When I sing, in the old tongue, the ancient songs of Amergin of the Mil, and Nede MacAdnai, and so on.... Images weave pattern of light, as if in knotwork formations ever changing, and I am at one with the three cauldrons of my soul. The first, is Coire Goraith, the cauldron of ancient crone Morrignu, or Cerridwen, the keeper of the awen for child, Avagddu, yet bestowed upon Gwion Bach, reborn the child of Elphin as he said aloud, "Behold a Radiant Brow!". It warms my entire being, from my foundation, keeping my physical sustained. The second, the sacred well of Necthain, brother of the Dagda of the Dananns. The well which Boann of the Bruigh encircled thrice windershins invoking the wrath of nature upon her in a floodwave. The mystical well of poetry where dwells the salmon of wisdom round the hazels nine. It is the cauldron of vocation, Coire Ernma, the center. It is asked and it is filled with questions. Questioned, it is filled with answers. The third is blessed cauldron of the Dagda, the cauldron of Murias, Coire Sois. The cauldron of regeneration which nurtures my eternal essence with an enormous laddle. It is the realm of the higher soul as it lies within the head. As the three rotate in my persona I am blessed with imbas, and my poetry is brought to life through my toil, then wrapped in the fabric of my spirit through.....sacred......song.
"Do not take living compensation, great Fionn MacCumhal, for the love of Diarmuid and Grainne is true. Oh Rig of the Fianna, please remember your Sadb."