THE MAN WHO DREAMED OF FAERYLAND

THE MAN WHO DREAMED OF FAERYLAND 

By W.B. Yeats

HE stood among a crowd at Drumahair;

His heart hung all upon a silken dress,

And he had known at last some tenderness,

Before earth made of him her sleepy care;

But when a man poured fish into a pile,

It seemed they raised their little silver heads,

And sang how day a Druid twilight sheds Upon a dim, green,

well-beloved isle, Where people love beside star-laden seas;

How Time may never mar their faery vows

Under the woven roofs of quicken boughs:

The singing shook him out of his new ease.

He wandered by the sands of Lisadill;

His mind ran all on money cares and fears,

And he had known at last some prudent years south There dwelt a gay,

exulting, gentle race;

And how beneath those three times blessed skies

A Danaan fruitage makes a shower of moons,

And as it falls awakens leafy tunes:

And at that singing he was no more wise.

He mused beside the well of Scanavin,

He mused upon his mockers:

without fail His sudden vengeance were a country tale,

Now that deep earth has drunk his body in;

But one small knot-grass growing by the pool Told where, ah, little, all-unneeded voice!

Old Silence bids a lonely folk rejoice,

And chaplet their calm brows with leafage cool;

And how, when fades the sea-strewn rose of day,

A gentle feeling wraps them like a fleece,

And all their trouble dies into its peace:

The tale drove his fine angry mood away.

He slept under the hill of Lugnagall;

And might have known at last unhaunted sleep Under that cold and vapour-turbaned steep,

Now that old earth had taken man and all:

Were not the worms that spired about his bones

A-telling with their low and reedy cry,

Of how God leans His hands out of the sky,

To bless that isle with honey in His tones;

That none may feel the power of squall and wave,

And no one any leaf-crowned dancer miss

Until He burn up Nature with a kiss:

The man has found no comfort in the grave.

The Snakes are Still in Ireland

The Snakes are Still in Ireland: Pagans, Shamans, and Modern Druids in a Catholic World

 

BY SHWETA SARASWAT AND TRICIA TONGCO, GUEST CONTRIBUTORS

Shamanic TalkPhoto by Shweta Saraswat

It’s Friday night at The Magic Glass, a medium sized bar tucked inside the O’Callaghan Hotel in the center of Dublin. At first glance, the 40-odd people lounging inside seem like average Irish, glowing from the orange of the lamps and the heat of their drink. But they’ve rejected one of the key elements of what it means to be Irish: Catholicism and indeed Christianity.

A group of fit young men compare Celtic tattoos in one corner, a Wiccan crochets a snake doll in another, and a couple at the bar discusses an upcominghandfasting. This is a pagan moot, a regular meeting of the local pagan community including shamans, Wiccans, and Druids.

While such terms may conjure up images of people dancing naked by fire under the moonlight, contemporary paganism is simply the restoration of indigenous religions, especially that of ancient Europe. In recent decades, the Catholic Church has faced a steady decline in levels of practice and a cultural crisis, according to Olivia Cosgrove, co-editor of Ireland’s New Religious Movements. Consequently, non-religious or alternative spiritualities have become more widespread.

 

 

Full article here: http://www.onbeing.org/blog/the-snakes-are-still-in-ireland-pagans-shamans-and-modern-druids-in-a-catholic-world/5461