A Language We Once Knew is now available

A Language We Once Knew is finally available through Hiraeth Press or through Amazon.

A Language We Once Knew

A last, the final revision of A Language We Once Knew is done and is in the publishing process. It should be available in a few weeks from Hiraeth Press .

I have made a preview e-book with a selection of the poems which you can download here.

Enjoy!

One Bird Sits Still

I’ve been way for a while, working on my upcoming book, a collection of poetry entitled A Language We Once Knew. The first draft is finished, so after some revision, it will be off to the publisher and should be available this autumn.

Here is one of the poems from the book:

One bird sits still
Watching the work of God:
One turning leaf,
Two falling blossoms,
-Thomas Merton
 

In the early misty morning,
when the forest is still silent
and the sun is almost, barely
a dream of stillness in the sky,
I am called to set out walking
to that far awakening hill,
going silently to listen
to the early chorus of dawn –
enchanted by the springtime thrill,
One bird sits still

and before it slowly begins
to sing of morning’s great path
leading to that far away hill,
my eyes are drawn skyward to see
the fading of the night’s last star,
in the morning it seems so odd,
a visit from some other world,
and as I feel first drops of rain,
I see it knowingly nod,
Watching the work of God

With every soothing drop of rain
and dark nights slow receding,
almost gone, we watch the light mist
of morning circling the hill.
Silence breaks as the one bird sings
and brings such feelings of relief,
her music washing over me,
and there in a brief and sudden
unexpected breeze of belief -
One turning leaf,

It seems no one is listening,
for me alone, sings the chorus
of birds in the first springtime rains
caressing the early flower,
adorning the far away hill
like wise sages in their ashrams.
This morning is slowly learning,
and I’ll watch the worlds journey, till
seasons pass, and summer welcomes
Two falling blossoms.

 

 

 

There are some more previews at http://filleadh.org

What Comes of that Trouble?

 

I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;

I fled Him, down the arches of the years;

I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways

Of my own mind; and in the mist of tears

I hid from Him, and under running laughter

From The Hound of Heaven

By Francis Thompson

 

Fionn was in trouble.
The second he put his thumb in his mouth, he knew it. The instant he put his thumb, burnt from the salmon of wisdom, in his mouth, he was in trouble. It wasn’t so much that Finegas would be angry. No, Fionn was in trouble because Fionn was now Fionn. Fionn was now Fionn with all the wisdom of the world, with all the wisdom of Fionn. Nothing would be the same ever again. He could not stay at the river with Finegas any longer. He could not stay with Fionn any longer. He knew too much. He was in too much trouble.

Cormac mac Airt was in trouble.
The moment Cormac mac Airt saw that mysterious youth on the green, was the precise moment when Cormac mac Airt was in trouble. The glittering branch could have been named “Troubles Herald”. Ahh, the sweet red of trouble in those the nine apples. Cormac was in trouble. He was prepared to pay any price for that trouble, the price of trouble.

Fionn was in trouble. Cormac was in trouble.

Bran was in trouble.
Bran was really in trouble when he found himself entranced by the singing of the silver branch.

And what of Gwion?
Across the sea, Gwion was in serious trouble - trouble he desperately did not want. Caridwen breathing down your neck is more trouble than anyone wants. He took flight and changed himself into many things to avoid the trouble that was Caridwen. The trouble of Caridwen was nothing however. As a hen, she caught him and ate him, a mere grain. That trouble was over. The real trouble began nine months later.

Taliesin was in trouble.
The trouble of the burden of truth surrounded by lies. That is a sore trouble to bear.

They all were raided. Raided by something larger then them. Everything they thought they had known was made a mere smudge of grey compared to what they knew after they were raided.

Fionn, Cormac, Bran, Gwion and Taliesin were all in trouble.

And what of Chu Chullain, Myrddin, Mael Duin, Maeve, and more besides? What of Orpheus raided by Apollo? And Odin? Raided at the well of wisdom. Raided. And of the Christ? Raided. Buddha? Raided. They were all in trouble. They were all raided, and there was nothing any of them could do.

And what of us?
We think we can avoid the raid. We build walls to keep Caridwen out. We think we can build walls of distractions and addictions to muffle the song of the silver branch, to keep the green within, safe from the youth and the glittering branch, to cook the salmon for someone else without burning our thumb.

There is nothing we can do. The trouble is not to be avoided. The faster we run, the bigger the trouble grows. Our hearths are gone, our security is gone. Our self is gone, and we are in trouble. Dead. Dead. We will be raided and when we are truly raided, there is nothing we can do.

Let the raiding begin.

The gifts of the raid are not of this world. Let the silver branch be the silver branch. And it will be the best silver branch that ever was a silver branch. What comes of trouble? The silver branch becomes the silver branch. Gwion becomes Taliesin. Jesus becomes the Christ. Odin becomes the all wise. He gave his people the runes. Gwion gave his people the truth. Orpheus gave medicine, writing, astrology, magic, music. Fionn gave us the greatest band of men. Guided by the gifts of the raid from a place not of this world, they gave great things. That is what comes of trouble of which we speak.

Let the raiding begin.

Secrets of Our Home

Last March, as I was standing on the shores of the lower lake at Glendalough, close (and yet so far) to St.Kevins bed, I had a vision, or a moment of insight, or a flash of imagination. Call it what you will.

It was a deep and moving experience in ways that I could not describe, but it bothered me for quite some time for a reason that I could not explain until now. There was something about the vision that should have been painfully obvious, but I could not name it.

I was human; a human in a world of other species, sharing the world, the trees, the water of the lake, the wind, and the rain. I was human, but in my minds eye I flew around the world. I soared above the forested hills, dipped and sped across the fertile plains. I flew for days, and saw no sign of civilization; but I also saw no wilderness, and this is what had been disturbing me. I know now that in this vision, there was no wilderness because there were no cities. I had a pang of anxiety. Where would I sleep? What would I eat? No warm showers or heated rooms. No internet! And yet, I had no desire to escape the wilderness into civilization where there are soft beds and running water for there was no wilderness to escape. There was only home. I realized I was home. I was fully human in my natural habitat and there was no separation of species. My home would provide for me and bear and wolf and fish and doe.

In the fading yellow and gold
The early leaf, tender and green
Returning,

It was brown and green and cold still
When I heard you calling
In the waves across the waters
And the wind above

In the driving rain
I heard you singing
Greeting the patches
Emerging, deepening blue
Of the restless sky

I felt your longing for me
I felt my longing for you

And for a moment
A single eternal and brief moment
We embraced
Our secrets, the same
Secrets of our home

For a single eternal moment
Tree and water and sky
Bear and wolf and fish and doe
And me.

For a brief moment
We remembered
All are one

What is it, this human need to classify, name, number and understand? This human need to separate, divide, and dominate? Why is there a concept of wilderness? Simply because there is the concept of civilization? Is the earth to remain divided between civilization and wilderness? Is the human species destined to remain separate from bear and wolf and fish and doe? Is the human species doomed, in its fear, to harmfully dominate? Is the concept of civilization so powerful? Need it dictate that there is a this-side and that-side?

It is our choices and decisions that will answer the above questions.

I say away with the concepts of civilization and wilderness. Let us replace it with a concept of earth-home that includes cities and nature, humans and other than humans, science and spirit.

Sustainable Development and the Forgotten Enchantment

 

Part of being human is a deep love of place, a deep love of nature. It is almost cliché to talk about the sunset that captivates; the early morning dew that seems to soften and amplify the birdsong and take us to a place of serenity and enchantment; the stars in the still of night and their invitation to experience our smallness; a reverent oneness with the universe. Cliché or not, is it not true that we are enchanted with our home?

Is sustainable development enough to ensure that our home remains? It may be for some. I suppose it’s a good start.

The basic premise of sustainable development is that we use the earth’s natural resources at a rate which will allow the earth to naturally replenish them before we deplete them. Sounds fine in principle, but isn’t it rather like expecting an alcoholic to drink responsibly?

That may seem an unrelated comparison, but is it? Our relationship to the earth, and more, to our development, shows many traits of addiction. Addiction begins as an enablement of avoidance of something unpleasant. Our advancement as a species began in an attempt to avoid the discomforts of living in caves. This advancement has become self destructive, just as alcoholism or drug addiction. The widespread denial of the situation that we have brought upon the earth is the very same as an addict in denial of his addiction.

Instead of real change, which only can begin within, “sustainable development” seeks only a way to better mange our addiction, for is it not an attempt to sustain development? Does it not still imply very strongly that the sole purpose of the earth is to serve humanity, and we simply must manage it well? We still have free reign to use and exploit the resources of the earth. No real change is required. Still, it is a good start, and makes ecology more accessible to those who otherwise would not think twice about it.

I suppose it could be called utilitarian environmentalism. Dry. No passion.

So I think it must go further. Deep ecology attempts just that, but often seems to be limited to morality and ethics. Doing the right thing because it is the right thing to do is fine and well, but morality can often be a forced and temporary behaviour if not driven by a deeper passion. How much stronger would this morality be from a place of authentic presence?

It is remembering and living our enchantment with the earth, not sustainability or ethics, which will drive the transformation of our relationship with nature. By all means, efforts for sustainability and ethics should continue, but really, sustainability and ethics are dealing with symptoms. The cause is the forgotten enchantment. When the actions of humanity arise from a place of enchantment and reverence, the symptoms that call for sustainable development and the morality of deep ecology will go away.

Remembering the enchantment is but the beginning. We must help others to remember. As Thomas Berry points out, the vision we create for the emerging ecological age must be stronger than the vision it is intended to replace. We must create this vision.

If you are a poet, let this enchantment guide your pen. If you are a musician, the enchantment can be your voice. The canvas waits for the painter’s brush of enchantment.

The Silver Branch and the Silver Antlered Stag (an echo of John Moriarty)

Dare we?

Dare we approach the silver antlered stag?
From across the Plain of Delights, the silver antlered stag has come ashore.
Dare we approach him?
Dare we put off the heavy shoes of cosmology from our feet?
Dare we approach him?

Dare we listen to the music of the Silver Branch? Dare we go through the nine waves to come ashore, just as the silver antlered stag has done? Just as Amhairghin attempted?

If we do, we will never again feel the safety of our hearths, of the structures we have built.
If we do, our safety will be gone. Only “behind all depths and heights” will we find security. We will never again see our hearths. Our hearing makes us deaf. Our sight blinds us.

We hear the crow demanding: “you must be religious but in being religious you must have no recourse to religion.”

And the texture of our lover’s cheek is changing, becoming smoother.  Shapelier.

Being human is the most perilous of adventures.

Dare we?

Dare we listen to the silver branch being the silver branch? It will raid us, just as it raided Bran. No spear or sword shall save us. It will raid us. Dare we listen? Dare we go to the silver antlered stag?

 

 

Dare we bother to be ourselves?

Fully?

 

 

Dare we?