The stories you read of Ireland far away; long away, ago, in mist of time forgotten. Of gleaming paths, crystal jeweled, that stream into the night. Those nights. Oh, those nights….that illumine a ribbon winding. Yes, those nights…they are real! Those stories are of sight gifted, not by chance or luck or magic, but by birth. Luck of birth upon these isles where light angles, and mist falls, and some uncanny turn of our starship planet home, gifts this place.
It’s sight.
For stories long forgotten, yet heard upon the winds, tell of this land of shining ways; and of people fair. Through time was it carried, first by mother, then by child.
But do not weep, or feel neglected. Your Place is waiting. For she has magic, too. Her story is yet written, or was written, yet told many long years…
so long. Ago. it was forgotten. In that world of type,print, eye – knowledge.
Remember your heart. It speaks a primal language.
Let me tell you, as a Witch: those stories we read of this land of mist and Shining Ones….we thought it was some dream land. Some, myth or story of a trance induced slight of hand. No, not so crass….but, we read the stories and thought them Other….. Oh, we were Wrong!! It is no more Other than walking out your door!!!
Oh, if I could bring you here. To sit in my windowsill, and see the road below agleam with light – and hear the voice of the Wind call…..”come, walk with me.”
It is a natural phenomena as physical as my own lips: my own heart beat. Maybe it is the tilt of the earth, and the way the sun and moonlight enter the atmosphere on this island. Maybe it is some chemical component of the soil. But tonight, as I looked out of my window, I saw a land awake – alive – glowing….. shining like the myths of old. I walked out into it – because how can a human-person resist that call?
and to the Ring it took me…where I wept. This land…. Oh, Gods…… we humans have destroyed so much. My heart broke.
But this story must be told, and it is not of me or my pain or my sentimentality. No….this small ridge on an island in the north Atlantic wants to say…….
The mystery you read in the myths of Ireland: Hibernia of the Trees, Cold land of Mist – the stories you read were of people like you…people who wrote of their experience. What their eyes saw, their hearts felt, their ears heard. They met the Living Land of Eire.
Meet your land. For she is Sister, Lover, Brother, Mother, Son…..and she has hir mystery, too.
Perhaps she does not glow in the night of a mist covered Moon, because the light from our brother Sun shines on her more direct. But, what IS her secret heart and her untold myth?
Can You tell it?
Confessions of a Hedge Witch 
Beautiful. There is nothing better than living with nature in her glory and change right outside one’s abode. Today here in the mountains of Pennsylvania US is the first fully sunny fairly warm (55F) day this spring, and it was a joy to sit out feeling the sun and listening to the water. You may like this lady’s poetry from the Lancashire UK area http://lornasmithers.wordpress.com/
Thanks for passing along her link. I sat in the Ring last night, and as I heard the Thorn, both black and white; the gorse and nettle; rock and earth, and their call to remember – I lamented my ability to tell their story. For I am no bard. Imbas may rise up, bubbling wild as it did last night – Fay with madness – but I have no skill to craft those words of metered verse.
And it breaks my heart that I alone stand in that Ring of a night magical, to see and hear the beauty of this Place. No more do people walk the country lanes at night — off to visit neighbors or the local pub. No more do people venture forth from their homes, snug with central heat and piped-in entertainment. I know there are some Auld boys who walk the lanes. I’ve seen them in Co. Clare…but not here in Cork. No in Meath. Not in Limerick. Maybe the Auld boys in those places have already died. Now who will remember?
I think you will enjoy Lorna’s poetry, and she write something most days. Her poems are often a lament about the old ways of Nature being encroached upon by more roads and such. I also thing that women and older men are afraid of going outside at night anymore because they watch the news to much and build up fears. And nowadays so many young people have their noses glued to their smart phones as they walk around, missing everything that is real, living in the virtual world, a world of fragility and illusion. Blessings.
Reblogged this on Blau Stern Schwarz Schlonge and commented:
I think this is beautifully written, once again by the Irish lady at Confessions of a Hedge Witch. To quote from her About section:
“Many Places have I known; and yet none, do I call home.
I am a wandering Witch, with an animist worldview (leaning heavily, in practice, toward non-theism), and currently live in Ireland. I approach witchcraft as praxis, not religion.
My academic interests are in sociology, psychology and folklore. My personal interests range from Seria A to megaliths, and I adore getting lost–especially in the rain.”
So so beautiful. I would love to go to Ireland, myself! ❤ Blessings,
Brigid Diana
I hope you are able to visit. It is beautiful!