“Love, Wisdom, Truth”
As with all my mystical creatures in The Way of Wytch, Awen is based upon Pagan folklore and magical culture. Originating in Wales, and its mention in Irish tales as well as Arthurian legend gives Awen a nicely rooted heritage.
It is the free spirit of inspiration, known to bards, soothsayers and the creative arts.
My character, or rather race of character, are named Awen. A wispy creature who is first spied as a flash of dazzling blue light on the peripheral, only showing herself when she is sure of her subject. With ease of movement, graceful twists, and turns, she reveals herself. Morphing from the blue light into a pale cloud of incandescent dust, whipping up into the air and twisting around as if carried on a spring breeze. Awen is based in the eastern quarter and is the rapture of air.
“It was as though a spirit or ghost were dancing in front of my very eyes. But it was nothing like any ghost I had ever seen or heard of before.It was the most entrancing and enticing vision. One of love.She begged me dance with her, but I feared I didn’t know the steps, I could not hear the music.”
The boy sat down, not daring to meet his fathers eyes, he had wanted for so long to be away from here, to be in the city. His own eyes were glazed, his breath caught in his throat, still in awe of what he had just witnessed.
“She hypnotised me perhaps, for at once I heard her song, sweet and full of the words I often longed to speak. And I danced with her. I knew the steps. I felt the beat pulsate through my very core. But she left me then. No. Not left me. She became me!”
See. The boy thrust the parchment at his father.
“If those words do not make you weep Father, then you have never experienced its truth. I can even play it now for you if needed”
His father stepped toward the rush light at the wall and began to read.
“You wrote this lad?” He asked, without hiding his emotion. “I’ll not disbelieve you again.” He continued. “For this indeed is what love is. It is what I felt for your mother, and it’s how I pine for her passing now.”
Was it her ghost that the boy had seen, the father wondered. Had she visited on this day for a reason?
It is at that moment of realisation, the Awen takes form. She becomes the very thing of beauty of which her subject believes beauty to be. She opens her arms and allows herself to be absorbed into them. It is usually at this point, her subject is so consumed by love, wisdom and truth, that they only half believe what they witnessed to be true. Until that is, the Awen are needed again.
How many of us can say, that we too have had that brilliant flash of inspiration, experienced the beauty of art, or been carried away on the words of our own imagining.