"The Invitation"

It 

doesn't interest me 

what you do for a living.

I want to know what you ache for,

 and if you dare to dream

of meeting your Heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how olde you are.

I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for Love,

for your Dreams,

for the adventure of being alive.

 It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon.

I want to know if you have Touched the centre 

of your own Sorrow,

if you have been opened by Life's betrayals

or have become shriveled and closed

from fear of further pain.

I want to know 

if you can sit with pain,

mine or your own,

without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.

I want to know 

if you can be with Joy,

mine or your own,

if you can dance with Wilderness

and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your

fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful,

be realistic,

or to remember the limitations 

of being Human.

It doesn't interest me if the story

 you're telling me is true.

I want to know

if you can disappoint  another to be True to yourself;

if you can bear the accusation of betrayal

and not betray

Your own Soul.

~ Oriah Mountain Dreamer

~ Beannaichte'
15 June, 2021
 
@beannaichte.twitter.com

" Sacred Hoop"

I watch her

 She sits,

fully concentrated- 

with her 
Eye on the Needle

Her stitches are tiny and varied-

precise, and incredibly neat.

I touch the worn wooden Hoop
 a Sacred Circle, in Her hands

The muslin fabric-

  a rough cloth,

will become softer, with Her working

Much the same, as Her hands,

have done with me.

I examine the different coloured threads

 carefully wrapped,

around  pieces of discarded paper

She loves bright colours

 I see their reflection

in the Eye of the Needle-

in Her intelligent eyes.

She knows how to make use of things

  Learned through Hard Times

She does not boast -

 Her way is one of Quiet Knowing

She never wastes words
Knowing,

So much counts, in the Doing.

I am Happy, as I sit near Her

Watching Her fingers, guiding the needle,

Skillfully, through the fabric

 Eyes Steady

Not unlike her Heart-Always Steady

As the Eye
of the Needle. 
 

Soon a Pattern will emerge

One She has worked, with Patience and Care

One day, I will Understand

She did Her Best to Prepare me

For a much larger Canvas; a Life-Tapestry

 Guiding, Teaching, and Loving

With Her Eye, upon the Needle. 

~ Alicia O'Hara 
~ Copyrighted Material; 26 June, 2013

 ~ Beannaichte'

16 April, 2021

@beannaichte.twitter.com

"I Am"

 Lightning Cracks the Sky
A whip driven with the force of the Great God

It is beautiful, yet always unknown,

as to where it will touch

It is Fierce

It is Free-

It is.

 

I Look for the Hand

That so quickly paints the jagged lines,

flashing across the Sky

 ~ A great Artist;

 Who other could capture the whole of the Universe,
with one stroke-
It is.

 

The Wind Moves, without caution

Leaning into the Storm,
my stained Soul
 is washed Clean 

as I am called into Oneness; to Life,
to Prayer-
It is. 
 

 

 The Thunder Pounds

~ A Master Drummer;

so certain of each beat,

a rhythm that is True to the Storm

The olde is washed away.
I find new Strength-
It is.  

  Lightning Falls from the Sky

  strong fingers reach, while shielding me

my Soul bows before the Great God; 

A voice Speaks,

 Lovingly.

Two Words ~

I AM.
 

~The raging storm, within, now calm.
 

~ Alicia O'Hara

~ Copyrighted Material; 8 July, 2013
 


@beannaichte.twitter.com 

"Sacred Reverie"

I run

 with sheer force

My body  a shield against the Winter Wind

 Tearing at my skin, with an unleashed fury

I am not afraid

I must run.

The night is dark

No moonlight or shadow

Stars hidden by a captive curtain

My Soul  hungers for a Holy Freedom

I must run.

I push on into the night

Can't count the city blocks or miles

What lays behind, must remain behind

Now only relentless freezing rain

I must run.

My emotions raw, laid open

Tears freeze by the second

Piercing-Struggling - I continue onward

I must Not stop

I must run.

My Grief

 is Stripped in layers

Razor edged, by the Winter Wind

All thoughts a Sacred Reverie

All I know...

I must run. 

Alicia O'Hara
Copyrighted Material;. 9 December, 2012

~ Beannaichte'

11 January, 2021

@beannaichte.twitter.com 

"Anam Cara"

I pictured You like this ~

There is Something I see in Your  Eyes

Some quality in Your Speech

That puts me in the mind, of another place in time. 

Long ago, You were out of reach ...

I can't say where or how

but I have known You for a long, long time.

Do You remember me ?

Am I familiar, too ?

I have looked for You,

each place I've been...

My Soul has searched for You

from a distant Place in Time.

My  Heart goes out to You

Like a Magnet strikes to Iron...

I can no more ignore the force

Than a Moth drawn to the Fire.

~ An empty Space was left inside my Heart

and caused an ache that would not cease...

Until  I  Found the missing Part.

One Day if I disappear

and I am gone for good ~

Remember when I was here ~

and we Both understood.

And if You go away ~ if We are far apart...

I'll keep you Safe and Warm

In a Secret Corner of my Heart.

~ Until We meet again,  in another Place and Time

I hope You will not forget...

You are a Friend of Mine.

~ Unknown

~ Beannaichte'
3 December, 2020

@beannaichte.twitter.com

" And People Stayed at Home"...

~ And People Stayed at Home,

and read books,

and Listened,

and rested,

and excercised,

and made art,

and played games,

and Learned New ways of Being,

and were Still,

and stopped and Listened more Deeply.

Some Meditated,

some Prayed,

and some Met their Shadows,

and people began to Think differently,

and the people Healed.

And, in Absence of people 

who live in ignorant,dangerous,mindless,

and heartless ways,

the Earth began to Heal.

And when the danger passed,

and the people joined Together again,

they Grieved for their losses,

and made New Choices,

and Created a New Way to live,

~ And Completely Healed the Earth Fully,

as They had been Healed.

~ Kitty O'Meara

Copyrighted material;

2020

 

  

beannaichte@twitter.com
http://beannaichte.blogspot.com

"Death of an Irishwoman"

Ignorant,
 in a sense

she ate monotonous food

and thought the world was flat,

and pagan, in the sense

she knew the things that moved

at night were neither dogs nor cats

but pukas and dark-faced men.

she nevertheless had fierce Pride.

But sentenced in the end

to eat thin diminishing porridge

in a stone-cold kitchen

she clenched her brittle hands

around a world she could not understand.

I loved her from the day she died.

She was a summer dance at the crossroads.

She was a card game where a nose was broken.

She was a song that nobody sings.

She was a house ransacked by soldiers.

She was a Language seldom spoken.

She was a child's purse
 full of useless things.

Michael Hartnett

(1944-1999)

Limerick
Ireland

~ Beannaichte'
 28 May, 2020 

~ Covid-19

beannaichte@twitter.com