Tag Archives: Oppositions

Under Cavan Skies

On the 360th day of the year with four minutes to midnight we stood under clear Cavan skies.

Every star had a sharpness so bright they could make an atheist bow at their majesty.
You cannot deny what the eyes make you see.

Orion’s Belt was fastened with clarity.
A question mark backwards demanded we ask ourselves the unanswerable.

Above Orion was a red star.
Stars normally don’t impress me, they make me dizzy.

They crowd my thinking, take my breath away, make me feel small and overwhelmed. They frighten me with their boastful eternity.

They will continue to shine long after we are gone.

The Ancient Greeks once thought there was a blanket behind the skies, they believed the blanket was pierced with little holes, in which the light shone through.
Those lights are what we call the stars.

Time teaches us to believe different things.

As we stood under the lights, I listened as he told me what the constellations were called.

I listened because these past few weeks have taught us that although the stars relentlessly shine, those we love can dim their light.

People can walk out the door and never come home again.

Children can be taken before they are given the opportunity to shine.

Who’s heaven decides such fate?

Illness can meet you at unexpected places, leave or take us into his arms and walk away with us.

Walking up the yard toward the house, the blue lights of the suspended Christmas tree on the street outside, brought us back to the falseness of our reality.

Our made up world that we focus so much on, fades in comparison to the Greek blanket hanging in the Cavan sky.

Oh, the beauty and fragility of life.
Understanding that brightness can be found even in the darkest corners, can resurrect our hopes.
There is such power and strength to be found in the darkness of life, for through the darkness is the epitome of life – those everlasting twinkling beacons of night’s light.

If only we could remember to bring those stars into our day’s light.
There may come a time, you need to fight for some light, if you do just remember
that once the Greeks believed in a pierced blanket in the sky.
Anything is possible, if you are willing to see the light.

An Peann

 

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The Tunnel of Buried Dreams

The tunnel has no doors
No way back

The light outside is so
blindingly beautiful
and utterly terrifying,
That with great hesitance and difficulty
We struggle to trek towards it

The light that people talk about in death,
Is that same light that wants to shine for you in life

Shadows only block the light to take away your flame,
Keep you in your place, tucked away from change

We will never know how good the light feels
If we are always afraid to be seen

The tunnel has no doors
No way back

Stepping outside the tunnel today,
Let the light sow you a purpose,
Exquisitely stitched from
The seams of buried dreams.

An Peann

The Man of Double Deed

There was a man of double deed,
Who sowed his garden full of seed;

And when the seed began to grow,
It was like a garden full of snow;

And when the snow began to melt,
It was like a ship without a belt;

And when the ship began to sail,
It was like a bird without a tail;

And when the bird began to fly,
It was like an eagle in the sky;

And when the sky began to roar,
It was like a lion at my door;

And when my door began to crack,
It was like a stick across my back;

And when my back began to smart,
It was like a penknife in my heart;

And when my heart began to bleed,

Twas death,

And death,

And death, indeed.

By Anonymous

Read by Jamie Dornan in The Fall.

Happy Halloween Folks..

When I was a Child

I sometimes saw a young girl walk across my parents bedroom.
She was about ten. She wore a dress that looked at least one hundred years old. She never spoke or changed over the years

It would happen when I passed their room. It happened many times.
Once my Mother sent me to fetch her hairbrush, when I turned the small corridor into their room the girl was sitting at my Mothers dresser, combing her own hair.

She looked up and grinned.
Frightened the living daylights out of me.
There was always things happening in the house.

Another time, I seen a man’s legs walk up the stairs.
Dad had been at a council meeting that night, arriving home just seconds after the legs made their way upstairs. Dad thought it was a burglar.
Himself and his friend Gus ran up the stairs, searching for the owner of the legs.
All they found was my hiding place, behind the wardrobe. Where I would throw everything when I pretended to tidy my room.
The owner of the legs was never found.
My parents were mortified, my Mother nearly killed me, made a show of her she said.

No one sleeps in that room now. It’s cold in there.

I wonder does the girl still brush her hair?
I don’t believe in banshees, but I believe in that girl.

As for the man’s legs, I’m not certain.. He was wearing jeans, maybe he was a trendy spirit.

An Peann

To Like or Not to Like…

There are those who say they do not care what people think of them. If they speak with honesty, how free are they?

In truth, most of us want to be liked, even loved, if that is not too much to ask?

The thing is not everyone is going to like us. The more we seek approval, the less likely we are to see that the people who already like us, do so, because they love us just as we are.

We need not seek the popularity of those who dislike us. Clearly they are not willing to get to to know us, for the likeable people we already are.
Chances are we would not like them anyway. Like attracts like.

In the likelihood that someone dislikes us, for reasons best known to themselves, we are best off being blissfully unaware. Leaving them in the comfort of their own distaste.

We are far better advised to learn how to like ourselves.

In a world where we measure our likability with thumbs up, smiley faces and angry little read heads, that may be a difficult thing to do.

We should in these instances, pause and remember, we do not need to like everything everyone thinks of us.
We just need to love those who seem to like us the most.

An Peann

THE HAND”, AFGHANISTAN

People pass the hand.

There are sounds of car horns and music.

People pass the hand that begs.

Three boys in hoods fold their arms

and swerve away from the hand,

the hand that begs in the rain.

A woman in blue will not look

at the hand that begs,

stretching out in the rain.

People come and go, looking at their phones.

Nobody takes the hand

stretching out, shining in the rain.

In the hollow of the hand

is a folded square

of paper,

but nobody looks twice at the white paper

that gleams in the hand that begs,

stretching out and shining in the rain.

PJ Harvey & Seamus Murphy
The Hallow of the Hand