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The Hidden Paths of Other World
- The Hidden Paths of Other World -
In olden times, when in the realm of ancient Eire's green...
Where wise druids tended the groves of gods and nature,
And circles of stones guarded oft paths that lie between...
There the Fair Folk walked in past ages of golden rapture.
Far from the cold of the windswept north, their proud hall,
Was raised upon the Hill of Kings, today known as Tara.
Capital of the sons of Dana on this world, not seen to fall,
This kingdom lay in splendor, with each passing morrow.
Until the coming of the sons of men, upon the sandy shore,
And the great pact between the ancient race and the new...
Whence no son of Dana was seen in Eire's land evermore!
Save by those who know the paths both magical and true.
In mists cloaked, a peek here and there of lofty azure skies,
One can hear the singing of the elfin kin, in their far homes.
Across seas older than time, where alien stars at night rise,
One can oft journey through the magic of enchanted tomes.
Locked with no key of physical fashion made, nor as bound,
As are the tomes we may handle in pursuits more mundane.
Difficult to understand, yet simplest of all, is the word found,
Contained in that wisdom which itself can be reason's bane.
What use is reason, when in the coldness of logic is doom...
And life lies with childlike innocence, abundant in happiness.
Better to cast aside, the trappings which lead us to gloom...
And know a contentment that is beyond this world's duress.
Some say the paths enter the other world of ancient dream,
Where eternal autumn holds the land in colors rainbow-like.
Older magic even than Dana's shines like bright moonbeam,
There: in that realm where lies fulfilled every passing delight.
Call it Avalon, call it Faerie, but speak thus with reverence,
For gods of old yet call it home, unseen by mortals here...
Except for when one crosses the bounds beyond existence.
Through roads walked with care, one may so draw near...
And behold the glory and the splendor that rules there still!
Though long past it's time, as we reckon the hours on earth.
In castles and palaces that in this world lie in ruins on a hill,
There are opulent and new as a babe just given of it's birth.
In shadows wrapped, glistening wet with the morning dew,
Out of the corner of our eyes, we can see them flying about.
With glamours bound about them, the faeries old and new,
Timeless they are, and can be discerned beyond any doubt.
In meadows where of old heroes battled, and nations rose,
Born of legends spun from threads of gossamer, silken rare.
From lands and ages past, gone to where God only knows,
They endure still, those enchantments so beyond compare!
Bejeweled and sparkling, more precious than gold or silver,
Mighty as the works of Merlin in the age when Arthur ruled.
Such are the treasures of the other world, a realm so elder,
That in its' infancy it was wise, 'ere our wisdom was pooled.
What faded ghosts of greater glory do eyes untrained see...
That for every truth we make a myth, and believe it is false.
Whilst I have traveled on truer roads, beyond land and sea,
Until at last I have stood within the old and hallowed halls...
But of such things, no tongue can form the words to speak,
Lest on failing to convey the magnitude of what lies therein...
The magic is lost upon words alone, when words are weak.
Let it just be said that there are worlds without, and within!
In all of us a piece of the magic lies, untainted and untrained,
Waiting for a chance to show us its' fairness and its' beauty.
Though in some magic begets darkness alone, and strained,
And so, a heaven can thus become a hell, almost tragically.
We bring our darkness wherever we go, and wield our light,
More than we know, causing much sadness or making merry.
Leaving nothing as untouched by our passing, dark or bright,
As we would have ourselves believe, wherever we may tarry.
How we squander the inheritance left to us by elder kindred,
Heedless of their sacrifice for this age of mankind, boundless!
Crooked, is our remembrance of them, and only a hindrance,
For when we seek truths beyond ourselves, we gain far less.
Unless we walk like Galahad, in a purity of spirit and strength,
Seeking after finer things than this modern world provides us.
The Grail will, forever, remain for us but a chalice, if at length,
We do not see beyond the things over which we make a fuss.
So when you walk in places of power and feel of their wonder,
Respect the spirits and forces that shape the soul of the land.
They can be soft, as rain, or they can be as harsh as thunder,
As tangible as stone, or as passing as but one grain of sand!
These things and more the druids of old, beheld in their lore,
Lasting with time, as the oak and the yew of their old groves.
Only the wise now remember the tales as they were of yore,
Before fairy tales spoke of witches being pushed into stoves!
How much we have lost, through ignorance of the elder way,
Remembering as one in an illusion, seeking truth of confusion!
Whilst the path is simple to tread, unchanged with each day,
It exists in plain sight, whilst we but see it through a delusion.
In olden times, when in the realm of ancient Eire's green...
Where wise druids tended the groves of gods and nature,
And circles of stones guarded oft paths that lie between...
There the Fair Folk walked in past ages of golden rapture.
Far from the cold of the windswept north, their proud hall,
Was raised upon the Hill of Kings, today known as Tara.
Capital of the sons of Dana on this world, not seen to fall,
This kingdom lay in splendor, with each passing morrow.
Until the coming of the sons of men, upon the sandy shore,
And the great pact between the ancient race and the new...
Whence no son of Dana was seen in Eire's land evermore!
Save by those who know the paths both magical and true.
In mists cloaked, a peek here and there of lofty azure skies,
One can hear the singing of the elfin kin, in their far homes.
Across seas older than time, where alien stars at night rise,
One can oft journey through the magic of enchanted tomes.
Locked with no key of physical fashion made, nor as bound,
As are the tomes we may handle in pursuits more mundane.
Difficult to understand, yet simplest of all, is the word found,
Contained in that wisdom which itself can be reason's bane.
What use is reason, when in the coldness of logic is doom...
And life lies with childlike innocence, abundant in happiness.
Better to cast aside, the trappings which lead us to gloom...
And know a contentment that is beyond this world's duress.
Some say the paths enter the other world of ancient dream,
Where eternal autumn holds the land in colors rainbow-like.
Older magic even than Dana's shines like bright moonbeam,
There: in that realm where lies fulfilled every passing delight.
Call it Avalon, call it Faerie, but speak thus with reverence,
For gods of old yet call it home, unseen by mortals here...
Except for when one crosses the bounds beyond existence.
Through roads walked with care, one may so draw near...
And behold the glory and the splendor that rules there still!
Though long past it's time, as we reckon the hours on earth.
In castles and palaces that in this world lie in ruins on a hill,
There are opulent and new as a babe just given of it's birth.
In shadows wrapped, glistening wet with the morning dew,
Out of the corner of our eyes, we can see them flying about.
With glamours bound about them, the faeries old and new,
Timeless they are, and can be discerned beyond any doubt.
In meadows where of old heroes battled, and nations rose,
Born of legends spun from threads of gossamer, silken rare.
From lands and ages past, gone to where God only knows,
They endure still, those enchantments so beyond compare!
Bejeweled and sparkling, more precious than gold or silver,
Mighty as the works of Merlin in the age when Arthur ruled.
Such are the treasures of the other world, a realm so elder,
That in its' infancy it was wise, 'ere our wisdom was pooled.
What faded ghosts of greater glory do eyes untrained see...
That for every truth we make a myth, and believe it is false.
Whilst I have traveled on truer roads, beyond land and sea,
Until at last I have stood within the old and hallowed halls...
But of such things, no tongue can form the words to speak,
Lest on failing to convey the magnitude of what lies therein...
The magic is lost upon words alone, when words are weak.
Let it just be said that there are worlds without, and within!
In all of us a piece of the magic lies, untainted and untrained,
Waiting for a chance to show us its' fairness and its' beauty.
Though in some magic begets darkness alone, and strained,
And so, a heaven can thus become a hell, almost tragically.
We bring our darkness wherever we go, and wield our light,
More than we know, causing much sadness or making merry.
Leaving nothing as untouched by our passing, dark or bright,
As we would have ourselves believe, wherever we may tarry.
How we squander the inheritance left to us by elder kindred,
Heedless of their sacrifice for this age of mankind, boundless!
Crooked, is our remembrance of them, and only a hindrance,
For when we seek truths beyond ourselves, we gain far less.
Unless we walk like Galahad, in a purity of spirit and strength,
Seeking after finer things than this modern world provides us.
The Grail will, forever, remain for us but a chalice, if at length,
We do not see beyond the things over which we make a fuss.
So when you walk in places of power and feel of their wonder,
Respect the spirits and forces that shape the soul of the land.
They can be soft, as rain, or they can be as harsh as thunder,
As tangible as stone, or as passing as but one grain of sand!
These things and more the druids of old, beheld in their lore,
Lasting with time, as the oak and the yew of their old groves.
Only the wise now remember the tales as they were of yore,
Before fairy tales spoke of witches being pushed into stoves!
How much we have lost, through ignorance of the elder way,
Remembering as one in an illusion, seeking truth of confusion!
Whilst the path is simple to tread, unchanged with each day,
It exists in plain sight, whilst we but see it through a delusion.
Published 17th Jan 2016
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17th Jan 2016 11:15am
hullo
Interesting take on the De Dannan and their exedous. I've been to Tara, and been to Newgrange. very interesting places. also interesting are the books of visitors and invaders which were kept. the book of visitors describes how a young princess came to the shores flanked by servants, it said she was frightened, and she asked if she and her servants could go to Tara. they went to Tara, servants carried a large trunk and were without it when they returned. ...interesting. Its against the law to do an archeological dig on Tara ..which is a shame
anyhow good stuff
*hat tip*
Interesting take on the De Dannan and their exedous. I've been to Tara, and been to Newgrange. very interesting places. also interesting are the books of visitors and invaders which were kept. the book of visitors describes how a young princess came to the shores flanked by servants, it said she was frightened, and she asked if she and her servants could go to Tara. they went to Tara, servants carried a large trunk and were without it when they returned. ...interesting. Its against the law to do an archeological dig on Tara ..which is a shame
anyhow good stuff
*hat tip*
18th Jan 2016 1:37am
I've always loved those stories and histories! Ancient Irish Celtic myths and legends were of particular fascination for me back when I was a teenager and was studying a lot about the Druids and similar subjects. I remember reading a lot of fictional takes on those tales, and my favorite authors of such fiction were Kenneth C. Flint and Morgan Llewellyn. Their stories never failed to preserve the quality of the subject matter with very few artistic liberties taken compared to many other authors who dabbled in those sorts of works. Once I had studied all I could of the Irish tales I moved on to studying about the Welsh and British Celts and the stories surrounding the people of ancient Gaul. But there was always something magical for me about the stories and histories surrounding the Tuatha Dé Danann, so when I began to pen this poem of mine those were the legends my mind went back to thinking of... and in the end methinks it turned out rather magical. I am happy you liked it, and thanks for sharing that interesting bit of lore with me! :)
