brother
October 11th, 2009, 08:19 PM
Return to Tir na Nog
Dedicated to R M
– Part One
They say it can’t be done. They say that it is only a story. That it is a story that is too old for modern times and modern minds. They say that it is a nice story and some even admit that they would like it to be true. Only it is not true. No one can return to Tir Na Nog. No one can return to the land of enchantment and the land of the forever young.
Except that George does. George seems a little crazy. She can be seen dancing in the moonlight. She can be seen spinning like a top and running wild along the beach barefoot at midnight. They say that if you get close enough to her that there is nobody there. They say there is only a sort of luminous figure that moves as if it where the dance of life beyond any form.
In the snug of the pub Aggie McFarland still smokes her pipe. She has always prided herself in living beyond any law other than the law of the other world. “Sure you can’t see her, she huffs. “Sure hasn’t she gone to dance in the other world. Are you stupid? Can’t you feel the presence of the fairy?” Aggie mumbles and grumbles and sinks another whisky. She never pays for a drink. Aggie is over one hundred years old. It is rumored that she is often seen in two places at once. Those who live on the edge of the world of time are said to visit her in times of trouble. They go to sit in the silence of her room. There it is said she transforms their illusion and disillusion in the world that Aggie calls, “The land of never enough.”
George had been one of those people on the edge of the land of never enough. She was from Dublin 4. Now she lived alone in the big house by the shore. It was said she had had one of those things called “a nervous breakdown.” No one spoke of this openly. This nervous breakdown was talked about in whispers by people who love gossip. As the whispers grew so did the exaggeration.
Only Aggie McFarland knew the real story and it would stay with her as the gift it was. Aggie loved deeply. She lived alone in a small cottage half a mile from the nearest road. Although she was alone she was not lonely. She knew the true meaning of aloneness. She was despite appearance ALL ONE. It was said that the blood of the ancient ones flowed in her veins. This was the blood of the Tuatha De Danaan. The blood of the beautiful ones.
George they say had it all. Only she was not all one. She was lonely. What she was lonely for she could not say. She had a caring husband who adored her. She had a beautiful home; two beautiful children, a prestigious job and a family who adored her. She was very beautiful. It was said by the locals that you could tell she was so well put together that she was not made on a Friday. She was in general good health except that George could not sleep. She had not slept in a long time.
The nightmares would come. Through the door of sleep would come riders dressed in long cloaks from ancient times. They came from beyond the sea on white horses. They carried swords and each carried a shield that was polished as fine as the finest mirror. In the dream these faceless warriors surrounded her. She watched in the mirror of the shields as they cut her to pieces with their swords. This was until she woke up in a cold sweat with her body shaking and the sound of screaming in her ears.
The doctor gave her some pills. For a while they worked until the dreams returned. Stronger tablets were prescribed in addition to a holiday. Only on the holiday she began to feel and act in a way that was most unlike her. She would bust into tears for no reason. Of course she told anyone who would listen that it was that time of the month. It was the time when woman behave in strange ways. Only those like Aggie McFarland knew why woman did this.
The mood swings George experienced worsened. She took to drinking more. Her appearance became more unkempt. She neglected the children and ignored the support from her husband and her family. They said that she was depressed. George was given a three month leave of absence by her employer. Her boss was her children’s Godparent. He felt helpless and hopeless. If he were honest part of him was afraid for her sanity. He was glad to see her go even though he would never have admitted it.
So it was that George went to the big house by the shore accompanied by a friend. Each day she walked the long beach. She would look out to sea and feel afraid as she watched the white horses break atop the waves. Locals said you would see her walking with head down without as much as a smile. They said there was often moistness in her eyes even on the brightest of days. She seemed, they said, to be dragging some invisible weight behind her.
Late into the night Gorge would go drinking alone in the pub were Aggie McFarland spent the evening smoking her pipe. Aggie took particular pleasure in ignoring the new smoking ban. She continued to drink whiskey that was given as gifts. These were gifts from too many people who owed her more that they could ever say. These were gifts from locals living far in foreign lands who would return each year on holiday simply to settle what was owed on account of Aggie McFarland without any questions asked.
Aggie had noticed George. She had seen the like of her before. Aggie felt sad. More and more there seemed to be the like of her. “Sure wasn’t that the way of the world,” she thought. Then she remembered and in the silence of her heart she affirmed her real connection and said, “At least it is the way of this world.” Aggie had increasingly seen the affects of what was called in the old stories, “the sleeping sickness.” This she knew was a sickness older than time. She also knew how to cure it. So she waited. Aggie knew that this beautiful woman would eventually arrive at her cottage. There she would be given the time it needed and the silence it needed to go beyond sleep.
And so it was. One evening George and Aggie McFarland met before the fire when the troubled young woman had arrived at some unrecognized cottage. George thought she had taken a wrong turning. Aggie McFarland knew that this turning was not in her ankles. It was in her heart. Aggie knew that George was ready.
George entered a small and dark room. Although the old woman sat smoking by the fire the air was clear and in the room there was a sweet and pleasant smell. George would recall that there was something in the room that she could not describe. Later she would say it felt like some other presence was there. She said that it felt that she had gone, not only through a door into the cottage, but also through a doorway in time. It was, she said, as if time had stopped in this little cottage half a mile from nowhere.
George felt a little strange. Sitting beside this old woman she felt as if she was known in ways that no one else knew her. She felt that this old woman was like a mirror and in this mirror she could see all that she had put away as unacceptable in herself. These were the shadows of her life that no one knew about. These shadows were not known to her husband and to any of her family. Yet this old woman knew. She knew what troubled George and George felt that soon she too would know. George felt that soon the nightmares would end and she could get some sleep. Soon, very soon she felt she would get her old life back.
But she was wrong. She would not get her life back. Aggie McFarland would see to that.
Dedicated to R M
– Part One
They say it can’t be done. They say that it is only a story. That it is a story that is too old for modern times and modern minds. They say that it is a nice story and some even admit that they would like it to be true. Only it is not true. No one can return to Tir Na Nog. No one can return to the land of enchantment and the land of the forever young.
Except that George does. George seems a little crazy. She can be seen dancing in the moonlight. She can be seen spinning like a top and running wild along the beach barefoot at midnight. They say that if you get close enough to her that there is nobody there. They say there is only a sort of luminous figure that moves as if it where the dance of life beyond any form.
In the snug of the pub Aggie McFarland still smokes her pipe. She has always prided herself in living beyond any law other than the law of the other world. “Sure you can’t see her, she huffs. “Sure hasn’t she gone to dance in the other world. Are you stupid? Can’t you feel the presence of the fairy?” Aggie mumbles and grumbles and sinks another whisky. She never pays for a drink. Aggie is over one hundred years old. It is rumored that she is often seen in two places at once. Those who live on the edge of the world of time are said to visit her in times of trouble. They go to sit in the silence of her room. There it is said she transforms their illusion and disillusion in the world that Aggie calls, “The land of never enough.”
George had been one of those people on the edge of the land of never enough. She was from Dublin 4. Now she lived alone in the big house by the shore. It was said she had had one of those things called “a nervous breakdown.” No one spoke of this openly. This nervous breakdown was talked about in whispers by people who love gossip. As the whispers grew so did the exaggeration.
Only Aggie McFarland knew the real story and it would stay with her as the gift it was. Aggie loved deeply. She lived alone in a small cottage half a mile from the nearest road. Although she was alone she was not lonely. She knew the true meaning of aloneness. She was despite appearance ALL ONE. It was said that the blood of the ancient ones flowed in her veins. This was the blood of the Tuatha De Danaan. The blood of the beautiful ones.
George they say had it all. Only she was not all one. She was lonely. What she was lonely for she could not say. She had a caring husband who adored her. She had a beautiful home; two beautiful children, a prestigious job and a family who adored her. She was very beautiful. It was said by the locals that you could tell she was so well put together that she was not made on a Friday. She was in general good health except that George could not sleep. She had not slept in a long time.
The nightmares would come. Through the door of sleep would come riders dressed in long cloaks from ancient times. They came from beyond the sea on white horses. They carried swords and each carried a shield that was polished as fine as the finest mirror. In the dream these faceless warriors surrounded her. She watched in the mirror of the shields as they cut her to pieces with their swords. This was until she woke up in a cold sweat with her body shaking and the sound of screaming in her ears.
The doctor gave her some pills. For a while they worked until the dreams returned. Stronger tablets were prescribed in addition to a holiday. Only on the holiday she began to feel and act in a way that was most unlike her. She would bust into tears for no reason. Of course she told anyone who would listen that it was that time of the month. It was the time when woman behave in strange ways. Only those like Aggie McFarland knew why woman did this.
The mood swings George experienced worsened. She took to drinking more. Her appearance became more unkempt. She neglected the children and ignored the support from her husband and her family. They said that she was depressed. George was given a three month leave of absence by her employer. Her boss was her children’s Godparent. He felt helpless and hopeless. If he were honest part of him was afraid for her sanity. He was glad to see her go even though he would never have admitted it.
So it was that George went to the big house by the shore accompanied by a friend. Each day she walked the long beach. She would look out to sea and feel afraid as she watched the white horses break atop the waves. Locals said you would see her walking with head down without as much as a smile. They said there was often moistness in her eyes even on the brightest of days. She seemed, they said, to be dragging some invisible weight behind her.
Late into the night Gorge would go drinking alone in the pub were Aggie McFarland spent the evening smoking her pipe. Aggie took particular pleasure in ignoring the new smoking ban. She continued to drink whiskey that was given as gifts. These were gifts from too many people who owed her more that they could ever say. These were gifts from locals living far in foreign lands who would return each year on holiday simply to settle what was owed on account of Aggie McFarland without any questions asked.
Aggie had noticed George. She had seen the like of her before. Aggie felt sad. More and more there seemed to be the like of her. “Sure wasn’t that the way of the world,” she thought. Then she remembered and in the silence of her heart she affirmed her real connection and said, “At least it is the way of this world.” Aggie had increasingly seen the affects of what was called in the old stories, “the sleeping sickness.” This she knew was a sickness older than time. She also knew how to cure it. So she waited. Aggie knew that this beautiful woman would eventually arrive at her cottage. There she would be given the time it needed and the silence it needed to go beyond sleep.
And so it was. One evening George and Aggie McFarland met before the fire when the troubled young woman had arrived at some unrecognized cottage. George thought she had taken a wrong turning. Aggie McFarland knew that this turning was not in her ankles. It was in her heart. Aggie knew that George was ready.
George entered a small and dark room. Although the old woman sat smoking by the fire the air was clear and in the room there was a sweet and pleasant smell. George would recall that there was something in the room that she could not describe. Later she would say it felt like some other presence was there. She said that it felt that she had gone, not only through a door into the cottage, but also through a doorway in time. It was, she said, as if time had stopped in this little cottage half a mile from nowhere.
George felt a little strange. Sitting beside this old woman she felt as if she was known in ways that no one else knew her. She felt that this old woman was like a mirror and in this mirror she could see all that she had put away as unacceptable in herself. These were the shadows of her life that no one knew about. These shadows were not known to her husband and to any of her family. Yet this old woman knew. She knew what troubled George and George felt that soon she too would know. George felt that soon the nightmares would end and she could get some sleep. Soon, very soon she felt she would get her old life back.
But she was wrong. She would not get her life back. Aggie McFarland would see to that.