Bardic: Finding Awen in Many Ways

Searching for Awen is something that Bards need to do in order to create their works. “Finding” Awens differs with each Bard, since all perceive Awen in their own particular way. However, one of the most common and easiest things that Bards do is to go out into Nature. A Bard would simply sit or walk in Nature, while becoming hyperaware of her surroundings. She would then speak to a tree and listen to its wisdom. While hearing the rustle of the wind or the call of the squirrel, a Bard goes deeper into Nature and discovers Awen.

 “Finding” Awen can by experiencing Bardic works. The creative fire of Awen is often exchanged between Bards in this manner. Through the efforts of one Bard, Awen flows to the other Bard, who embraces his piece. Listening to a symphony or reading a poem places a Bard in contact with Awen, that fills the creation.

  Spending time in devotion to the Gods is another way to “find” Awen. Performing regular rituals such as morning devotions or High Day observances will place the Bard in contact with the Divine. In this sacred time and space, a God may come to inspire the Bard to compose an ode in their honor. At other times, the Bard communes deeply with the Divine, and receives the “fire in the head,” compelling her to create.

 A Bard can seek Awen by wandering on the land. After finding a proper listening spot, he prepares to listen deeply to the Spirit of the Land. By employing meditation and paying close attention, the Bard can touch Awen through this Spirit. 

 During particular times of the year or at specific places of the earth, the door to Other Worlds will open. Going through the portal, a Bard can enter these Other Lands. This experience itself will connect the Bard to the wonder and awe of Awen. However, the Bard needs to take care not to become entrapped in the Other World.

 Through their craft, Bards can “find” Awen. By creating a song, picture or some other work, the Bard immerses himself into the stream of Awen. As the Bard deepens his contact through his craft, the more Awen will course through him. Awen usually comes to the Bard who opens himself up to create.

 As a channel for Awen to the present World, the Bard is the intermediary between Awen and people. She gives voice to the unseen and unperceived parts of the Worlds. Therefore, the Bard has to take special care in “finding” Awen. Moreover, she has the responsibility to “use” Awen wisely.

Bardic: Finding Awen: Otherworlds: Fairies and others

After days of cold rain, the weather finally broke to become a delightful spring day. Therefore, I embarked to the local Nature Preserve – Hidden Pond Park. This park, complete with hills, meadows, swamps, and woods, is a pond and creek complex. As I headed towards the Nature Center at the park, I was greeted by a carpet of violets – purple, white, yellow, and mixed. While I walked the downhill path to Pohick Creek, I saw bluebells, spring beauties, and trout lilies. Nearer the creek, fiddlehead ferns were unfurling their heads.

At a bend in the creek, the water formed a small pool. When I sat down, two mallards landed and paddled around. Sitting in the warm sun, I felt drowsy as I held my stuffed lady bug. (I use “Peesey” to travel to the Otherworlds.) Wild fairies were sailing on little leaf boats in the air and on the water. Acting playful, the fairies were laughing until they saw me. Enraged, these fairies ordered me to leave. Since they despised humans, I hastily departed, after leaving an offering to appease the angry fairies.

 After that, I walked up the path to another part of the creek. An ancient oak leaned over the water exposing a huge hole made by its gnarled roots. Holding onto Peesey, I sat down and “descended” to the entrance. Coming through a tunnel, I found myself in a village populated by dwarves. The place hummed with purposeful activity, as the dwarves were busy crafting objects out of various metals. Because of their blast furnaces, the place was hot. I sweated but the dwarves seem comfortable. As their hammers struck against the anvils, a chiming music filled the air. As I wandered around, I noticed that the place was filled with bright colors. However I got the feeling that I was a distraction to the dwarves working, so I left.

 Arriving at the pond, I sat on a bench near some mud turtles basking on a log. As I watched them sun themselves, I fel asleep, waking up in a meadow near a babbling creek. I heard bumble bees buzzing, and bullfrogs croaking jug-a-rums, at the pond nearby. Meanwhile, Canada geese honked a welcome, as the ruler of the place, a fat toad, came to check me out. I apparently passed muster since he decided to sun himself near me. Feeling at peace, I relaxed and slept.

Afterwards, I got up and went home. When I arrived home, I pondered the difference between the three places where I had been. Were they all part of one single Otherworld? Were they all different Otherworlds? I wonder if all the descriptions of the Otherworlds collected through the ages were the six blind men trying to describe an elephant. My feeling from my experience was that I was at different locales of the same Otherworld.

Bardic Magic: Awen Exchanged: Bardic Spirits

To speak to the Spirits of the Land, I went to the nearby railroad cut. On one side of the tracks was a small park and on the other side, a large park with a man-made lake. A pedestrian bridge crossed over the tracks to connect the two parks. Running through my neighborhood, the railroad is a constant presence in our lives. Meanwhile, the Land Spirits have accepted the railroad and often use it to connect with people. 

When I arrived at the small park, I asked to be received by the Spirits of the Land. While walking the path to the bridge, I gloried in the first day of Spring. It was a warm day, whispering of life ready to reappear. As I approached the bench by the bridge, a robin hopped out of the woods into the clearing. Cocking its head towards me, the bird trilled a melody. I was welcomed by the Spirits of the Land. 

While sitting at the bench, soaking up the warm sun, I waited for a spirit to speak to me. Then freight train rattled on through bringing with it, the Being of the Cut. Apparently this ancient Being enjoyed playing with the trains. The Being also like watching people crossing the bridge back and forth. 

The Being of the Cut first noticed people when they blasted into its hill many years ago. Curious, It approached the workers and were told that they were Irish. The workers regarded the Being as one of “Sidhe,” although It did not know what that meant. However, the Being did like that the workers always respectfully greeted It. Afterwards, the Being became more kindly disposed to people and their trains. 

The Being of the Cut told me that It knew me, and regarded me as an old friend. For many years, I would come in the Spring to look for the bluets, growing amongst the moss on the rocks at the cut. I also would search for the white and yellow violets later on. The Being enjoyed my delight at finding these little flowers. As the Being told me this, It settled around me like an old favorite blanket, cozy and warm.

 After a while, I asked for a token of our bond.  Confused, the Being said, “Are not the bluets and violets, which are soon to bloom, enough?” Embarrassed, I apologized for presuming too much. Sitting for a while longer, I wanted to make sure that the Being was not disappointed in me.

 Walking up the path to the road, I was surprised by a Promethea silk moth, a large black moth with gold-silver trim. The moth danced in front of me and showed off its gold-silver tips. Then a second one came and the two tangoed higher and higher up through the trees. I was witnessing a mating dance. Then one of the moths returned to rest on the ground, next to my feet. A few minutes later, the moth flew around me, glimmering in the sun. After that, it flew off to rest in the nearby leaf litter.

 I think that the Being wanted me to return and spend more time in its company. To the Being, I was a friend. We shared in the joy of the first day of Spring. Leaving, I felt whole, and eagerly awaited for the bluets to appear.

Bardic Perspective: Awen Charted: Old Age

To reflect on Old Age, I went to a swampy area where three streams converge. On two sides of this area are woods, several houses on one side, and a road on another side. Crossing over the swamp was a bridge spanning the road and the houses on the hill. This is a liminal place for me for several reasons, such as the swamp is neither earth nor water. Moreover, the wild area lies between a road and houses, with the bridge connecting the two.

For me, noon represents mid-life followed by old age. After the noon hour comes the afternoon, the decline of the day. Since noon, for me, is a liminal time, I chose this time to start my meditation on Old Age.  

The day I went was a blustery winter day. The strong wind blew the dried leaves, which swirled around me, in small eddies. Meanwhile, the sparkling stream water, as it rippled over the tangled roots, reflected the weak winter sun. Seeing the dead leaves strewn about the bottoms of bare trees, I was reminded of Old Age. As the sharp wind knifed through me, it called to mind my own mortality. Moreover, I was off the beaten path, in a place of ancient decay, symbolic of Old Age. The active life, represented by the road and houses, was separated from me by this swamp.

 As I stared out at the swampy overgrown area, an ancient being of hoary old age popped out of the bog. This male being had an unkempt appearance with unruly white hair sticking out of his brows and ears. Sailing about on the wind, he played with the whirling leaves. Laughing, the being said to me, “Never be neat, clean, or civilized. Always be wild and unruly. Never be staid or docile.” As I listened, the being twinkled at me and danced off.

 As I was leaving, I felt the wildness of the swamp bubble up inside of me. Being old was a time to not to live up to anyone’s expectations, instead it was a time to be content with myself. The being’s advice had resided inside of me, and made me rethink growing old. I think I should go and play in the gusting wind with wild abandonment.

Bardic Path Work: Awen Focus: Morning

Early each Sunday morning, I take my trash out to the dumpster near my building. Behind this dumpster is a large field bordered by woods. Beyond the woods are the railroad tracks of the Norfolk and Southern Railroad. Since everything seems so still at this time, I often go to the edge of the woods to listen to “morning.”

The Sunday, I focused on “Awen” was a winter day, devoid of greenery. I stood at the edge of the woods and awaited the day to begin, which out started grey and overcast. The sun was rising but the light was still low. First, I heard the “coo, coo, coo” of the mourning doves, who were resting in the maple trees. The red-bellied woodpecker, hopping along on a trunk of an oak tree, answered them with “Churrups, churrps.” A staccato rhythm continued with the doves and woodpecker calling and responding.

While that was going on, two Carolina wrens searched for food among the tangled basswood trees, hopping from limb to limb. Finally stopping, they began to trill loudly, “pidaro, pidaro, pidaro.” These small pugnacious birds provided the counterpoint to the doves and woodpecker. The rhythm of the bird calls became faster and faster, announcing “Morning is coming!”

 Then silence came abruptly over the field. Something unseen had passed through the woods. My grandmother referred to this phenomenon of noise then sudden silence as “an angel just walked by.” In the presence of the Sacred, we all became silent.

 After a brief while, the woodpecker quietly went “quir, quir”. Then, the two wrens answered, with “tweepudo dip dip dip.” Adding to their calls, the doves boomed “coo, coo, coo.” Again the rhythm of the doves calling and the other birds responding continued, as if nothing had happened. Once the sun became brighter, the birds stopped and went about their business. Morning had arrived.

Bardic Inspiration: Awen Defined: Winter trees

Since it was the middle of winter, I waited for a “January thaw day,” to listen to a tree. Behind my garden condo is a small stream with a grove of trees. My balcony faces an ancient twin oak in this grove. In fact, this oak’s branches extend to the roof of my building. I decided to listen to the twin oak, who has been my friend for many years. The oak is two males who often finish each other sentences. On this day, they were sleepy, having just woken up for the warm day.

Devoid of leaves, the oak’s branches swayed in the slight breeze. Nuthatches were searching for bugs on the trunk, while the titmice were flitting from branch to branch. A flock of geese flew overhead, honking a greeting to the tree. Sleepily, the twin oak acknowledged the geese’s calls.

A few days before a storm had blown through taking with it, the large squirrel nest from the main branches of the oak. Upset at this, the oak felt sad that the squirrels had to build a new home elsewhere. Since they were asleep at the time, the twin oak could not save the nest. Regarding themselves as a protector of life, they wanted the squirrels to feel secure with them.

As I sat with the twin oak, a squirrel jumped up on a branch near my balcony. The upset animal angrily “cheeed” at me, screaming that I was bothering the oak. Before the oak settled back down to their slumber, they said that the squirrels do like to guard them. This particular squirrel (Cut Ear) warned me not to disturb the tree again. I have no idea what this squirrel would do to me, but I certainly did not want to find out. So I went inside.