Words are simply strings of uttered sounds that attempt to elucidate a perception, they do not inherently prove somethings actuality, a label does not prove reality. Disappointment is no less a symptom of melancholy that a sigh, yet one can be physically perceived whilst the other is but articulation. A rhinoceros is not a Unicorn and never was, despite the poetic and oft repeated affirmations of Greek and Roman writers. Like a painter linguistics creates the reality of a word through clever brush strokes that take an otherwise abstract flourish and magically transform them into a recognizable two-dimensional form in our mind. More amazingly repeated usage can create a convincing genealogy and physical reality for a concept quite blatantly phantasmagorical or mythological.
Druidic beliefs had no time for cosmology, ritualistic lore and practices looked ever backwards, never forwards. What matter if the sun rises earlier tomorrow, the dead are still dead, the living ever searching for meaning, the shaman the only causeway betwixt the two. He who regulated the entry to the underworld controlled all experience past and present. Such a culture or religion has no need for text, no need for hieroglyphics, no interest in passing acquired experience forward only in remembering and extending memories past. Their gods were the same gods as their fathers, their grandfathers, ever back and back into antiquity. The underworld had no limits, and all could exist there, the good or evil, the rich or poor, a warrior or farmer, a king or a slave, all entwined in the same accepted hierarchy with the Druid ascendant overall.
The Druidic mantra is unknown, has no record oral, written or pictorial, is as lost in time as their language, origin, customs, structure, or perspective. We can however surmise from the total lack of substantive evidence that any recording of their sectarian activities was strictly forbidden, that their power existed purely through an absolute acceptance by the populous as a whole, that before their eventual slaughter by the invading Legions they held unique sway throughout the British Isles and whatever parts of Ireland were inhabited. That they verbalized a wholly unique connective language may be surmised by the multiple commonalities in archeology, worship and social structure apparent throughout their period of sway and how most tellingly their downfall led those same peoples, nations and tribes immediately to revert to their original languages, social systems and hierarchies, without any seeming pause.
I would conjecture that perhaps the original ancient Druidic language would seem universal, decipherable by all whom were allowed to understand, a cunning amalgam of all the Celtic dialects but specific to none. A root form that connects all tongues, but singularly stands alone, miraculous in equal measure both in its simplicity and complexity, purely spoken, without obvious grammar or punctuation. Such a construct, understandable in part by all but beyond the capacity for any outside the sect to master would indeed appear sufficiently magical to be the language of the gods themselves.
As many other Britains I have a deeply held conviction as to the basis of their faith, of their natural philosophy, of their interpretation of creation and existence, perhaps even the basis to their language, gestures and interpretive signs. These kernels of knowledge cannot be shared, explained, translated, suggested, or even intimated. Outsiders cannot understand, translate, interpret, even fathom the vaguest hint of their reality. These facts are beyond discussion, incommunicable, without cognitive explanation. Magic emanates from within, it cannot be absorbed from without. Even the most ardent believer is obliged to accept without question.
Being of that lucky race whose pagan hand fits so neatly into the far less controversial glove of Christianity I have never found it necessary to keep closeted my views or opinions. Christian fruit, no matter its particular variety, is generally welcome at society’s feast whilst paganism of any form appears to garner general disapproval. But my people were pagan at inception, grew within a culture of oneness with nature and acquired an inane ability to absorb and shape any new consciousness to exactly fit with the already existing. This is heretical, disconcerting, frightening to any whose viewpoint or beliefs are so singularly focused as to be easily fragmented.
Being raised with a deep understanding of the pagan roots of my peoples has ensured a resilience of grounding that many may envy. I am a son of my homeland as much as of my father, a product of the essence of magic and mystery that permeates every inch of my native soil. As a child I wandered freely and unfettered the fields, forests and hills that create a perfect residence for all the old and new gods, those whose names are spoken or unspoken, whose powers are past or present, whose influences are fashionable or passé.