I'm trying to remember how long ago it was. I was a sales rep, out on the road, visiting customers during the day, and then having booked a hotel near some ancient sacred site. As soon as my calls were over for the day, I would head off to find a barrow, stone circle, hill fort, or woodland glade. That night's hotel was in the city of Bath. I remember that much. I'd called in to Glastonbury for lunch and bought a copy of the book I'd heard so much about. It was in my briefcase, ready to be opened and reveal the wonders it held. Every time I opened the case to show a customer some gut-wrenchingly dull piece of sales literature, I saw it, teasing me. Eventually I shut the car door after the last call and drove to Bath.
I remember the hotel too. The owner was a collector of old Victorian dolls. They were everywhere. In the lounge, up the stairs, all perfect, emotionless, and extremely creepy. When I went to my room, there were three sitting on the dresser. I went downstairs for dinner, and by the time I got back to my room, it was dark. With every step upstairs, I was certain one of the dolls would reach out and grab my ankles. When I opened the door to my room, there they were, sitting on the dresser, just as they had been during the day, but now they were sitting in shadow. Their expressions were calm. Telling me it was fine, just go to sleep, it'll all be ok. Don't worry, we will just stay right here. They didn't stay there. I picked them up and put them in a dresser drawer, then leaned my suitcase against it. Just in case.
I got ready for bed, then opened the briefcase and took out the book.
It was the Penguin Jeffrey Gantz translation of The Mabinogion.
I'd heard so much about these stories. After my experiences working with a Ceremonial Magic group in my early twenties I had been ready for a more Earthy journey, and this had led me to Paganism, and then to Druidry. It was here that I'd heard of these tales. Druidry had attracted me because it felt like it had been borne from the Earth, rather than people. It had been people who had listened, but the mysteries were the earth, the mud, the trees, the plants, the animals. All of it. Us humans needed to listen again. Like our ancestors had before us. A long time before us. Then there were these tales. From the land of Albion itself.
I opened the page and began to read.
I'm sure that many of you had this experience when you first read the Mabinogion. As I read I could tell there was magic here. That there was indeed something old, some hidden wisdom. But hidden it was, because the language was so medieval. I shouldn't have been surprised really, but I was, and a little disappointed. The Christian overlay was deep, and the medieval language and courtly prose just stood like shining iron bars that I could look through and glimpse a magical landscape beyond. I just didn't have the keys at that time to unlock the door and step through. It was very early on in my Pagan journey. Don't get me wrong - I could feel there was magic there, it just needed to be put through a Paganiser. Have a good old Spiritual and Linguistic wash. Drop some of the language and then reveal was was left. That would be gold. Like some Pagan prospector sieving through mud.
I never stopped that prospecting. I never let those tales go. I wrote a few songs telling them. I met some of the Gods and heroes in meditation. I helped bring some of the tales to life through massive rituals at camps. With each experience more of that mud was washed away, and more gold was revealed. I didn't stop when some people completely turned their backs on the Mabinogi, utterly rejecting their ancient authenticity. I watched them all walk away. Fair enough. I never walked away. I met Welsh speakers who helped me undertand some of the hidden messages held within the language. I think that was what finally unlocked those iron bars. It was like linguistic archaeology. After every discussion, another trowel or brush revealing even more gold. It was then I knew I wanted to begin the journey of bringing Y Mabinogi back to an aural experience. These stories were always meant to me heard, not read. The tradition of listening to a Bard tell these tales was the very act that brought them into being. I'm very thankful that the Red Book and White Book were written. If they hadn't been, much like Snorri's Eddas these tales and Gods might well have completely disappeared. But also by writing them down they were trapped in parchment. No longer told by hundreds of Bards who each had their own version of the tales, there was now the One True Book (well, two really). As I began to bring all of my journey with the Mabinogi together I realised I could incorporate the hidden linguistics that are not at all obvious in the translations, the latest research from Welsh scholars, and all of the ritual experiences I'd fascilitated and had over the years since reading in that Bath hotel, hoping not to hear a knock coming from the dresser. It really has been an epic journey.
I hope you've been enjoying the Y Mabinogi albums. There is just one to go, and with each day that passes I'm adding more, writing more, and recording more. The 4th Branch is the one I related to most quickly. The magic is intrinsic to the tale, but times within the world of the Mabinogi are changing too. The Wand of Power is changing hands from the family of Llyr, to the family of Don. The magic coming is more visceral, more of the Earth, untamed, wild. There is still some journey to go before I can release the 4th Branch into the world, but that has never been the point of these albums for me. It is very much the journey that is important for me, not necessarily the arrival at the end. And when the 4th Branch is finally released it will be a conclusion to a journey that has taken decades.
I wonder if the next person who stayed in that Bath hotel room opened that dresser drawer...
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