The tale of the Birth of Taliesin has long been a favorite story. The story is like a kaliedoscope, layers and layers of meaning shift with the sands of my life to present ever more beautiful and revealing meanings. Having recently returned from my firewalk certification, I think it no accident that I encountered the story not one day after my return. And less than a week after that the discussion in the therapy group I lead turned to sustaining the passion and drive to manifest life goals. Three pieces fitting together so clearly prompted me to wander into the mist to seek the counsel of Cerridwen, Gwion Bach, and Morda:
In a time when the world was young and still greening there lived a powerful sorceress who once composed a drink of such raw magical potential that it would render to the receiver of the drink the reeling, panoramic understanding of the entire cosmos. She wove this powerful magic for her poor son Avagddu, who was of quite startling ugliness and profound stupidity. If but three drops of the mystical potion would fall on Avaggdu’s tongue, his profound wisdom and genteel manners would make him quite a desirable dinner guest and more than make up for his hideousness in other regards.
And so it was that such deep magic is not accomplished by waving around a wand and shouting some mumbo jumbo. No, such an impressive brew would be more like working on a famous painting; lots and lots of tinkering for months and months. Cerridwen was certainly not going to do all the work herself she had too much shapeshifting to do and prophecies to work out , so she put a servant, Gwion Bach to work stirring the mixture and a blind man, Morda to tend the fire beneath. For a year and a day the two labored over the brew; Gwion Bach stirring an endless round and Morda kindling the fire, giving it constant attention. Toward the end of the brewing time an accident happened, maybe because his arm was cramping up from a year of stirring. Three drops of the draught splashed onto Gwion Bach’s thumb. His automatic response was to put his thumb into his mouth to reduce the sizzling the potion had caused. At that moment Gwion Bach attained all the knowledge of the cosmos that was meant for Avagddu. The cauldron split ,and so did Gwion Bach!
He ran and was pursued voraciously by Ceridwen, because of the wisdom gained from the brew, Gwion Bach new how to change his shape. Over the land and air and sea he and Ceridwen fled, changing shapes the way Hollywood starlets change clothes. The pursuit raged on until in desperation Gwion Bach turned himself into a grain of wheat which was subsequently devoured by the jabbing beak of the chicken Cerridwen. She became instantly pregnant and nine months later gave birth to the Bard Taliesin.
It is on the task of Morda that I focus. Though he is in the story for such a short time, there are three important aspects to him. Firstly we are told that he is blind. Second, he kindles, or starts the fire. Third he lovingly tends it with constant attention.
Fire. Fire in our lives is the passion that gives the energy to work toward our life goals. Without it we have a set of pretty pictures about where we would like to be, but lack the oomph to take action every day. How often, when our dreams seem small on the horizon do we sink back onto the couch and turn the TV back on. How many times have we let the first obstacle on the glorious yellow brick road to our vision send us into the dark caves of all the reasons why we can’t have what we want.
I envision Morda tending to the fire by bringing various woods and laying them gently on the fire. By using his life’s breath he grows the flames. Blind to the appearance of the brew, he has to use his intuition about the alchemy happening in the interior of the cauldron. Most of our distractions are visual, so being blind also allows Morda the luxury of a singular focus.
We each of us need to be our own Morda. We must blind ourselves to distractions that might eat away our energy for working toward our vision. This includes outer distractions and inner ones that surface in the form of sloth and fear. We must, like Morda, be attuned to the inner state of our cauldron, has our vision shifted, deepened? We must tend the fire constantly. If we want to realize our dreams we cannot fly on autopilot. Spend some time with your vision, how will you feel when you accomplish it, what feeds your passion for it today? What step did you take today, no matter how small toward it? And like Morda, we we need to tend the visions of our lives lovingly. Only then can our potion of wisdom brew!
