The Ring of Beara today was indescribable – we, the children of Dana, inheritors of all this beauty. Reading Lady Gregory’s Irish Mythology last night – Lugh of the Long Hand, “as swift as the naked cold wind of spring” on the horse of Manannan. The parallels with Homer are strong except that the Gaelic stories are somehow less idealised, more human, far more sad, more deeply imbued with the longing living in every rock, stream, river, valley, lake, glade, green, bulging hill and stony mountain in this land of saints and scholars, poets and priests. May the blessings of Dana herself, the radiant light of Lugh, the wisdom of Manannan rest on this fair land and her people. And may their longing never cease! May it rather stir their souls into life welling up in abundance. For there is only one presence in this place, but he has many faces; only one mother, but many are her children.
So many of my roads must be filled with a sadness. But somehow, through this sadness, a sweet beauty shines. The road goes ever on and on …
