It has been a year since I last visited the tree. I have made several attempts to visit the tree, but none were successful until tonight. When I arrived, the ground around it had sunk and the tree was in the bottom of a steep ravine. It was approachable from only one side and then it was a difficult journey with loose rock and uneven terrain. When I arrived, I placed my hands upon the tree and felt the many jagged and twisted paths in it's bark. As I did this a feeling of relief came upon me to know that the tree was still there. large and commanding as it was the last time that I had visited. It's five branches extending from one great trunk, like a hand that reached toward the sky, yet something was different about the tree and I did not know why.

I placed my head upon the bark and I found myself within it's mighty trunk. The tree felt tired and sad. This disturbed me so I set about to find the cause of the tree's weakness. I travelled to the top most branches, observing the rays of sunlight that touched each of it's many leaves. They were strong and the rainbow colored sap produced from the capture of the rays was good and strong. It travelled down to the trunk of the tree with little difficulty and I realized that this was not the problem.

I then travelled to the roots of the tree and it was there that I saw what affected the tree. It's roots had ceased taking the precious nutrients from the soil that would mix with the rainbow colored sap that the tree produced in it's strength to make the drink of inspiration of which I partook. I looked at length around the roots to determine why they had stopped in their function but I could not find the problem. This disturbed me for I felt that if I could not find the problem, the tree would surely die and I would not partake of the sweet mead that the tree produced in it's strength.

In the corner of the tree I found the cup that I had drank the precious mead from the tree before. This time however, their was only enough of the sweet tasting mead to fill the bottom of the cup. I drank what was there and the drink was bitter, not like the sweet honey like refreshement of last years visit.

I then found myself outside of the tree, at it's base. All around lay animals that were dead or were dying. This continued to affect the roots while the crown of the tree was unaffected. I then took it upon myself to removed the dead and dying around the tree, hoping that this would heal the tree and all would be well again. When I touched each animal, I saw it's life pass before my eyes and I knew each of there stories as if I had been the animal. There were more animals than I could count but I persisted until each animal had been removed and I knew their lives in detail.

When I finished, a raven appeared before me upon a branch of the tree. We stared at each other for several minutes as I tried to understand why it was the only animal that I did not see dead or dying around the tree. When I grew tired of this, the raven transformed into a beautiful maiden, with long black curls of hair and snow white pale skin. Her blue eyes danced in the sun and she had the most beautiful smile. She took me by the hand and we entered the tree again.

Some time later we were sat upon a bed when she offered me a cup of the mead from the tree. The cup was full and the taste was like I remembered it from my first visit. Three times I drained the cup and she filled it until I could drink no more. She then smiled and said, "I am healed" and disappeared as quickly as she came. I then found myself outside of the tree and all had been restored as I left it that year ago. It was then that I resolved that I would visit the tree more often and nurture it that it might not suffer this neglect again.

She returned to me this last evening while I slept. Either in person or by dream I cannot say, for I am not sure. Her flowing robes of autumn grandeur around her fluttered in the quiet breeze of the night.
She spoke not a word, but kissed me upon my lips and stroked my hair. I tried to speak, but that power had been taken from me.

She gave me her hand and I arose. Together we walked alone in the orange and yellow covered forests near my home. In her eye was tear as we witnessed the last leaf fall and in the distance, the cackle of the winter hag could be heard.

After a few quiet moments in each others arms, I triedd with all my power to speak, but still could not. She with her tears briefly smiled and placed her hand upon my heart.

A warmth filled my body and I knew it was Bridghid's spark. I summoned my strength again and with all of the heart and passion that existed within me, I spoke to her.

Do not leave me my fair lover,
For I cannot long without thee live!
My heart is rent upon your passing
and I cannot like this grieve!
The cold long winter night
that I must endure
is too much upon this soul
Spring's promise is eternity
But I cannot bear the wait!

She with her teary eyes leaned forward and kissed me gently and I awoke within my bed to wait in anguish until my fair love returns in the spring!

It's come to my attention that many people don't know where to begin in the study of celtic literature. May I recommend my preferred reading list?

The Story of the Irish Race by Seamus McManus. Old but good.
The Tain, translation by Thomas Kinsella. ISBN 0192810901 . Incredibly good retelling of the classic cattle raid of Cooley.
The Singer of Tales by Albert B. Lord. I have an older copy of this book. Lord relates the study of his mentor Milman Perry with the traveling singer storytellers of Yugoslavia and their techniques for learning and performing their tales.
What does this have to do with Celtic Lit? Answer, Irish history was oral until the advent of christianity."
Cattle Lords and Clansmen by Nerys Patterson. A must have for the serious student. Even the neopagan fluffy bunnies should have this if they want to have a clue on reconstruction their religion. ISBN 0268008000
The Code of the Warrior by Rick Fields ISBN 006096605X Caters to the fluffies and the environmentalists, but he has good source material in his discussions and does make some good points.
A Handbook of the Scottish Gaelic World by Michael Newton. ISB 185182541X. Excellent reference book for those interested in Scottish History. Covers a wide variety of topics including the organization and operation of society. Somce cultural viewpoints on worldview and belief tradition and science. A MUST HAVE!
Irish Myths and Legends by Lady Gregory. Oldie but goodie!
Celtic Myth and Legend by Charles Squire. ISBN0878770305 Another good overview of Irish Literature.
The list goes on and on and I have several more, but these are among my first choices.

It's ill to tak the breeks aff a Hielandman.

I have a confession to make.

Ireland has no magic for me. The land of my fathers is as dead to me as the brittle leaves of the late fall that sit upon the earth and crumble to dust before spring. Instead, let me tell you where the magic is that fills my heart and enlivens my soul. It is upon the high country of my native state. A gem among the mountains it is called.

You may sing to me of Ireland's green rolling hills, and I will tell you of our majestic mountains colored green and red every one an emerald and a ruby.

Praise the beauty of the emerald island's loughs and I will whisper to you of mountain lakes with water so fresh and clear, that you can look into them and behold the vision of eternity.

Fionn spent his days chasing the white stag through every glenn and rill and passage. Here you may chase the stag, along with the elk and moose. Chase them long and hard enough and they will take you to our version of Tir na Nog. Ireland's "land under the waves" would trade it's glory for a sliver of the splendour of our "land in the sky" where mountain valleys reign and streams ,filled with silver trout, flow through flower filled meadows underneath mountains capped with pure white snow.

The fae live on in the mountains of my home. They frolic and dance among the sagebrush and the willows, playing their little games along the winding streambeds and the wide ponds. If you are careful and catch them through the corner of your eye, they will show themselves to you in shapes of wild thrushes and bluebirds flitting about the willow branches. Or perhaps you will hear them as they sound their alarm at your approach. They have fled Ireland and now live among us here.

Sadly, there are Fomorii that walk the land. Intruders who invade and shape things in their image. They come with their gold and build their mansions amidst our scenic splendor. They bring their monsters that roam in packs, chasing the fae and the stag as well as our own cattle and kine, all the while singing their evil song. They conqueor our lands and tell us that we are no longer allowed upon them, that we must worship the creation instead of the creator and in order to worship the creation, we must not walk among the creator's temple halls. Let the children of the Gem arise and drive them from our home!

So you see, the land of my fathers has no magic for me. I walk now among magic realms under the forest trees of my mountain home!

I have a tale that is itching to be told.

Our bold and noble cean catha as you know is a gruff and serious man, not one prone to jokes and merry making." I say, patting my cousin upon his back.

"There is a reason for it you know!" he says to me and then takes a deep drink from his cup.

"Indeed my cousin, indeed and now I shall tell everyone that tale." I respond.

"Then let me take another drink!" Cathal says, finishing off his cup.

Young Cathal was indeed a jokester and a prankster among our families. There was no animal safe from his musings and many a time, even the adults of the clan were subject to his antics.
I, as you know, am younger than our Cean Catha. Though of large stature now, it was not always so, and the great Cean Catha saw fit to torment me at every opportunity.

One time though, he went to far, teasing me to the point that I wanted to cry and run to my mother, but knew my father would have no such thing. Everyone around me told me that I must get even or he would bully me throughout my life. So, I set forth one night to do just that.

I sat and thought and thought and thought, what could I do to Cathal to teach him a lesson? The more I thought, the less I could imagine doing to him. I then resolved that instead I would do a good deed for my enemy in the hope that it would change his mind towards me.

That night, around the fire, I decided that I would make Cathal's bed for him so that it would be ready for him when he arrived from milking the cows.

Before I had time to finish, Cathal arrived to see me making his bed.

"What have you done you little miserable ant?" he said as he grabbed me by the shirt and threw me from his bed.

"Nothing" I responded. I thought you would like to have your bed ready when you were finished with the cattle."

"You have done something to my bed, haven't you?" He asked a second time. I again responded no, I was indeed doing a good deed. Cathal then proceeded to tear the bed apart, rolling in the sheets trying to find what I had done to his bedroll.

It was at that time that I reached up to scratch an itch that I had on my shoulder. A rather inocent gesture, that Cathal become incredibly attuned to.

"You have placed an itching powder in my bedroll, you miserable little twerp!" he shouted.

Again, I responded that I had not. I now saw the perfect opportunity to get my revenge upon him. With my hand, I again reached to my shoulder and scratched.

"You have you little creep! I will have your head!" he shouted, starting to scratch uncontrolably all over his body.

I laughed. "Believe what you must Cathal, for I did no such thing."

"Why do I itch then?" he cried. "AGGGGHHHHHHH, make it stop!"

Up he ran to \the stream where he jumped in, clothes and all,believing he had indeed rolled in some itching powder.

Later, he came to me and apologized for all that he had ever done to me, and from that time forth we have been good friends. Ever chiding each other with jest, but never in a malcious or evil way. So now you see that some times a good deed will bring about revenge rather than a revenge brought out of a bad deed!

Where are the men, willing to stand,
In this day of freedom's peril?
A time when man's love grows cold,
and the weary heart fails?

A vision of old, born anew,
distilling from heaven like dew.
With this vision and plan,
and to be willing to stand,
is what we need of the few.

The world is full of idiots, the number increasing exponentially the further one gets from his doorstep. Author unknown.

Remember Me


If alone you walk the forest trees
and view the autumn splendor
I have but one request of thee,
Just please, remember me.

If winter white solo finds thee
alone before the christmas tree
apart from friends and family,
Will you please, remember me.

Life with a mentally disabled brother is far from boring. Like I said, Ted had the mental capacity of a five year old, and anyone who has ever lived with a five year old knows that theirs is a world of perpetual curiosity and exploration. Nothing was safe and you quickly learned that if you didn't want it tore up, you kept it put away. Christmas was exceptionally fun with Ted. The first year I learned how to walk, he and I convinced mom to quit putting glass bulbs on the christmas tree and go strictly plastic. We must have knocked that tree over a hundred times! In the end I sit back and realize that the time went all too quickly and I never truly got to know the man that was trapped in the child's mind......

"Seanchai" the young man said. "Is it true that you have seen the goddess of inspiration?"

"Aye lad, it is soon told." Eoghain responded, his eyes glazing almost trancelike as he began to recall the images of that day many years ago.

"It was at sunset upon the slopes of Ben na Bhruic, now 6 years passed. I was but a little younger than I am now, but the memory is as clear as a summer morn to me. and the words she spoke to me I will never forget as long as the breath is within my chest.
A hard and frustrating hunt it was for the stag that I pursued. I had followed the trail for three whole days to no avail. I had glimpsed him but once or twice during that time but that was as close as I was allowed to approach him. The tracks of the large animal took me through every thicket and by stream within a hard day's travel. He was a worthy adversary, but I was determined to make the stag my trophy and to take him back to Dunn Seannachaidh.
Upon the setting of the third day, I paused to reflect upon the evening sun in all of it's splendor. Red and gold filled the sky as the fiery orb began it's descent into the night. The clouds hung purple in a quick fading sky of color, much like the dying embers of a fire starved of wood, yet wanting life, not eager to go into the night. As the embers of red faded and night engulfed the land, I beheld to my east another light rising high into the air as the sun settled into the west. The light grew brighter and brighter until it was as if the sun had risen again in the east. I completely forgot the stag that I hunted and was now fixed upon the light that grew in glory every passing minute.
Soon, the light stood before me, upon a large rock and I beheld a woman, more beautiful than a thousand sunsets standing before me.
She was dressed in the greenest of tunics that reached to her knees, trimmed in gold braid and knotwork. A brown sash she wore across her left shoulder and the end she left fall to her side. Her skin was as pale as the fresh fallen snow of a mid winter's night. Appearing soft to the touch and had the appearance of flame radiating all around her as if she was on fire. Red was her hair, red as the flame of the hearthfire, with eyes so blue that they appeared to be oceans surrounded by a range of mountains as lovely as the shores of any ocean I have ever seen. She was beauty in every sense of the word.

"My beloved, I longed to see the one to which my heart is pledged." she said, extending her hand. Without fear and by instinct I extended mine and took hers, which then she placed upon her breast. The whole of my body was filled with light, and so consumed, I saw worlds without number and heroes without end. A million lifetimes were lived before my very eyes, the whole of which I have only experienced one other time.

"My love" I said. "Name what you wish of me and I will do it, for having seen your beauty and your passion, I cannot love as mortals love anymore, for I will be alone and incomplete unless I am with you."

"My dear Eoghain." she spoke. " You see now what my beloved Fionn saw when I met him at Cnoc Mhor. For he wished to remain with me when I revealed myself to him. But alas, my love, you cannot, for as mortal, your time has not ended. I will give to you instead a token of my love. When you shall see autumn in all of it's glory, with it's gold and brown treasures, the freshness of the crisp air upon your face and the shadows of the day as they dance from side to side with the setting sun, you shall recall of me and the love that awaits you when the time comes. You shall revel in the season, but shall feel empty in those days as your heart longs for me, and mine for you."

With that, the she leaned towards me and kissed me upon the lips and was gone before my eyes. I know this vision was real for since that time no autumn has passed that I have not reveled in the beauty of the season but my heart ached for the love of the goddess Brighid and for those brief days every year when the goose flies south and the festive season of Samhain approaches, her flame descends upon me and I am reminded of her kiss.

I am working on a new piece of poetry and thought people might like to watch the construction of it and perhaps get a glimpse of the twisted sick and inner workings of my mind. What I have so far:

Remember Me

If alone you walk the forest trees
and view the autumn splendor
I have but one request of thee,
Just please, remember me.

If winter white solo finds thee
alone before the christmas tree

It has been now two years since my brother's life was claimed by that vilest of personal demons, cancer. Ted was a special part of our family. A victim of fetal alcohol syndrome, His faculties were dulled and his mental capacity was that of a five year old child. He came to our family after two years in foster care, a ward of the state that no one seemed to want or to care for. He is the source for this particular composition. He is buried in a beautiful little hill next to a stream that runs through town. I make a weekly visit to a plant where I manage the guardforce and it is only a couple of miles from the cemetery, so I try to visit him often. It is a strong belief in certain gaelic cultures that a person's soul lives on in the afterlife only as long as those who remain still remember the person who has gone on. This is the motivation behind the composition. I will post more as the poem develops.