Magic in the Mountains

Here is a story my brother Kevin tells about an experience he had in the Wicklow Mountains. I'm including a photograph of the stone itself, which he took in 2005. The tale will reveal that a certain sensibility expressed in my books is shared by others (indeed, I would say all) in my family. "One day while rambling on my own in the Wicklow Mountains, I decided to climb Tonelagee, the third highest mountain in the chain. While I was climbing, a dense fog descended. The fog was so thick that I could only see about three feet in front of me. I was near the top of the mountain and was very aware that dangerous cliffs were nearby. For a moment the mist thinned and I briefly glimpsed a tall man in dark robes about twenty feet away. I walked toward the apparition but the fog closed in again. When I got to the point where he should have been, I found a thin flat Standing Stone about three feet high and two feet wide. The Stone is about five feet away from the cliff edge. I turned and walked the other way as the fog lifted." Some members of my family believe the vision was of a Druid. I believe it was St Kevin, after whom my father and brother were named, wearing monkish robes. Afterall, the Wicklow Mountains are also called St Kevin's Way, as they cradle Glendalough which was his holy place. (Yes, that's St Kevin in The Light-Bearer's Daughter.)

Franciscan Return

I blogged earlier this year about the amazing artist's residency I enjoyed at the Franciscan Friary in Multyfarnham. Two weeks of writing in a lovely room in the cloister, sharing delicious meals with the Friars, up at the crack of dawn for Mass in the stone chapel with beautiful stained glass windows, sharing meditation and prayer with the Friars, playing Scrabble in the evenings with the other artists, walking in the gardens, and more writing writing writing. This month there will be an arts festival at the Friary and many of the artists who participated in the residency over the past years will be taking part. There will be an art exhibition, performances and readings, a symposium discussing spirituality and art, and workshops of every sort for young and old. If you are anywhere near the area or if not if you can get there anyway - Mullingar is the nearest centre, not too far away - it would be well worth a look. The admission is FREE. (That's Franciscans for ya.) Have a look at the fabulous website. It tells you all about it: www.strayingclosertoMulty.com.

Halloween

The sun was setting below the horizon. A dusky light suffused the air. Along the main road, fires burned in steel barrels to provide heat and light. The streets of Creemore were crowded with witches, goblins, vampires, fairies, princesses and warriors, all trooping from house to house to collect their due. Grinning Jack-o'-lanterns flickered with orange light on every porch. Paper skeletons dangled in the windows. Shrieks and howls rang through the night. There were plenty of adults in costume too. The first full moon on Halloween in fifty years was due to rise. Everyone felt the magic. (The Book of Dreams)
Those of you who have read The Book of Dreams know that Halloween plays a big part in the finale of the Chronicles of Faerie series. It's no coincidence. Samhain - the winter feast and the beginning of the Celtic New Year - is the most important date in the Celtic calendar. At this time the veil that separates our world from the Otherworld grows so thin as to be non-existent and the ancestral dead and the Faerie Folk walk among us. (Yes, that's where all the dressing up comes from!) When a full moon occurs at the same time, as it happened this year and as it does in my book, things get all the weirder.

Fibre Arts

I was doing some research on weaving for a character in my new young adult series and I discovered this amazing website: www.fiberarts.com. (Imagine spelling 'fibre' like that.) Actually I was looking through their magazine to which my artist sister Pat Burnes subscribes and that led me to the website. I love this piece by Jenny Lawrence, called Remembering Community II: Living Alone, 1999, nylon tulle on wood tray, fabric manipulated by thermoplastics. A desire and an idea is growing in my mind. I would like to learn how to weave on a loom. Have added that to my list of must-do-before-I-die.

Dream Image

I had an incredible dream a few nights ago. I was in a big room in a skyscraper, like a newsroom, with desks and computers and wide glass windows. I looked out at the street and saw this marvel: four or five men were carrying tall poles that bore a huge ashen mass above them, like a dark cloud. It was thick but not solid, it kept moving on top of their poles and it was shedding bits here and there. There was a theatrical sense to the image, as if the men were mummers or maypolers on parade. Also a kind of Tarot or occult feel. Even in the dream I knew I was looking at something wondrous. On waking, I was reminded of lines from one of my favourite poems by Wallace Stevens:
These are the ashes of fiery weather,
Of nights full of the green stars from Ireland,
Wet out of the sea and luminously wet,
Like beautiful and abandoned refugees.
I believe the dream has to do with my new book, the adult spiritual novel I am writing called People of the Great Journey. In fact, I've added the image into one of the last chapters. I'm almost finished the penultimate draft. Only three more chapters to go. Then I have to do a final draft. It's already 331 pages. A big work. I'm curious to see how it will be received. Whenever you go too close to matters of the soul in this place - I mean on this planet - there is always fall-out. The materialists rule. For some reason, most of us do not want to be reminded that we are souls exploring physical reality, unless the reminder is packaged safely in a religious format. (Indeed, organised religions are materialist in practice while purporting to serve the soul.) Artists who work in 'the smithy of the soul' are often sidelined, e.g. Sharon Butala below who is, I believe, Canada's greatest writer and not recognised as such.

E-Books

I know I'm a Luddite - I was the last person in Ireland to get a mobile phone - but I hate the idea of e-books. A real book involves paper and a cover and smells nice. I figure any agreement to have one's work in e-book form is like being forced to dig one's own grave before being shot. This is the death of the book as we know and love it. I wonder what would happen if authors refused to allow their books be digitised? (Aside from their agents slapping them on the back of the head.) I'm seriously considering it myself. I know it's loss of income but I don't put money over principles and I don't fear being poor since that is what I am and have been all my life. The rise of the e-book is part of the global drive to de-humanise everything, to replace workers with computers, and to reduce organic reality and human interaction to one big digital interface that Google or Microsoft or some other corporate entity will ultimately control. At some point in the nightmarish future we are all going to be inserted inside a bloody machine, unable to speak to each other, only clicking and whirring in bangs and whimpers. Hmm, I feel a sci fi novel coming on.

Sharon Butala III

A wonderful interview Sharon did on Irish radio will be aired tomorrow at 11:00 a.m. Irish time on Dublin City fm 103.2. Those not in the country can hear it online at www.dublincityfm.ie. Sharon tells some amazing tales about her experiences with aboriginal spirits when walking the prairies alone. I'm reading Luna, one of her novels about women's lives in the West. This is the first of her novels which I have read and I am spellbound. It's like reading her exquisite non-fiction books about the land, but now you've got people too! Highly recommended. (Though I must say I'm a tetch annoyed with her publishers. I stumbled over a surprising number of typos. What happened to the copy-editor and proof-reader? A lot of publishers are getting very sloppy these days. Some of my paperback editions fall apart at the seams. Cheap production makes poor books.)