Thursday, March 13, 2008

Tir na nOg


"The Land of Eternal Youth or the Land of the Ever-Young, Tir na nOg is the most popular of the Otherworlds in Irish mythology. The hero and the guide travel together on magical horses, able to gallop on water, to the Blessed Realm and the hero spends some time there. It is considered a place beyond the edges of the map, located on an island far to the west of Ireland. It could be reached by either an arduous voyage or an invitation from one of its fairy residents (the Tuatha De Danaan). This otherworld is a place where sickness and death do not exist and time seems to stand still. It is a place of eternal youth and beauty. Music, strength, life and all pleasurable pursuits come together in a single place. Happiness lasts forever, no one wants for food or drink." *
"Saint Patrick in legend is to have been met by two ancient warriors, Caílte mac Rónáin and Oisín (regarded in legend as the greatest poet of Ireland), during his evangelical travels. The two were once members of Fionn mac Cumhaill's (Finn McCool) warrior band the Fianna (mythical hunter-warriors), and somehow survived to Patrick's time. They traveled with the saint and told him their stories...one in which Osian is taken to Tir na nOg by a fairy woman named Niamh." *
As Saint Patrick's Day once again makes it's way to our calendars, I am reminded of the monastic Celtic Christianity and Padraig's faithful evangelism to the people of Ireland during a time in history when myth & legend mixed with daily life. I can't help but think of the mythical island of Tir na nOg on St. Patrick's Day...especially if you've ever been in an Irish pub on St. Paddy's night packed full of celebratory Irish (and those who wish they were Irish) like sardines in a tin. Live Irish music being played loud and strong. Everyone singing, drinking, dancing, laughing, enjoying life here and now with friends old & new in honor of loved ones and heroic figures from the past with a hope and promise for the future. That's right...having a pint with yer mates in an Irish pub on St. Paddy's is next to Tir na nOg! Life is good!
God bless ye...Slainte!
* quotes taken from Wikipedia: Tir na nOg, St. Patrick, Osian & "I Am Of Irelaunde: A Novel of Patrick and Osian" by Juilene Osborne-McKnight

Monday, February 18, 2008

my heart calls from across the sea...


oh to step foot once again on Celtic lands.
och bheith ceim coise aris eile ar Ceilteach thailte.
"The roll of the wind. As we sail across the water. The roll of the sea. As we're taken through the night. The dimming lamp of day. Leaves the crimson foam and spray. Across the face of the mighty Atlantic. In this cradle we found love. In our lifetimes we were broken. By the spirit we were turned. Here we touched the hope divine. And in the rapture and the charm. Came the tranquil and the calm. On the rage of the mighty Atlantic." -The Mighty Atlantic by Runrig
"On Lough Neagh's bank, as the fisherman strays, When the clear cold eve's declining, He sees the round towers of other days In the wave beneath him shining; Thus shall memory often, in dreams sublime, Catch a glimpse of the days that are over; Thus, sighing, look through the waves of time For the long faded glories they cover."-Thomas Moore
"We Irish pride ourselves as patriots and tell the beadroll of the valiant ones since Clontarf's sunset saw the Norsemen broken...Aye, and before that too we had our heroes but they were might fighters and victorious. The later men got nothing save defeat, hard transatlantic sidewalks or the scaffold...We Irish, vainer than tense Lucifer, are yet content with half-a-dozen turf, and cry our adoration for a bog, rejoicing in the rain that never ceases, and happy to stride over the sterile acres, or stony hills that scarcely feed a sheep. But we are fools, I say, are ignorant fools to waste the spirit's warmth in this cold air, to spend our wit and love and poetry on half-a-dozen peat and a black bog. We are not native here or anywhere. We were the keltic wave that broke over Europe, and ran up this bleak beach among these stones: but when the tide ebbed, were left stranded here in crevices, and ledge-protected pools that have grown salter with the drying up of the great common flow that kept us sweet with fresh cold draughts from deep down in the ocean. So we are bitter, and are dying out in terrible harshness in this lonely place, and what we think is love for usual rock, or old affection for our customary ledge, is but forgotten longing for the sea that cries far out and calls us to partake in his great tidal movements round the earth." -John Hewitt
"Air sgiath a' seoladh nan neoil. 'S an domhain liath. Mar dhealbh a' tighinn beo tro na sgothan. 'S mi a' tilleadh gu tir. Alba nam beanntan ard. Nan acraichean lom. Thairis air na lochan mointich. Nan coilltean 's nan gleann. Alba.


This flight is sailing through the clouds. And the blue heavens. The homeland appears like a developing photograph. Through the mists as I return to land. I see Scotland of the high mountains. And the empty acres. Flying low across the moorland lochs. The forests and the glens. Scotland."-Alba by Runrig


"Icham of Irlaunde. Ant of the holy londe of irlande. Gode sir pray ich ye. For of saynte charite. Come ant daunce wyt me in irlaunde.

I am of Ireland. Out of the holy land of Ireland. I pray you good sir. For the sake of holy charity. Come and dance with me in Ireland." -14th Century anonymous