Shamanic Bardism

“ I am Bard, teller of lies…”

 

For many people, when they think of someone as being a Bard, they think of flowery poetry and songs, perhaps epic ballads and tales told around a campfire. While all those things can be true, that does not even begin to scratch the surface of the Bardic experience, or what all being a Bard is truly about. Likewise, when they consider a Shaman, oftentimes images of feathers and fur, and someone sitting on a hillside in deep meditation come to mind. But as with the Bard, understanding what the Shamanic Path is truly about is often something elusive, and this can especially be the case when considering Shamanic Bardism.

 

Being a Bard is not all about music – although many, if not most, Bards have some musical talents, or at the very least a appreciation for music in it’s myriad forms. Nor does it have simply to do with poetic expression – although again, many are quite gifted in this regard. Rather, the Bard is one who finds a way to say something and nothing at the same time, to weave together threads in such a way that in a few words volumes can be said. This comes through years of understanding and experiencing this peculiar and mysterious thing we call “life”, and more often than not requires a bit of madness to truly get its message across. The Bard uses metaphor and imagery to paint a picture – be it an actual painting or work of physical art, or a more abstract art-form such as poetry, song, or even prose. And much like still photographs, these pictures are captured moments in time, which are not just bits and pieces of things seen, heard, and smelt, but also – and perhaps most importantly – things that are felt. The Bard is typically a person of extremes – delving into the depths of human emotion and bringing things forth which many barely know exist, and in some cases – particularly regarding those darker emotions – don’t want to see. But it is the task of the Bard nonetheless to bring these things to light, and to do so in such a manner that it can be read or looked at many times over, and each time reveal another layer of existence.

 

These varying layers of existence are of even greater import when one considers the work of the Shaman, particularly the Shaman who is also working as a Bard. The Shaman is traditionally a walker between the worlds, one who stands in-between, never truly a part of this world or the Spirit World, with which he or she has regular, if not continuous, contact. The Shaman is at the same time a reader of the Weave and a manipulator of the Weave, pulling threads together or apart and re-braiding things as they need to be done. They do so not only through their own strength of Spirit, but also through the assistance of many others, Spirit Allies as well as physical allies (ie., friends and family). And of course, the Shaman does not do these things simply for fun, but rather for the betterment of their “people”, whomever they should be. Typically, one thinks of a Shaman serving a particular tribe or clan, but in our post-modern, Information Age, this can just as easily be an extended “clan” of persons located the world over, bound together not be geography, but rather through the Spider’s Web of Spirit which now blankets the Earth.

 

Shamanic Bardism brings these two very similar worlds together; that is, the world which sees things through eyes which are not necessarily focused upon our physical world, and that world which finds its fulfillment in expression of an artistic sort. The Shamanic Bard goes beyond the work of the Bard, and adds an extra weft and warp to the weaving together of poems or songs which arise as a result. Their work goes deeper than exploring the depths of human emotion; it taps into forces even deeper, down to the very psyche of the human soul. In this manner, the practitioner plucks out chords which resonate on levels which transcend the understanding of the mere words or tunes, and stirs up something which oftentimes cannot even be explained or expressed in words. Likewise, things which might not otherwise be accessible to others can be brought forth in a manner which makes it accessible to anyone. A good example of this would be chants or songs which are given during a Journey, whose language need not even be of this existential plane, yet whose “meaning” and resonance allows us to touch or contact things which are not always easily seen. Similarly, the Shamanic Bard can also oftentimes impart a vision of other realms which they have seen through the medium of song, picture, or poetry which allows others to – on some level, at least – experience things which they may not have had access to before. In essence, the Shamanic Bard finds his or her expression not only in walking between the worlds or acting as intermediary, but also in bringing the worlds together, where anyone – even generations apart – can benefit from their Journeys.

Brightest of Blessings be with one and All,

D. Shadowviper (aka. SV)

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Pair Dadeni
The Cauldron of Renewal
(Bran)
(based on 2nd branch Mabinogi: Branwen ferch Llyr)
(deutsche Version darunter)

The title sovereign of wales I hold
Blessed Raven, giant Land
Bran, son of Llyr I’m called
Cauldron of Renewal in my hand

As a gift I got it from Lassar, the Flame
wealth and peace in my whole realm
Into my empire the noble King of Ireland came
And promptly married  my sister Branwen

Evnyssin, my bad brother was not satisfied
He crucified Ireland horses and the peace broke
The dishonoring of Ireland directly applied
For peace I presented them with the cauldron and spoke

Are you so unfortunate to have dead warriors
Into this cauldron you should cast them
One day later they awake again
But Without voice they will be, then

For a short time we had peace and silence
But unhappy was Evnyssin with it all
His wickedness again came in abundance
Now Irishmen fight against us without a soul

This slaughtering didn’t want to end
My brother this endless cruel killing didn’t sustain
When the cauldron rumbled the Undead permanently stayed
to stop this Evnyssion smashed the cauldron, and peace was gained

copyright 2011 by m_a
***

Pair Dadeni
Kessel der Erneuerung

Herrscher von Wales, das bin ich
gesegneter Rabe, riesiges Land
Bran, Sohn von Llyr nennt man mich
Kessel der Erneuerung in meiner Hand

Lassar, die Flamme gab ihn als Geschenk an mich
Wohlstand und Friede in meinem gesamten Reich
Der edle König von Irland, offenbarte sich
Und verehelichte sich mit meiner Schwester, Branwen, sogleich

Evnyssin, mein böser Bruder, war das nicht genehm
quälte Irlands Pferde und der ewige Friede brach
Irlands Entehrung war damit geschehn
Für Friede gab ich ihnen den Kessel und sprach

Habt ihr unglücklicherweise tote Krieger
werft sie in diesen Kessel rein
einen Tag später erwachsen sie wieder
Doch ohne Stimme werden sie sein

Kurze Zeit war wieder Friede und Ruh
Doch Evnyssin war damit unzufrieden
seine Bosheit von Neuem erblühte im Nu
Iren ohne Seelen uns nun bekriegen

Das Schlachten nicht mehr enden wollte
Mein Bruder dieses Töten nicht ertrug
Untote ständig auferstanden wenn der Kessel grollte
Um das endlich zu beenden, Evnyssin den Kessel zerschlug

copyright 2011 by m_a

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Ceridwen´s Kessel
The Cauldron of Ceridwen
(no english translation yet)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Den Kessel den einen bring ich euch heut
Die Weiße Poetin (Ceridwen) ist es der er gehört

Zwei Kinder sie ihr eigen nennt
Unter den Namen, Creirwy(schönste Maid) und Avagddu(tiefste Dunkelheit) man sie kennt

Wie Tag und Nacht waren sie, alles was das Mädchen bekam war dem Jungen vertan

Ihr liebster Knabe tat ihr unendlich leid,
sie wollte ihm schenken das Wissen um Raum und Zeit

So ging sie zu den Wiesen und Wäldern
Tief hinunter ans Meer und hinauf zu den Bergen wo der Himmel war ganz nah

Weizenähre, Beifuss, Heckenbeere, Eisenkraut und Mistel fein.
Vermischt mit Seeschaum gibt sie in den Kessel rein.

Den kleinen Weber (Gwion) holt sie so gleich und sagte:
Der Kessel muss brodeln 1 Jahr und 1 Tag, bevor er offenbart was er so lange verbarg.

Geschwind wie der Wind verging die Zeit,
Der kleine Weber (gwion) allein mit dem Trank, drei Tropfen sprangen über in seine Hand
In dem Moment, die Weisheit in ihm entstand.

Das Unglück nicht mehr weit.
Die weiße Poetin (Ceridwen) sehr empört, denn der kleine Weber (Gwion) nahm was nicht ihm gehört.

Sie jagten sich in vielerlei gestalten, über die grüne Erde den Himmel hinauf bis tief hinunter in die See, bis das ende war nah und sie ihn aß bis nichts mehr von ihm war da.

Nach neun Monaten sie ihn gebar aber er ist nicht mehr der der er vorher war,
Der Funke ist nun in ihm voll erwacht, und er hat uns Awen näher gebracht

Nie vergessen wird sein Name, Taliesin die Strahlende Braue man ihn überall nennt und sein Geschichte nun jeder kennt.

copyright 2011 by m_a

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