Even amongst members of other earth-based belief systems, it is amazing how often I get the raised eyebrow when I mention that I am walking not only the Druid path but also the Shamanic Way.
“Shamanic? Don’t you think that is disrespectful? How can you call messengers from the Otherworld ‘Spirit Guides’? That’s cultural appropriation right there!”
Judgement and misunderstandings are always just a step away.
The simple truth to this is that using such terms and concepts as a native Brit isn’t cultural appropriation at all. Aside from the fact that other Shamanic cultures in the world certainly didn’t use the English language to define their beliefs back in the day, Britain (and Europe too) have their very own Shamanic history left over from the time when arboreal forest covered much of the land. A history which is just as vivid and real as that found in places like Tibet and the US.
So, why don’t we have our own term for it? Well, actually, we do. The archaic term Awenydd (along with several other archaic terms) more than adequately express the essence of traditional Brythonic Shamanism, and ysbryd cyfarwydd – meaning familiar spirit – has all of the old connotations for a spirit messenger from the other side of the veil. Why don’t we use those terms in a more mainstream fashion then? To put it simply, the majority of people wouldn’t have any clue how to pronounce these terms, let alone an inkling as to what we were talking about. Shamanism and Spirit Guides are well-known terms in modern society, and most people have, at the very least, a fundamental idea of what they mean. As much as I wish the old languages would come back into common use, it simply isn’t realistic to expect that they would – especially as, if the news is anything to go by, a fair number of native Brits today don’t even seem to have a proper grasp of the Queen’s English. Long and short, in general conversation, we make do with the most comprehensible and expedient option that is available to us in modern times.
So, what is Traditional Brythonic Shamanism?
I, and many others, entertain the belief that most, if not all, Shamanic cultures in the world – from the Indigenous American Nations to the people of Tibet etc. are all descended from the same people. What backs up this belief is the significant commonality which all of these cultures share, in terms of beliefs, practices, etc.
It is becoming increasingly evident that back in Palaeolithic times, when the earth looked very different than it does today, and when our human ancestors were still living the hunter-gatherer lifestyle that nature intended for us, our people were migratory in nature – in the same way, that many other species were, and still are today.
The planet was a far less stable place to exist back then, and from year to year and decade to decade our ancestors were continually at the mercy of natural forces – such as rising sea levels and advancing and retreating ice sheets. Even more than that, because of our hunter-gatherer ways we were also dependent on the natural migration cycles of the large prey animals which we relied on for much of our existence, such as deer, giant elk, and auroch. We relied on these herds for almost everything; clothes, food, shelter, tools. Their importance and the reverence with which our ancestors viewed them sadly can’t be sufficiently compared to anything present in modern-day living.
Being hunter-gatherers and existing in tribal families, our ancestors would have also placed great worth on inter-tribal communication and trade in order to ensure that they had access to everything that they needed to survive. They would share provisions and pass along news of weather and any geographic events that were happening at the time – it is logical to also assume that beliefs, traditions, rituals, and practices would also have been passed from tribe to tribe, just as they still are today via mediums like literature, social media, etc.
As well as lifestyle adaptations, something else which appears to be common to most cultures on earth at some point in their individual history, is the idea and acknowledgement of a female antlered deity or a more-than-human being, with the ability to transform herself into a deer. More often than not, this deity was also considered to be a Sovereign Goddess guardian/embodiment of the land itself. She is probably the most ancient deity which we have knowledge of within the British Isles, existing long before humanity’s lean towards the worship of patriarchal deity, which we see evidenced in mainstream religion today.
Back in our ancestor’s times, the Antlered Goddess held sway, and she was considered, at the very least, the equal of her male consort, the Antlered/Horned God. Across all of these different cultures, she went by many names and had countless tales and acts attributed to her. Just as it is the eldest female reindeer in the herd who retains her antlers through the winter months and leads and protects the herd, so too did the children of the Antlered Goddess look to her for guidance and protection. She was a goddess of the trackways, of the migratory paths of the vast herds, which today – in most cases – only the herds themselves remember. Just as she was revered as goddess of the physical pathways, so too was she considered to be a guide and guardian of the inner pathways.
Unfortunately, with the oft-brutal advance of new world religions, much of the information which existed on this root deity was destroyed or overwritten in such a way as to make it palatable to those in power. But, despite this, the Antlered Goddess lived on; surviving in many forms from ancient art, to story, and song. Over the passing centuries, she was given many names; one of the most well-known today being Elen of the Ways. The name Elen is drawn from many sources (the Dream of Macsen Wledig and the figure of Elen Luyddog/Elen of the Hosts (or, post Christianisation, Saint Helen) being the most well-known.
To me, she first appeared as Mother Deer when I was only just five years old. Both of my grandmothers had just died within six months of each other (my first experience of death) and, although I only learned it later on, my mother also lost a baby in that time. They were very dark days filled with a lot of sadness and confusion. My parents did the best they could to help me understand, to grieve, and start to heal, but they weren’t the only ones trying to help me.
Mother Deer first appeared shortly after the death of my maternal grandmother, Kathleen. Initially, Mother Deer and the forest in which she lived (which she also presided over and protected) acted as a safe haven. Somewhere where I could find peace and comfort from all of the hurt, which was consuming my daily life. I would come to know this forest well in the following months and would visit her there most nights. We would sit and talk, and explore the wild wood together, sharing the beauty and wonder of it. My paternal grandmother, Hazel, passed early the next spring, but still, Mother Deer remained my constant. She was my confidant, friend, matriarch, healer, and guide, and in time she gave birth to two beautiful fawns, bringing new life to the forest. But with new life came something darker.
On Christmas Eve the following year she taught me something vital in a way that, to date, nothing else had been able to express – at least not in terms that I could truly understand. She taught me what death truly is.
Late that evening, I came downstairs crying my eyes out because the unthinkable had happened. Mother Deer was dead. She had been killed by a large black bull who had come to threaten the forest and its inhabitants, and her two fawns were now motherless and alone in the world (yes, I know this is sounding rather like the plot line from The Last Unicorn, isn’t it? But it would be near on a decade later, several years after the birth of my younger brother, before I would experience this film for the first time, tucked up warm in piles of duvets on the lounge sofa, so this experience was definitely not influenced in that way).
With tear-filled eyes, I painfully recounted the entire incident to my parents, who told me many years later that, at the time, they were so concerned by my emotional state and the vivid nightmares which I had begun to experience, that they took me privately to see a child psychologist to help me process the terrible losses which I had suffered).
As an interesting aside, a few years ago, I decided to look into the meaning of Bull and from what I gather Bull was considered by the Celts to bring fertility to the land. Yet again, we find that ancient pairing of Deer Mother (feminine aspect – Sovereign Goddess and embodiment of the land) with the Black Bull (darker masculine aspect of fertility – a dream representation of her consort bringing new life to the land). Elen is often paired with the Horned God – Sovereign Goddess to Fertile Consort. The Horned God, however, has two sides – light vs dark – life vs death – Oak King vs Holly King.
Needless to say, I was bereft at the loss of my friend and guide. Whenever I recount this experience, I can see the horrified look on peoples’ faces. Why on earth would I feel a lifelong connection to a deity who acted in such a cruel way, at such a dark and vulnerable time in my young life? The answer is simple – our connection didn’t end there.
For several months I didn’t dream of Mother Deer at all. I would still return to the wild wood sometimes in my dreams, but it was a dark and empty place now. It was always late autumn or winter, and everything was dead and decaying. The fawns were still there – I could feel their presence and sometimes catch glimpses of them in the distance – but they were hiding. The Bull still reigned over the forest, and without Mother Deer, I could see no way that his darkness would ever come to an end. I was wrong.
It wasn’t long after the birth of my younger brother that Mother Deer re-entered my life. More change had arrived in the form of a new baby, and although I didn’t have my grandmothers anymore (who had been my best friends for the whole of my childhood to date – there were very few children where I lived at the time), I had a new ally in the form of my new brother.
One night, my dreaming mind returned to the wild wood, but I was surprised to see that things had started to change. The snow had receded, and there were buds on the trees and a scattering of crocuses and the like in amongst the dead grass. For a moment I thought that maybe the Bull had gone and I took a few steps forward. It was then that I realised that I could see my brother’s pushchair in the distance across a large glade near the far treeline. I ran across to him, wondering how he had managed to find my special place, and it was only as I reached out for the handle of the pushchair that I realised we weren’t alone.
From out of the trees came the giant Black Bull. My brother began to cry, and I took hold of the handle and slowly began to back away from the bull. Seeing the movement, he began to charge, and I broke into a run, desperately trying to get away and to pull my brother to safety. I couldn’t let anything happen to him. The bull was gaining on us fast, and he bit at my brother’s stockinged feet. My brother cried louder, and I was sure that the bull had hurt him. Any moment though it wouldn’t matter any more, as we were nearing the far treeline and there was nowhere else that I could run – not while pulling the pushchair behind me. I was so afraid, in fact, that it jarred me back awake again and I found fresh tears running down my face.
A day or two later, despite dreading it every time I closed my eyes, I returned to the wild wood. I was still in the same position as where I had been when I woke myself up, but instead of the thundering of hooves on hard earth, I was met with stillness and quiet. Looking ahead, I realised that the trees in front of me were all decked in their greenery again, as they had been before the bull drove all of the life out of them. For a moment, I couldn’t work out what had happened, but then a familiar form stepped from the trees. Mother Deer.
She looked wonderful – not a single mark or scar to show that anything bad had happened to her. I ran towards her and threw my arms around her neck. I couldn’t believe that my friend was back. It was nothing short of magical, and I knew in my heart that everything would be alright now; that I was finally safe again. My brother, who had been silent until then, started giggling and cooing – as babies tend to do – and I turned, half expecting to see that the Black Bull had gone; somehow destroyed by Mother Deer’s renewed presence in the forest. But he wasn’t gone, merely transformed. Where before he had been huge, fearsome, and terrifying, he was now handsome and strong – death dealer turned protector. I felt no fear at seeing him walking sedately across the meadow towards us.
Mother Deer patiently explained that it had been her time to die and go away for a time, but that no separation is permanent, and even when we are apart, we are still connected. Her fawns came from the trees behind her, but they were now fully grown and looked almost identical to their mother. Years later I would finally recognise the cyclical nature of our meeting – life and death marching with the pace of the passing seasons, the bull’s role as both life bringer and life taker – consort and guardian of the Mother of Creation and warden of the winter months, when his lady and the wild wood retreated to slumber deep within the rich dark earth. At the time, though, I was just happy to have my friend back.
There is a concept within traditional Brythonic spirituality called ‘Kenning’ (also the route of ‘Cunning’ which is another term for the followers of Brythonic earth spirituality, once commonly known as the Cunning Folk) which means ‘to know something without a shadow of a doubt and without needing any kind of proof, basically you just ken/know. From that moment on, I knew that I would see my grandmothers again. I knew that my soul had lived many lives before this one and that it would doubtless live many more yet to come. I knew that all of existence was intrinsically linked, that we all come from and return to the same universal life force or world soul, and I knew that souls travel together and that everyone who I meet in this life, I will be meeting again in some form or other in the next.
Until this point, death had seemed so impenetrable and immovable; something that stole the ones you loved from you and swallowed them up, taking them away to a place where you could neither see them or feel the warmth of their souls for the rest of your earthly life – and even then there was a chance that you would be parted from them in the afterlife. Mother Deer (or the Deer Mother as I now know her to be) shone a light of true understanding into that darkness that finally allowed my heart to begin healing.
I consider my meeting with Mother Deer to be the first step that I took on my journey through Brythonic Shamanism and the first ray of light illuminating Elen’s ways to my sight.