A Story of Truth
The Path to Truth
The Hound is Dead
Ten Thousand Years
Arbour Harbour
Bury my heart on Mona
Poem River
A Story of Truth
The Path to Truth
The Hound is Dead
Ten Thousand Years
Arbour Harbour
Bury my heart on Mona
Poem River
`Greetings to you, traveller, and welcome to Caer Golau,` spoke a regal looking bearded man, dressed in elegant clothes and seated upon an ornate throne, `I am Nefol Niwloedd, Lord of this place. Come join the feast.`
`May the blessings of our Lady be upon you and yours for your kind hospitality, My Lord, for it is a cruel night to be a traveller. My name is Baedd Bach and I am a Druid of Ynis Mon.`
`Then it is a good season for Druids, for you are the second to seek refuge here this very night,` laughed Nefol Niwloedd, indicating a small, dark man, seated close by.
The man rose, and acknowledging Baedd with a nod, greeted his fellow traveller, `Blessing to you Brother Druid. I am Airgead Teanga of Emhain Macha, though your people know me as Cigfran Ddu.` The two Druids smiled and bowed to each other.
`Good,` smiled Nefol Niwloedd, `Now that we have exchanged greetings we may continue with our feast.`
Roast pork and duck was served on silver plates, with spiced dumplings and loaves. Tankards of ale were poured, and cider and mead.
After much feasting and laughter Nefol Niwloedd rose from his throne and clapping his hands together, silenced the court. `Tonight,` he said, `Is Beltaine-eve and we have all enjoyed our wondrous feast. We have been blessed with the presence of two Druids. Come now, I pray that one of you will do the honour of singing for us.`
`Brother Cigfran,` said Baedd, `You must take precidence, as you do in years and knowledge.`
`Brother Baedd, true is it that I am your elder and should have the honour, however I feel that you would be better suited to serve the taste of your countrymen. Come, sing for us.`
Baedd Bach thanked his fellow Druid, and opening his bag, took out his harp of carved oak and began to sing.
To the mellow tones of his harp he began to sing of the birth of Lleu, of Gwydion and Arianrhod, of how he received his name, was granted arms and how a wife was made for him from the flowers of the wood. The court remained hushed as he sang of how Gwydion returned Lleu to his true form after his wife`s betrayal, and how Lleu and Gwydion took part in the Battle of Goddeu.` Baedd Bach finished his song and returned to his seat to raptuous applause.
`Brother Baedd, I must congratulate you on your most eloquent song,` said Cigfran Ddu, `Though it is interesting how our stories of Lugh differ from yours.`
`How so?` asked Baedd Bach.
`I will show you,` said Cigfran Ddu, taking from his bag a golden harp.
As his fingers moved effortlesly across the strings he began to sing of the birth of Lugh, of Cian and Ethniu, how he was named Ioldanach, and how the sons of Tuirenn were punished for the murder of Cian, and of the war with the Fomors and the death of Balor.
The hall echoed with thunderous applause as Cigfran Ddu carefully put away his harp.
Baedd Bach lowered his head and said, `It is an honour to be in the presence of a Master Bard.`
`Thankyou,` said Cigfran Ddu, looking embarassed, `But now do you not see that our versions of the story are different to yours. The question is, which version is the truth?`
Nefol Niwloedd smiled and leaning forwards in his seat said, `Now there is a question! But tell me how do you define `truth`? Clearly you both consider your seperate viewpoints as been the truth. But `truth` is not subject to the viewpoints of men. Truth is that which illuminates the Universe. In the searching for truth, man may seek illumination, but know this, the path to learning most about truth is through experience....`
Nefol Niwloedds voice trailed off as the walls of the Great Hall began to shimmer, becoming transparent until disolving into nothing. The two Druids found themselves sitting atop a desolate hill, watching as the first rays of the dawn edged over the horizon.
The Path to Truth
Where I a Christian, I would be admired for my brotherly love, my charity
to others, my sense of forgiveness.
Where I a follower of Islam, I would be admired for my faith, my commitment
to the family and community.
Where I a Buddist, I would be admired for my disapline, my search for
enlightenment.
Where I a Hindu, I would be admired for my peity.
Where I Jewish, I would be admired for my strength in the face of persecution
and suffering.
Where I a Pagan?
Would I be admired for my brotherly love, my charity to others, my
sense of forgiveness?
Would I be admired for my faith, my commitment to family and community?
Would I be admired for my disapline, my search for enlightenment?
Would I be admired for my peity?
Would I be admired for my strength in the face of persecution and suffering?
Or would I be ridiculed and scorned? Or ignored?
Would I be falsely accused? Fear losing my children?
Would I have the freedom to follow my own pathway in my own country?
x
A pathway is one spoke on a cosmic wheel.
In travelling that path we try to reach the hub.
No matter which spoke we travel on we are all aiming for that one central
point.
The paths to Truth are as many as the breaths of Man.
The Hound is Dead
Slowly they came, though the hero light had gone,
Towards the dying warrior, beneath that ancient stone,
Once Man-child Setanta, now feiry hound of death,
`Come Lugaid, claim your prize, `ere upon my dying breath,
Hear me, Long Arm Lugh, your mortal son is dying,
Come sweet Lady of Death, I hear your black crow crying.`
`Once more I pray to perform the salmon leap,
Once more to test myself in the warrior feat`.
The dark bird of the Morrigan, alights aside his head,
And in a voice that chills the blood, proclaims `The Hound is Dead`.
Farewell Conor, my King and Fergus,
Farewell Conall, my brother in the fray,
Farewell Ferdiad, my freind in honour,
Farewell Laeg and the mighty Black and Grey.
No more to fair Muirthemneys fields, no more to the Red Branch Hall,
My freinds, my loves, my enemies, I say farewell to all,
Farewell beloved Emer.
Brook babbling foams,
Smoothes cobbled stones,
White washed clean,
A stream.
Through leafy shade,
Gentle cascade,
Through shadows gleam,
A stream.
And waters meet,
Quick hearts beat,
The poem is,
A stream.
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