#tuatha dé danann
a riddle:
how do you build a home on a boundary line?
our land is crossed with borders
we are cut upon the edges, turned us-against-them
while some of us are neither one thing nor the other:
marginal existences in pushed-aside lives
and if a border lies like a knife between us
how can we balance on the blade?
there is sea and there is shore;
rain and sun; sky above and land below—
but what then, the tide pools?
what then, the mist that seeps across the fields
and leaves the air so thick with water
you can nearly breathe it in?
what then, the ocean
where you may hang suspended
between sky and stone
cradled in the salt embrace
of the world that long ago bore you?
what then, the path of light over water
by which you may walk to the edge of the world
and over into the next?
an answer, which manannán knows well:
the boundary is a land unto itself;
your home awaits you there
how do you make your way forward
when the path ahead has grown dim?
not difficult, that: look to nuada
nuada knew the cost of war
he led his people to a place of succour
and took the field that they might live
one cut: enough to change his world forever
nuada, pained and wearied,
set down both crown and pride
but kingship would not set him down in turn
made strong again, he bowed to the call
his people had a need and he would answer
nuada, your shining brow
is crowned not with gold
but by devotion
airgetlám, when battle came again
did you know it would be your last?
what did you foresee, my king,
as you took the field a second time
blade gleaming in a hand of silver?
in your final hour
as you faced down the poison
of hatred and jealousy
i wonder, nuada, were you afraid?
perhaps so; and yet you stood
you fought, you fell
even facing hopeless odds
you shone radiant and undaunted
and though you did not live to see it
your people found their home
how then shall you change the world?
will it be war? or will it be words?
ogma knows this truth:
that they are one and the same;
that war can be as skillfully fought
with clear voice and steady heart
as with strength of arms;
that battle may be won by death
but hearts are won by song
and he is as honey and gold
his voice a brassy trumpet-call
take up the cry, you who would be warriors
and speak a pure and sunlit truth
into the darkened halls of power
and if they close their ears to you
show them the teeth behind your smile
champion, give us strength to stand
and we will claim our justice
with a mouth of honey and blood
brigid walks barefoot through winter snows
a lantern in her hand and flowers in her train
the season has been long and cold and dark this year
and we, weary petitioners
are huddled in our homes for want of warmth
up then, your hopes!
sing of spring to come and growing golden light
as she is exalted, so we exalt ourselves
let every creature be blessed in its byre
every mother be watched over
every child born be in care
let all who are in need take shelter from the storm
let us feed each other
let us build our halls together
flowers will grow
where we make the choice to plant them
in the darkness of the night
light a candle and set it at your window
lady, i pray you will lead us home