that heal the wasteland, be it personal, local, or national – after this revelation you are the Rainmaker and Spirit flows through you: wonderful Awen.

The amazing lightness and sense of relief that comes with this revelation maybe partly the result of having the pressure of the problem weigh down upon you (see Stone upon the Belly). Suddenly it is lifted as the solution presents itself and there’s this feeling of euphoria. You have broken through and seen to the heart of the problem, like the Holy Fool, Parsifal, who in his innocence (purity of perception) ‘pierces-the-veil’ of reality and sees things as they ‘really are.’ You may have the Hawk Tongue, swift-witted, piercing insight, as was given to a boy who fell asleep on a hillside and dreamt of a ‘green-garlanded god’ who gave him the gift of ‘hawk tongue’. Could this correlation between bard and bird be connected to the notion of the ‘language of birds’ – the magical language bards were said to speak, and is it echoed in the obscure text of the Hawk of Achill? The shining garlanded god could be the Celtic Apollo or Hermes – Ogma, God of Eloquence, who gave his name to Ogham, or Mabon, the ancient Eternal Child. The Celtic God of Love, Angus Mac Og, had four birds fly around his head (his ‘kisses’) and the Welsh horse Goddess Rhiannon had her Birds of enchantment, whose song could soothe any sorrow. This ‘green-garlanded god’ could be simply the Green Man himself – and the image of the foliating mouth, common in churches and cathedrals, is perhaps a symbol of eloquence, of a cornucopia of poetry, issuing from the lips of the illumined. The Welsh Awenyddion (the inspired ones) spoke in prophetic utterances in the same way those possessed by the Holy Spirit speak in tongues. They have The Tongue that Cannot Lie – the gift of prophecy that 13^th Century seer-poet Thomas of Ercildoune was said to have received from the Queen of Elfland herself (aka the Goddess). This is fitting considering Bards believed they received their inspiration from the Cauldron of Ceridwen, like Taliesin. And I believe the ‘poetic genius of Taliesin’ can be tapped into by all of us: it is an energy – the Field of Potential. A mantle to be assumed, a title to be adopted; in the same way that Merlin was possibly 'The Merlin'. It is common for people to talk of the wisdom of Merlin, and to work with his ‘archetype’. I think Taliesin has entered the same realm, as an Inner World Guardian (a concept explored by RJ Stewart in his many excellent books), waiting to guide us when we are ready. The wisdom and Awen of Taliesin can be channelled. The best way to do this is to write a poem as him, which is what I’ve attempted to do with my poem, ‘The Creation of Taliesin’, which has become my ‘signature’ poem: the one I begin my performances with, when I appear as Tallyessin. I took elements of the ‘Hanes Taliesin’ and rewrote it in my own way, with bardic performance in mind, so it is much abbreviated and simplified. The original still stands, yet some would say this was sacrilegious. I would argue this form of emulation affords us empathy, is a classic learning method, and is a way of accessing the mystery of these gnomic utterances. By imagining his voice flowing through us we can be taken over by his energy and eloquence, by Taliesinic Force, as in Gower-based poet Vernon Watkins’ visionary poems, ‘Taliesin in the Gower’ and ‘Taliesin and the Spring of Vision’. The Awen is all around us and is for all to tap into and receive the gift of inspiration from.

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What's an Eisteddfod?

Essentially a festival of the arts with a competitive element, the Eisteddfod, (pronounced: eye-steth-fod) a Welsh word meaning literally ‘a sitting, or session’, is at the heart of the Bardic path.It is the most public expression of the skill of the Bard, where they compete with peers and win renown. Philip Shallcrass, Chief of the British Druid Order, describes them as: “meetings of professional poets and musicians, concerned with maintaining the standards of their craft” (from document on the revival of the British Bardic Chairs, Council of British Druid Orders 1992). It is a way of encouraging and rewarding excellence. Although a Bard should avoid rivalry, friendly sportsmen-like competitive-ness within the parameters of the Eisteddfod can foster camaraderie, community and development of the craft.
 
The modern Welsh Eisteddfod is a vast affair, with National and International versions, and has been called the ‘largest cultural festival in Europe’. It has been going annually since 1861, but the first recorded Eisteddfod was held over Christmas 1176 at CardiganCastle, when Bardic Chairs were awarded to the best poet and musician. However there is a custom which predates it. The 10th Century Welsh King HywelDda’s Law Code states: “a seat at court in the Prince’s Hall was always reserved for the chief poet who was elected to the position by means of a poetic contest”. And, to this day, the idea of the Bardic Chair has stuck. Shallcrass explains further: “The Bardic Chair is both an honour awarded for outstanding ability in the Bardic arts and an actual chair given as a trophy in token of the honour”. The holder of a Bardic Chair has the title of Cadeirfardd, or Chaired Bard, from the Welsh Cadeir, a ‘Chair of Honour’. In the modern Welsh Eisteddfod the Bardic Chair is awarded to a poet excelling in metrical verse, while a Bardic Crown is awarded for composition in freer verse.
 
Yet the Bardic Chair need not be an actual chair. In 1637 John Jones records an Eisteddfod where a silver harp was awarded to the best musician, a silver tongue to the best singer, and a silver chair for the best bard – exalted times! – and in the Twenty First Century the Lammas Games Eisteddfod, organised by the Druid Network (2004-2007), offers the Spear of Lugh to the winner, who becomes spear-holder for a year and a day. Thus, the Bardic Chair can be a moveable feast. And Shallcrass argues that the Chair need not be fixed to a specific location. He suggests they are, in fact: “…an honour bestowed on an individual. In the Period of the Princes, they entitled the individual to a place of honour in the Prince’s court, but when the court moved, the Bard and the place of honour moved too”. This may have been so in medieval times, yet this contradicts the central concept of the Eisteddfod: its spiritual heart is the Gorsedd, and the Gorsedd, by definition (a high seat or mound) is traditionally attached to a particular location. The ancient list of British Bardic Chairs (see Appendices) gives specific locations, nearly all of which are hill-forts or ancient sites: certainly, sacred hills are the common factor. It is essential to maintain this connection with the Earth and make a commitment to a particular location, with its genius locus, heritage, rare species, etc – what Common Ground call ‘local distinctiveness’. By creating new Bardic Chairs, associated with a Site of Special Scientific Interest, or an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, we, as Bards, can help to preserve, promote and celebrate a place – by re-enchanting it with our words and maintaining it with our deeds (e.g. tree-planting, litter-picking, restoring springs).
 
Other customs have accrued around the Eisteddfod, many of them inventions of IoloMorgannwg, such as the robe colour scheme (blue, green and white were first worn officially in 1894) and use of a sword. However, these can be imbued with meaning in a modern context, however spurious their origin. Storyteller Gordon MacLellan describes: “the Bards in blue, [as] symbolic of celestial love”, which is a good enough reason, but it is intriguing to note that blue is also the colour of the Throat Chakra, fundamental for a Bard In ‘traditional’ Eisteddfodau. No weapons were allowed to be drawn, thus the legacy of the ritual of the half-sheaved sword, symbolic of Peace. In a world torn by conflict, asking for peace, and swearing to stand ‘heart to heart, and hand in hand’ (The Gorsedd Prayer, recited for the first time in 1855) is more significant and relevant than ever.
 
So, although the Eisteddfod has ancient roots, the form we know it in today has relevant recent origins. The first Eisteddfod of the modern era was held at Corwen in Wales in 1789, and it was not until 1928 that the Cornish Eisteddfod, GorsethKernow was established at Boscawen-ûn stone circle. So the idea of a revival of the Bardic Chairs of Britain is not unprecedented and should not be seen as invalid or separate from the Welsh, Breton and Cornish initiatives. Colin Murray, of the Golden Section Order, first mooted the idea in the Seventies. Liz Murray, his widow, proposed it to the Council of British Druid Orders in 1991. The following year the council sent a petition to the Queen requesting the establishing of an annual English Eisteddfod at Stonehenge (mirroring the Semi-National Eisteddfod held at Torquay in 1922). However visionary (and, to be realistic, unlikely in the present climate with its dearth of the imagination) this grand plan is, the pathway to it is just as, if not more, important. The re-establishment of the ancient Bardic Chairs of England would provide the necessary stepping stones to this ultimate goal – although they are just as valid and worthy of initiating in their own right. The idea is that each Gorsedd selects an annual Chaired Bard, and one day – when the English Eisteddfod is established – the Chaired Bards of each region could compete for the coveted title of Primary Chief Bard of Logres. And, who knows, maybe one day all of the Gorseddau of the British Isles (Lesser and Greater Britain) will join together in competition and fellowship, realising that they are all part of the same Tradition and branches of the same tree. 

The Modern Bardic Chair
How did the English revival get under way? After the CoBDO Petitions to the Queen in 1989 and 1992, which were politely received and replied to, although the idea was turned down, bardic activity remained in the fringes and found a new manifestation in the protest movement, as recorded by Andy Letcher (2001 The Role of the Bard in Contemporary Pagan Movements. Ph.D. diss., King Alfred’s College, Winchester) . It wasn’t until the second half of the Nineties that things began to crystallise, notably with Tim Sebastion’s activities, who in 1995, planning the inauguration of the Bardic Chair, said:

This approach reflected the policy adopted by the Council of British Druid Orders at the time, who stated in their official publication, Druidlore:
Those bards that have laboured through the apprentice stage of mastering their art or craft, and reached a certain proficiency, are entitled to apply to the Council of British Druid Orders for the right to proclaim themselves a chaired bard of a particular geographical locale or sacred site location.

Whether or not a physical chair accompanies such a spot, the prospective chaired bard has to announce his or her intention to stand for it at a public gathering in that spot, and wait a year and a day before he or she can be recognised as such.

However, if there are any contenders for the title or honour, there has to be a public contest in the arts at the end of the original year and a day, for the public to decide who rightfully holds the chair. (‘Bardic and Druidic Chairs’ Druidlore, Issue#1, 1997)

This general principle holds water (the Chair is declared publicly a year and a day in advance; if anyone comes forward a contest must be held) but unfortunately the Council of British Druid Orders (CoBDO) is no longer a viable organisation, sundered by internal politics. Until it once more is a truly representative body of all the Druid Orders of Britain, it is advisable to avoid CoBDO sectarianism altogether and announce the Chair as widely as possible through the press and through Silver Branch Bardic Network – the nearest there is to an international Bardic Guild or Council – and umbrella organisations like The Druid Network and the Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids. Place announcements in magazines like Pentacle as well, and drum up as much interest as possible. Even if the Chair is only eligible to ‘those within walking distance’ as with the Bardic Chair of Glastonbury (Gorseth Ynys Witrin) all can be notified and invited. That way, individuals claiming bardic chairs without public or peer validation can be avoided (a Bardic Chair is not viable without the support of the community it represents anyway). So, one druidic principle can be kept – that it is all done ‘under the sun, the eye of light’.
 
‘Druid’ is only one tag. Bards do not have to be druids. It is possible to be a Christian bards, a pantheist bard, an atheist bard, a skeptic bard, even a Zulu bard: and in the Gorsedd of the Bards of CaerBadon we been blessed to have all of those. The bardic path can be an expression of almost any belief system (except ones that preach intolerance of any kind). For bards to have any relevancy in modern life they cannot just belong to Druidry: which, at its best, is still a fringe scene. They are of course all branches of the same tree, and Bardism should never forget its roots. Yet there are cultural equivalents all over the world, just as valid (eg African griots, Irish seanachies). We happen to call them bards in Britain, but they are a global phenomenon as old as humanity. 

And yet modern Bardic Chairs make no claims to be part of an unbroken tradition. Many have emerged only in the last decade. Yet this makes them no less authentic. Why should an ‘invented tradition’ be any less valid than any other kind? All traditions were invented by somebody, were started at some point – this does not invalidate them – as indeed could be said of all human customs and institutions: the rules we live life by, the way society is, the very fabric of our civilisations: all fabrications by people, for people, either self-serving or altruistic.

The modern Bardic Chair movement is continually redefining what a Bardic Chair is and can be – and that is as it should be with a living tradition. It is not ‘re-enactment’ or Revivalism, but reinvention. However, a serviceable definition, with all its necessary caveats, will be useful for our purposes, so I shall attempt to offer you one. A Bardic Chair should:

The Bardic Chair movement is concerned with transmission of tradition, celebration of cultural heritage and with people – and it is the latter that I wanted to focus on here, because without the talented and committed individuals out there none of this would be viable (not to say the audiences, the volunteers, the sponsors). So, this book foregrounds these people, focussing, this time, on those who have made the Bardic Chair of CaerBadon (Bath) possible. This is the microcosm of the macrocosm – the bigger picture is portrayed, the Bardic Chairs of the world listed, but it is the shift from the universal to the particular where change occurs, in the micro-detail of the grass-roots level: making things happen locally involves paying attention to these details and to people, as well as to spirits of place and local politics. If these are not honoured things quickly go awry. And so the book begins with an overview, then zooms into one particular city where the Bardic Chair tradition has bloomed. Other Bardic Chairs are mentioned and in future editions these will feature more prominently as they grow from strength to strength. New articles may be added as people come forward to share their knowledge. This is something that belongs to all of us. It is what we make it.

From The Book of the Bardic Chair, edited by Kevan Manwaring, RJ Stewart Books, 2008

Copyright Kevan Manwaring 2008. May be cited with permission.