Gwenwed The White World

Gwenwed or Gwenved means the white world. For the ancient Celts, it is the inner world, circle of white light, culmination and center of three concentric circles: Keugant the outer circle accessible to God alone, Abred the middle circle that men must cross, and finally Gwenwed the inner circle , the white world of bliss and eternal bliss.

Generally accepted, this tradition is only deformation of the first truth, as I explained in the symbolism of the cross. The truth of the origin that no one imagines anymore. Too many generations have forgotten it. It seems imaginary because it does not fit with anything known. So a first ignorant invented a hint about it, the rush has rained, it has been believed, it has been repeated, it has become truth. Cut off from their roots and their distant ancestors, people prefer idiocy to the unbearable. Hence the symbolism! Symbolism learns nothing. Darkening the meaning and distorting the facts, the dark triturate throws in the air and it falls crumbling to the ground. Nonsensical.

Symbolists and ritualists love above all to cut the hair in four in the direction of thickness. This is a useless task, but so difficult that they have the impression of being skillful and doing useful work. These are just public poisoners. I said it, wrote it, sung it and repeated everything: the symbol is what remains when we have forgotten everything. Bastard avatar of reality.

Humans have forgotten. They decorate the squares and walls with empty symbols and hollow signs. Their blood flows on the crowd. Thousand ersatz in one mold. They dance on the glorious ruins of their past. Men are born of the black gods of prehistory. White as a cloth, the superhumans become monkeys. The wheel turns and crushes us. Please! Who is pure enough to resist? What’s hard enough to hesitate? She turns, goes back, turns away and I believe. The cross grinds hearts and fingers. Moisi the king drinks, I do not believe it.

The light of enlightenment ensures the awakening of light. Yesterday’s winter looks stern. Glass in hand, Samain’s kids. It’s not tomorrow the day before awakening. Ask yourself this: what about gwenwed? What about the Circle of White Light? What about the white world? We have often seen explanations of a symbolic order, but we must go beyond the symbol. Exceed this siding. All that is given to us can be explained simply. A child must be able to understand.

But the neo-mystic mumbo-jumbo we are being given to the three circles of the Celts, namely Keugant-Abred-Gwenwed, is totally indigestible. A child does not steal nib. An adult no more. Only the academics indulge, even if they do not understand more. Is it possible to be totally sincere, if only with one’s conscience, and to face the whole truth? Resolutely I ask the question.

The circle of awakening

For my benefactor, the white light was that of enlightenment. When he made me pass my arcane XIII, the catharsis made me climb so high that I crossed the arcane XIIII Temperance at the speed of light to dock the blessed shores of the arcane XVI The Tower. According to him, the white light of enlightenment scorched my hair.

For a moment I floated in the white, an ineffable sensation of sweet and cruel whiteness, before falling back into Temperance. The time of my reunion with the awakening had not come. I kept the taste on the lips, lost paradise of childhood, forbidden fruit. Wait again. Patience is the mother of success. She taught me the meaning of timing.

At length he spoke to us of Gwenwed. I do not know if he had taken his stories from readings or his own funds. He was captivating. A Celtic memory had revived in a corner of his soul, a flickering flame of an ancient candle, and it was blowing gently to stir it up. Sometimes it was a Lakota Sioux memory that he reactivated for us. Sometimes a Basque, Sufi, Tibetan memory. The words flowed too fast and fluid to have been thought of first. His captivating rhythm, his tightly controlled tempo, his flow made us go crazy. He could not approach a subject of any kind without dressing it new, sparkling under the white light. I listened to him open-mouthed, beating heart, eager spirit. Christmas every day.

He wrote very little, too little. A talker, he preferred the orgasmic hypnosis of his audience to the solitary pleasure of writing. I do not have that modesty. I try to resurrect it with my stories. Many of them talk about him. When he died, I knew it was more than a library that was disappearing. But there. The best and the worst have an end. It is the law of this world, its shame and its virtue. For him, indisputably, Gwenwed was awakening. Not as a symbol, but as a description of reality. His reality.

For him, enlightenment has a color, white. At his funeral, which he had fully programmed, those who held the cords of the stove were dressed in the traditional Basque costume, shirt and white trousers, red cloth belt. Thus Jean-Claude had to imagine the colors of the three circles of the soul.

Yes, I used an obsolete French expression that escapes you, which prevents you from grasping the rest. Please forgive me. In the old days, “the cords of the stove” were the cords of the funerary cloth that covered the coffin. These cords were held by relatives of the deceased during the funeral march. At present, there is no more funerary cloth. “Holding the cords of the stove” means carrying the casket, or simply walking near it.

I do not remember everything he said about enlightenment and the white world. It turns out that I went there often. For me this world is colorless. However, undoubtedly under his influence, I can picture it in white. When I’m there, I do not see white, but light. A lot of light. If I had to give the substance of my thought, or rather of my feeling at those moments, I would say that this light is not in an inaccessible sky, but in myself, indeed. Castaneda looks like it’s just a position of the assemblage point. I love his way of seeing things, which was often my benefactor’s. Now I ask another question, burning, throbbing. The third circle, the white world, does Gwenwed represent the awakening for the Celts … or an artificial paradise?

The promised land

Everyone is free to follow the description of Flornoy, the white world of enlightenment. Free to all to be confined to the traditional interpretation of the three circles, namely three worlds whose exterior belongs only to God alone, the intermediate being that of humans and the interior that of eternal happiness. Free to read mine. In these three circles, I see a description of the universe as our distant ancestors have been able to represent it.

As you have understood, I have never been satisfied with the Celtic description. What does this outer circle, accessible to God alone, mean? Does not Gwenwed’s felicity reign there? Yes, of course. God, ifever he exists, must be everywhere, and everywhere his happiness accompanies him. He is in Keugant, but also in Abred and of course in Gwenwed. The order of the circles also displeases me. Why would God be in the outer circle? Is he not inside all things, starting with ourselves? Other details sadden me. This description is strictly symbolic. And the symbol, I said, is what remains when we have forgotten everything.

We have forgotten, among other things, the situation of humans when terraformers -gods if you will- reigned supreme over this planet. They had come in their gigantic mother ship, Eden, Hyperborea, Nibiru, this beautiful place that all humans wanted.

Gwenwed is the promised land. The paradise so much hoped. It is very close to the ground, Hyperborea is hovering over North Pole. It is accessible by a shuttle flight, this shuttle that uses Adapa, and becomes a flying horse in the story of Muhammad. By means of abductions, humans are hoisted to paradise where they stay much longer than a normal human life, thanks to the elixirs given them by the gods: soma, mead, etc. Many legends refer to it.

What I’m saying here is not symbolic. Nothing smoky in this interpretation that is corroborated by all the facts that I have taken care to enumerate in these pages. The terrestrial terraforming, the true face of Eden, the space where the gods alone venture – except for some extremely rare humans such Enoch … moreover almost divine himself. This story was transmitted from generation to generation, then its true origin was lost, the story became myth, it emptied of its substance. From this myth, as always, the rantings of pseudo-scientists have made a kind of indigestible porridge.

Everyone on this subject will choose his truth. Because it is not unique. The truth depends on many parameters. But first and foremost, the degree of knowledge of the human who looks for it. If they do not have all the information, the myths seem fables. But the fables, the bullshits, the nonsenses are rather contained in the interpretation that the academics now give us. Their ignorance and their refusal to open their eyes are without excuse. They drag us day by day in their decadence. If we do not react, instead of the saving global awakening, it is the sleep of all that will bring about the end of the world.

There are things known and there are things unknown, and in between are the Doors of Perception.
Aldous Huxley