It is said that the Song of Amergin encapsulates the essential, esoteric truths of “druidism.” My Buddhist-trained mind sees it as the “Heart Sutra” of Druidry. It contains all of the essential teachings deeply embedded in its imagery. One could study and meditate upon it for a lifetime and still not uncover all its secrets.

In my research of the Song, I’ve found dozens of translations, including a famous one by Robert Graves which, after reading more literal translations, I consider an abomination.

My personal version is one in which I cherry-picked preferred translations from two fairly literal versions: one I found in an ADF ritual and one by Lady Gregory. Here it is:

I am a wind upon the sea
I am a wave of the ocean
I am the sound of the sea
I am a stag of seven tines
I am the bull of seven battles
I am a hawk above the cliff
I am a golden teardrop of the sun
I am the fairest of blossoms
I am a wild boar in valor
I am a salmon in a pool
I am a lake in a plain
I am the word of knowledge
I am the head of the spear in battle
I am the God who kindles fire in the head
Who enlightens the assembly upon the mountain, if not I?
Who telleth the ages of the moon, if not I?
Who showeth the resting-place of the sun, if not I?

I found a very helpful exposition of the Song, with the original Celtic text, literal translation, and poetic interpretation of each line, by Mad_Dog_Fargo, on Everything2.com. He concludes with his own observation about the deeper meaning of the Song:

The Song of Amergin is not really about what it means to be a druid, but rather what it means to be a poet. Since it has established that the poet lives in varying forms in all of us, it is applicable to druids, but is also applicable to everyone.

In other words, it’s not about being a druid, it’s about being human.

I am very pleased to discover that the MySpace CR community has put together a rather thorough and well organized FAQ detailing what Celtic Reconstructionism is and is not. It is of particular interest to me, as I consider myself a Celtic Reconstructionist. So far, it’s the best, most detailed overview I have yet to find on the Internet.

There I was strolling through Albertson’s when I spied a cobalt blue bottle winking at me from a bottom shelf in the international foods section. Well, I guess in reality what caught my attention was a label which said Ty Nant. You see Ty Nant is Welsh for house by the brook or house by the stream. Naturally I was curious about this lovely bottle with the Welsh label.

As it turns out Ty Nant is bottled spring water from the village of Bethania in northwest Wales.

Bethania is a small village just south of Blaenau Ffestiniog. The closest large towns are Caerarfon and Bangor both of which are about 40 miles north through the mountains. Of course one can always take the Ffestiniog narrow guage railway to Porthmadog on the coast. Once noted for local quarries, Bethania now reaches from the wilds of north Wales to the world with spring water!

Who is to say that this water, pumped from the earth and bottled, is not from an aquifer serving the sacred wells of Wales? Certainly it has percolated through the stone heart of some of the most sacred landscape in all the world. But then it’s just water…water that just happened to find its way to a shelf in a market in Louisiana and just happened to catch the eye of a confirmed “Cymruophile” who just happened to be walking by. It’s just water…or is it?

Sacred Wells of Wales
They wait in silence,
those Wells of Wales,
those Sacred Wells.
They wait in stony, earthy, watery silence.
I hear snippets of stories told
by those silent stones of old,
stones that protected well
those Ancient Wells,
some clearly defined as in the light of
of a sunny, summer’s day,
some crumbling until there’s only gravel
scattered in that moist and blessed soil,
some have vanished,
hidden in the mists of time.
Look you then, for guardian trees,
sacred trees, Hawthornes perhaps, inhabited by faeries
and if you’re still, very still,
you may yet see the well that was –
you may even feel the dragon’s breath.
Will they welcome me,
those sacred wells,
when I am old and my journey’s nearly done?
Will the oldest of the ancients
share their secrets?
For even though their stones have crumbled
and the seep is almost dry,
the Goddess dwells, I know, in that moist and scared soil?

- Vi Jones ©May 18, 2004

Dr. Raimund Karl, history professor at the University of Wales Bangor, has recently redone the wikipedia article on Celtic Law and is asking for critiques.

I’m no scholar, but as an attorney, I find Celtic law fascinating, and this article seems to give an excellent overview. I think no Celtic Reconstructionist’s spiritual practice can be complete without some study of this body of law which, in my mind, is superior in some respects to modern law.

Montserrat sits in the Caribbean Sea southeast of Puerto Rico. Most folks remember it because of the devastating eruption of Soufriere Hills volcano in 1995 and subsequent burps by the volcano. Few know that the majority language of Montserrat up until 1900 was Irish Gaelic. Ann “Goody” Glover was hanged for witchcraft in Boston in 1688. Ann had two strikes against her going in…she was an Irish Catholic… and a slave. The connection between the Montserratans speaking Irish Gaelic and Ann Glover’s untimely demise is one of the cloistered secrets of the English speaking world. During the 17th Century, hundreds of thousands of Irish were sold into slavery in the new world. While Elizabeth I is credited with the idea of an Irish genocide, Oliver Cromwell pursued it with a zeal that would place him squarely in the middle of the basket with Hitler or Saddam. We will never know how many Irish were sold into slavery during the 17th and early 18th Centuries. Records are scant and it’s not something of which the British are particularly proud. We can say that it runs into the hundreds of thousands in places like Barbados, Montserrat, Virginia and Massachusetts. Irish folk were a profitable commodity since unlike African slaves that had to be purchased for resale, the supply of Irish was unlimited and free. They were a bargain to the planters since the initial cost was less than that of an African slave. For ~900lbs of cotton, any good Protestant planter could own a fully able Irishman or woman. Children of course were a tad less expensive. Irish slavery lasted until 1839 when a bill was passed in Parliament banning the slave trade. When he learned that the ban was immanent, the Bishop of Exeter reluctantly agreed to sell his 655 slaves…as long as he was compensated. You’ll find little mention in history books about the Irish slave trade or about the scattered Welsh, Scots and other native Britons sold into slavery. These were not indentured servants but true, owned body and soul, slaves. Most died in bondage in far off places like Virginia, Massachusetts, New York, Montserrat, Barbados and other crown colonies. Some simply interbred with African slaves until no trace remained and some few went on to find freedom in the New World. Ann “Goody” Glover was initially sold as a slave in Barbados.