“Welcome! Welcome!”, he said. His arms open wide, he gestured toward the cottage. “Go on up. I’ll be right there.”
The Pilgrims gathered outside, taking photos and chatting quietly. Soon, they were taken though and out to the back garden, where the tree labyrinth was waiting.
What else did Carrowcrory Cottage have in store? Find out here :
“You will be cold. Chilled to the bone. Brought to the cusp of death, sat at the precipice, pushed to the edge. You will have to make your way back. Kicking and screaming, if need be.”
When my Pilgrimage brought me to Oweynagat Cave, I wasn’t certain what to expect. Although I did not physically descend into the darkness, my experience was profound and I came away a changed person.
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Maeve’s Mound – photo by Sky F. https://skyaisling.wordpress.com/
She stood on the hill, the mound in the distance. Here, she was told the legend of Queen Maeve (Madb) and how she ruled Connacht. Maeve’s Sovereignty was not bestowed upon her. She stood firmly in it, embraced it, lived and breathed it.
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Everywhere you turned, the Goddess had left Her mark.
Read about my time at Carrowmore here :
The narrow, winding roads
speak of a time so ancient
and a way of life so foreign
the current form
was not even a hint
of the tiniest whisper
of a dream
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The thistle calls out to me
more of a scream than a whisper
you’ll never smell a sweeter blossom
you’ll never feel a more painful sting
To read the rest of this post, click the link.
The crows call out to me
“She is here! She is here! She is here!”
Not meaning me, of course, but Her.
The one. Herself. The Morrigan.
Read the rest of the poem, inspired by my visit to the Hill of Tara, on my Irish Pilgrimage.