Cerridwen’s Brew; the Psychedelic Priestesses and the Theft of Indigenous Wisdom by Kelle Ban Dea

Recently I wrote about how the story of Cerridwen and Taliesin is not a muse and hero tale but a tale of stealing from the goddess. Violating her priestesses and exploiting the land.

That is one reading of it. There is another though, which may have some grounding in historical fact and may be a warning to a particular issue gaining prominence today; the rise of the psychedelic industry.

Although neo-Druids, for whom this tale forms part of their core mythology, interpret the awen that Cerridwen brews in her cauldron as the ‘flowing spirit of inspiration,’ the original text makes it clear it is a potion. Cerridwen gathers ‘every kind of charm-bearing herb’ for the potion. Three drops of it turn the boy Gwion Bach into the shaman-bard Taliesin, but the rest is poison.

After ingesting just three drops from this potent brew, Gwion Bach shapeshifts repeatedly, is swallowed by Cerridwen and reborn as Taliesin in what has clear parallels with a classic shamanic initiation or vision quest.

Traditionally, vision quests were prompted by entheogens, or psychedelics, such as ayahuasca, certain types of mushrooms and natural forms of LSD. The Iron Age Druids themselves are believed to have taken psychedelics, including amanita muscaria mushrooms, which would be deadly in all but tiny doses. Is the awen then, a psychedelic? It certainly makes more sense of the story that it is a herbal potion rather than a ‘flowing spirit.’ Yes, the potion could be symbolic in the same way the cauldron is symbolic of the womb of the Goddess, but then why the very specific detail about Cerridwen gathering ‘charm-bearing herbs?’

I have always wondered about this, but when I read Brian Muraresku’s The Immortality Key^[1], I became almost certain of it. In this book, Muraresku presents convincing evidence for the use of psychedelics in ancient religions. While scholars have long posited that they were used in Classical mystery cults such as the Eleusinian rites, which centered around the myth of Demeter and Persephone, Muraresku also presents evidence for psychedelics being used by early Christians as part of the original Communion rites. That the Holy Grail contained not the ‘blood of Christ’ but a magic potion brewed by women. If that sounds fantastical, consider the fact that the Vatican’s vineyards used to produce a wine called Vin Mariani, which contained cocaine, until the drug became illegal.

More interestingly for my purposes here, Muraresku shows that these ‘sacred chalices’ were most often administered by women. At least until the mystery cults were closed down and the priests all became men.

I can’t help wondering then, even though Muraresku doesn’t address the Celtic world, if something similar is going on in Cerridwen’s myth. The psychedelic awen, once the province of the Goddess and her priestesses, is stolen by men. In a later, Arthurian tale, the well priestesses, who offer the sacred chalice to the king, are raped and the chalice is stolen or disappears. This is a recurring motif across the Celtic world, just as the psychedelic chalice, according to Muraresku, was across the Classic and early Christian. The Hindu Vedas have the magic brew Soma which many scholars interpret as a psychedelic. These are all Indo-European myths and so likely originate from the same, much older source.

But even if the awen was a psychedelic, what is the relevance for today?

Psychedelics, after having been discredited and made illegal for decades, are having a resurgence. Spiritual seekers flock to South America for ayahuasca and peyote trips, believing that these will heal them and give them a spiritual experience. Many ayahuasca takers report seeing an entity they call Mother Aya. There is a drive to license other psychedelics such as Ecstasy, LSD and psilocybin (found in mushrooms) for use in therapeutic settings, especially in trauma work. Moreover, it is big business, attracting huge corporations and billionaire funders.

But it is not priestesses administering it, not usually. Most of those billionaire funders are men. Alt-right leaning, ‘men’s rights’ influencers such as Jordan Peterson and Joe Rogan are promoting their use.

And the psychedelic industry has a violence against women problem.

The burgeoning ‘psychedelic therapy’ movement has been dogged by accusations of sexual assault and coercion, some leading to clinical trials being shut down. Women have come back from ayahuasca trips traumatized after being raped or coerced into abusive relationships with pseudo ‘shamans’ – the descendants of Taliesin – running the retreats. Of course someone is in an intensely vulnerable position when experiencing a hallucinatory, altered state, and so these traumas cause intense suffering on the part of victims.

This is not how Cerridwen intended her brew to be used. For it to be co-opted by the patriarchy for its own profit-making, abuse enabling ends. These substances are potent and powerful, deadly in the wrong hands. Reading Cerridwen’s story, and then the stories of psychedelic abuse, it feels like legend coming to life. Or history repeating.

Maria Sabina was an indigenous Mexican shaman trained to administer psychedelic mushrooms to her community. After banker Gordon Wasson came across her and wrote a book about her, publishing her identity and location without her consent, Americans in the Sixties flocked to Maria Sabina to participate in the mushroom ritual. Sabina was known to remark on their lack of respect for her community’s traditions. Her Mazatec community blamed her for the disruption and she was ostracized, her house burned down and her son murdered. Wasson became known as the man who ‘discovered psilocybin.’ Patents of the chemical compounds are now worth billions of dollars.

Maria Sabina died in poverty. Her family have never received any compensation for the fact that their traditional knowledge of psychedelics was stolen and commodified.

The theft by Taliesin continues.

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^[1] Muraresku, Brian C. The Immortality Key: the Secret History of the Religion with No-Name (2020) St. Martin’s Press