Sidhe (shee) - "Peace" in Old Irish. Aes Sidhe, "or people of peace," is the name for the spirits and ghosts of the Otherworld. The "aes sidhe," the faeries. In Gaelic, the word "sidhe" means both faerie and "peace." The faeries are the people of peace.
The Sidhe bring us wonderful gifts from their world. Legend tells us they brought art and science to humankind. The doorway to the Otherworld is in the mind... both our minds and the mind of Nature.
When we first enter the world of the spiritual seeker, we cross the borderlands into Tir na n-Og in the sense that our consciousness begins to partake of its character – one that seeks for the beauty in things. There, we leave behind some of the values of the mechanical, “mundane” world. We have entered the world of the Sidhe. We sense marvels, miracles and have visions. Our inspiration and creativity increases.
Most artists inhabit this plane of consciousness when they are creating. Their daily life, whether they are aware of it or not, is an ongoing relationship with the Otherworld,. This is the realm of the Muse who teaches us new, deeper ways to perceive life. When art is used with spiritual intent it becomes a powerful tool for transformation. It is, after all, how the Sidhe want us to use their gifts – to grow and change.
Tir na n-Og is the secret, enchanted inner life of Nature. It is the intuitive land frequented by artists, inspired scientists, magicians, seers, shamans and spiritual seekers. All who work in these fields have some degree of interaction with this level of consciousness. Within the Celtic tradition, because this world is known and visited, natural gifts often become heightened through working with the Sidhe.
At what point did humans become so egocentric and isolated, that they began to imagine they are the only life form in the universe? Our current laws of physics relegate plants, animals, birds, trees insects and fish to a lesser status. Today, man relates to the surrounding world in terms of bio-robotic forms of life functionally carrying out tasks. Never let it be said that life is alive in ways we do not currently appreciate, and even less do not say that the (invisible) faerie worlds are real. The superiour isolated ego-human has only managed to trash the planet in less than 100 years. Mechanical thoughts create a mechanical man.
When I create a garden I leave an uncultivated space for the Faerie people. I may introduce stones there, or herbs... but the area is for the wild plants, and it is there I watch what nature does. You would be amazed what nature creates when the Faerie people inhabit the borderlands of your garden.
If nature is a mirror that perfectly reflects back to you what is in your mind and heart, then thinking mechanical will mirror back mechanical, and thinking lifeless will mirror back lifeless. Nevertheless, out of reach of our perceptions the mysterious world will continue, unseen. When a dumbed down human stambles upon a mystery he either falls to his knees and worships it or he is terrified by it and the mirror reflects back what is foremost in our minds.
Our species has grown out of the world around us. Our species is supported by the world around us. Many thousands of years ago, a branch of humanity saw itself as the ultimate Gods. They did not want to share, and their hearts turned cold. They set out on a long journey to take command of the world and force all human beings to follow them. The incredible chaos we see today is a result of this thousands of years old battle to get all the humans on earth to follow the commands of this one sick branch of mankind who see themselves as Gods.
If they were Gods they would not have had to struggle for thousands of years, and still be struggling now, to get all humans to obey them. They would not need intrusive technology to carry out their global supremacy, because as Gods they could just command it to be so... Perhaps out of jealousy, they began a long campaign of destroying the environment in the name of progress, because the true power is the earth itself. Only when human beings return to live in balance with the earth will their spiritual immune system destroy this parasitic infestation of the living dead.
The Sidhe bring us wonderful gifts from their world. Legend tells us they brought art and science to humankind. The doorway to the Otherworld is in the mind... both our minds and the mind of Nature.
When we first enter the world of the spiritual seeker, we cross the borderlands into Tir na n-Og in the sense that our consciousness begins to partake of its character – one that seeks for the beauty in things. There, we leave behind some of the values of the mechanical, “mundane” world. We have entered the world of the Sidhe. We sense marvels, miracles and have visions. Our inspiration and creativity increases.
Most artists inhabit this plane of consciousness when they are creating. Their daily life, whether they are aware of it or not, is an ongoing relationship with the Otherworld,. This is the realm of the Muse who teaches us new, deeper ways to perceive life. When art is used with spiritual intent it becomes a powerful tool for transformation. It is, after all, how the Sidhe want us to use their gifts – to grow and change.
Tir na n-Og is the secret, enchanted inner life of Nature. It is the intuitive land frequented by artists, inspired scientists, magicians, seers, shamans and spiritual seekers. All who work in these fields have some degree of interaction with this level of consciousness. Within the Celtic tradition, because this world is known and visited, natural gifts often become heightened through working with the Sidhe.
At what point did humans become so egocentric and isolated, that they began to imagine they are the only life form in the universe? Our current laws of physics relegate plants, animals, birds, trees insects and fish to a lesser status. Today, man relates to the surrounding world in terms of bio-robotic forms of life functionally carrying out tasks. Never let it be said that life is alive in ways we do not currently appreciate, and even less do not say that the (invisible) faerie worlds are real. The superiour isolated ego-human has only managed to trash the planet in less than 100 years. Mechanical thoughts create a mechanical man.When I create a garden I leave an uncultivated space for the Faerie people. I may introduce stones there, or herbs... but the area is for the wild plants, and it is there I watch what nature does. You would be amazed what nature creates when the Faerie people inhabit the borderlands of your garden.
If nature is a mirror that perfectly reflects back to you what is in your mind and heart, then thinking mechanical will mirror back mechanical, and thinking lifeless will mirror back lifeless. Nevertheless, out of reach of our perceptions the mysterious world will continue, unseen. When a dumbed down human stambles upon a mystery he either falls to his knees and worships it or he is terrified by it and the mirror reflects back what is foremost in our minds.
Our species has grown out of the world around us. Our species is supported by the world around us. Many thousands of years ago, a branch of humanity saw itself as the ultimate Gods. They did not want to share, and their hearts turned cold. They set out on a long journey to take command of the world and force all human beings to follow them. The incredible chaos we see today is a result of this thousands of years old battle to get all the humans on earth to follow the commands of this one sick branch of mankind who see themselves as Gods.
If they were Gods they would not have had to struggle for thousands of years, and still be struggling now, to get all humans to obey them. They would not need intrusive technology to carry out their global supremacy, because as Gods they could just command it to be so... Perhaps out of jealousy, they began a long campaign of destroying the environment in the name of progress, because the true power is the earth itself. Only when human beings return to live in balance with the earth will their spiritual immune system destroy this parasitic infestation of the living dead.
COIS NA TEINEADH
Where glows the Irish hearth with peat
There lives a subtle spell—
The faint blue smoke, the gentle heat,
The moorland odours, tell
Of long roads running through a red
Untamed unfurrowed land,
With curlews keening overhead,
And streams on either hand;
Black turf-banks crowned with whispering sedge,
And black bog-pools below;
While dry stone wall or ragged hedge
Leads on, to meet the glow
From cottage doors, that lure us in
From rainy Western skies,
To seek the friendly warmth within,
The simple talk and wise;
Or tales of magic, love and arms
From days when princes met
To listen to the lay that charms
The Connacht peasant yet.
There Honour shines through passions dire,
There beauty blends with mirth—
Wild hearts, ye never did aspire
Wholly for things of earth!
Cold, cold this thousand years—yet still
On many a time-stained page
Your pride, your truth, your dauntless will,
Burn on from age to age.
And still around the fires of peat
Live on the ancient days;
There still do living lips repeat
The old and deathless lays.
And when the wavering wreaths ascend,
Blue in the evening air,
The soul of Ireland seems to bend
Above her children there.
The Children of Lir
Where glows the Irish hearth with peat
There lives a subtle spell—
The faint blue smoke, the gentle heat,
The moorland odours, tell
Of long roads running through a red
Untamed unfurrowed land,
With curlews keening overhead,
And streams on either hand;
Black turf-banks crowned with whispering sedge,
And black bog-pools below;
While dry stone wall or ragged hedge
Leads on, to meet the glow
From cottage doors, that lure us in
From rainy Western skies,
To seek the friendly warmth within,
The simple talk and wise;
Or tales of magic, love and arms
From days when princes met
To listen to the lay that charms
The Connacht peasant yet.
There Honour shines through passions dire,
There beauty blends with mirth—
Wild hearts, ye never did aspire
Wholly for things of earth!
Cold, cold this thousand years—yet still
On many a time-stained page
Your pride, your truth, your dauntless will,
Burn on from age to age.
And still around the fires of peat
Live on the ancient days;
There still do living lips repeat
The old and deathless lays.
And when the wavering wreaths ascend,
Blue in the evening air,
The soul of Ireland seems to bend
Above her children there.
The Children of Lir
