The High Hill

Chapter One

There before me stands the image of a benevolent guide, his tall black red and green hat upon his head, a spirit presence of an ever-living soul if ever I have seen one. For knows he well I’m thinking of taking a journey on up along the coast of Galway North. Connemara North that is, and taking my pilgrimage to Croagh Patrick. God bless this journey!

“Don’t forget your boots.” The spirit says as he pulls his lapel back for an instant to show me a small white gold equal armed Celtic cross.

The floor is shaking beneath my feet, the way it does whenever the spirit of a priest is around. The kind that performs cleansing for the mind, for the soul. An unmistakable shaking of the ground is felt then usually beneath the feet. Could you be feeling it now yourself as you sit reading this?

There’s the height of dreaming in this world and I’m absolutely willing to be a dreamer, I have been all my life. Don’t plan on giving up on my dreams especially when each one is realised, brought to fruition and oh my God. Today is the pinnacle of the new dawn!

Venus is passing through The Seven Sisters constellation as I write, as you visualise it also, an alternate reality in itself, the imagination.

Though my mind travels wide into the oceans of blissful sleep, in my dreams and my waking hours. It is the ever present mystery I savour whenever I open my mind to it.

Here as in the mind of the youth, to dream of mysteries is to allow for them to exist. Though the journey is long, we walk each step one at a time, at good pace is best I find.

The constant work involved in this work of mine needs always be a practical art. The art of waiting as I am waiting now for the morning lights invitation out the front door and off into the wilderness again.

There’s that golden yellow morning bright light that’s slipping over an azure-violet Eastern horizon beyond the Western lands of Galway Bay. Close enough to Saint Brigit Bullaun Stones of Oranmore.

Every morning as I child, I would enter he kitchen and see this sight blaring in at me and well I knew there was a God. For the messages where clear from the start, that this world is for the living.

That you can feel it in your kidneys when goodness breaths its life-force into you. Reminding us that everything good makes our bodies shine.

With this in mind, the Sunlight suddenly reflects off the edges of the windows coming from the golden glass panels by the front door. As soon as I see this invitation to get up and go, enough is said, I’m off again!

Where in this world of evergreen Summers growth and Autumnal ethers golden rusted leaves does the heart of an adventurer rest? Never does my heart s desire rest.

I’m all ready to start the day, with jacket on and a small backpack filled with essentials the night before. I’m out the door after a quick glass of water and off to continue my daring journey through Ireland holy-lands and sacred places.

An enormous seagull shoots from behind my left shoulder over the top of the house with a calling other gulls cry elsewhere.

Although I knew they were waiting for me outside as they always are whenever I’m off for a hike. My inner spirit-ear listens intently for any deeper messages from the angels or guides.

Here’s an abstract engraving I have made about the seagulls and some other animals and spirits awaiting us on this journey this day.

Knowing full well that my guides speak through all animals, all sounds and voices can talk to the third ear within a gifted seer.

Still the seagulls make their presence known, as they are the souls of sea farers long passed and become great, friendly guides and companions to anyone bright enough to see this truth clearly.

The imagination is a gateway to the spirit and soul of all spiritual sight. Quick as a swallow in full flight your mind will become as sensitive to the presence and power of any images that come to your mind.

It takes years of service to the spirit beings to become truly gifted as a spirit-doctor. Recognised by many for your ever-increasing healing abilities.

Years of nature study and wilderness walking or hiking or even a quick splash in a river or the sea from your car on the way home. To teach you how important the fresh air is, all aspects of nature’s true spirit.

The call of the wild lives within our hearts even when were city dwellers, there’s a natural mystical being within all of us.

The last time I had an exciting adventurous walk in the wild bogs and high sky roads above over the hills of Barna and Spiddal. I made it all the way out as far as The Diamond Head.

So, this time, I’m taking a lift out as far as the end line of that journey. After all I can’t keep writing about the same pathways and places. There’s a new world awaiting out there and I can’t wait to see it.

To focus on the story, I’m keeping the driver’s description and character secret. For on this pilgrimage to the holy mountain I’m off to, there’s many guides with me along the way.

Just as I exit the house there’s the image of w white curly haired man that tells me his name is Seamus. A wild curly head of hair on him, as his spirit image shows me a giant Ram.

A Godlike vision of an enormous Ram resting on the side of a green hill by a lake near the Galway Mayo border. “Tribes” Seamus says into my left ear. “Tribes from both counties and parishes of old”. I think to myself.

“Yes, visions a plenty we will experience.” I heard the voice of Seamus say. His spirit would be with us on this journey I am sure.

For on that sacred stone, just North of The Diamond Head, down by the inlets stands The Knockback Megalithic Tomb beside Salerno Beach. Just across the beautiful inlet of Cleggan bay.

The sweetest wee beaches you’ve ever seen and during the Summer months both the locals and the visitors come down here to picnic and walk about. A Haven and a rare one at that.

Inisbofin Island off to the left facing West and here it is that the next leg of my circumnavigation of Irelands coastal ancient pathways and old famine roads begins again.

First stop is a medieval church called Ballinakil, right beside Ballinakil Lough, a fine elongated lough it is too, just off Maumfin hill to the North.

On way ahead then all on my lonesome, apart from the odd visitation from Seamus, my spirit-guide for this leg of the journey at least. Next stop the enormous Kilmore abbey, at least the way I’m going to have of it from up above, on the hill that overlooks the Abbey.

“Mag Mell” I hear a voice of a woman whisper into my ear to my left. A yes, another ancient Irish belief in a glorious Island or sunken island in fact, of the afterlife.

Just as I’m entering the woods to the side of Kylemore Abby’s hill, the sound of a melodious harping comes from above my head. A gentle almost inaudible harping at first, then louder as I approach the ash trees at the edge of the woods.

I’m instantly transported into another realm as I trod over soft mounds of moss and heather along a thin line of flat stoned path through the trees.

Knowing full well to keep the spirit world at bay and only to allow it to touch gently onto my shoulders. For this does be a wonderful experience for the sense. It’s a taste of another world and has to be kept on the edge of reason.

Reflections of alternative dimensions are our domain as seers. Where others rush in, we tread softly and only allow a taste of spiritual metaphysical realities.

As I walk along the cracked stone pathways, past the tall oak trees and birch, beech, ash and scotch pines. I see the edge of a mystical island the island of Mag Mell, Irish afterlife’s submerged magical island.

It’s enough for my eyes to hold psychic memories of this miracle and to call upon it in the future. It’s all in the mind after all, all experiences all feelings, emotions, memories and understandings.

Of course, our soul and spirit rules the mind, it’s easier to understand the workings of all things when your spirt teaches and shows you truths.

Yet once the portal to otherworld’s opens, it comes and goes as pleases, especially in the early mornings when you’re half way between worlds already.

Thus, as I clamber over the larger boulders and rocks halfway up the hill here at Kylemore, my mind has to concentrate on the physical world more so for safety’s sake.

“Be good now” I hear a Nuns voice calling gracefully over to my right side. I open my mind’s eye and ca see her clear as a bell. Her hands clasped gently by her solar plexus holding a downwards pointing triangle shape with her fingers.

“The water of life” I think to myself as a large flock of starlings shoots past my right shoulders sight.

Screaming and chirping the way starlings can at full flight. Such a glorious blessing to behold. A small miracle as most miracles should be to the eyes of the mystic on spiritual pilgrimage and adventure.

“You must study Magic” the Nuns voice trails off behind me as I climb up and over the last boulder in my way. I have heard religious people, Priests and Nuns mostly tell me this very same thing time and time again.

It’s strange through, they’re always calling me in my mind to be more aware of the church, its importance in times gone by. Yet whenever I talk back to them mentally, clairaudiently, they say. “Keep going, follow the magic.”

Confused? Not I, there must be a reason why they trust me with that secretive and banished path. I suppose someone has to Sheppard the experimental youth through dark tunnels and adventures to places of ancient Gods and Goddesses.

As I turn to the right in a clockwise direction, as I have learned to do when facing special places. The sunlight’s reflection bouncing off the abbey’s lake below. I close my eyes for a moment and accept the power and blessing that’s covering my whole being in a sacred and a special light.

Heart still pounding healthily from the climb, I take a drink of cool lake water and breath the fresh hill air with glee. Although this is an ancient Celtic highway, I have to accept the modern Irish people that live and rule this earthly realm.

Thus the Christianised aspect of this walk has begun, as it follows I’m on my way to Croagh Padraig’s Mountain after all.

Feet all bared for the stones and pebbles, as prescribed by the pilgrims of old, if you have the bottle for such inflictions on the souls.

Solutions for enigma, questions unanswered by thought, all absorbed into your heart and stomach. That even Gods of old did stay back well from bad black monsters and hardening storms.

Although the taste for Druidism is addictive, when covering the paths of ancient highways, over the stones laid down four thousand years ago. The truth of our peoples most recent religious history bares its breath within the good-minded.

A taste, a touch, a wee gander by the good-peoples stones is enough for my heart. Maybe a recollection or two of ancient deities, yet there’s something about High Kings and Druids that leaves a lot to the imagination.

The more I walk along these old stone highways and byways, the more the good people greet my eyes. Yet purpose leaves more to the souls doorway than meets the eye.

Tis well beyond the minds grasp why such beings exist, yet obvious to healers and searchers alike. Seekers of the divine, the mystical, the truth of all exitance.

Through the tall trees I roam, deep into the forests glow, past the black-red butterflies, following the worn down paths of fox and badger, red deer and minx.

For the spirits of all animals follow my soul, weather of the skies, or the waters, or of the land. Their spirits accompany my steps whenever I remember their looks and their appearances.

Faces of animals come forth from the woods and forests, from beneath the leaves, from the streams and rivers, from all around.

As effortless as a child’s imagination, the images of seals come forth, of horses and bulls, some friendlier than others, some more confident and playful.

They all serve a purpose in the spirit world, for well all animals know that humans exist, how could they not?

Animals, as playful as they are by their nature, teach me and remind me of dangers ahead. The bull’s spirit that visits alongside of me as I walk through some high grass along the paths edge.

His energy is less inviting, more dominant and defensive. His image, or spiritual presence speaks of landowners that may be unfriendly along the next stretch of the journey.

Seers see, we have all spiritual and psychic gifts and abilities to see what’s coming or what’s around the next corner. After all, these days our next corner is following our next heartbeat, to coin a phrase.

Down the other side of the hill I go, as free as a bird in flight, bashing and thrashing my way through the tall grass, rolling down the steeper parts and laughing with the rush and tumble of it all.

Next leg of the journey were off to see Saint Colemans Church on Inisbofin Island where it’s said great transformations for the spirit happen for true believers.

As soon as I choose to take the left-hand path down the side of the last hill to the west, a cold breeze wafts above my head, swirling the first golden leaves of Autumn oak trees high in the skies above.

A cloud of golden-brown leaves swirling in the winds hold, making shapes just for my own eyes. Circles of eight as always, for the symbols of eternity surround us all.

The Suns still high in the sky and I plan to walk down to the coast to catch a boat ride over to Bofin island. Saint Brendan stopped there on his epic journey across the great Atlantic many years ago.

Before I can dream of it I’m there by the beach across from the island. The waters warm enough for a quick swim before I catch a Currach (Irish traditional canvas-tar covered rowing boat) across to Inishbofin.

Coincidentally, Brendains the name of the boatman that’s taking me across the short distance from shore to shoe. His beautiful daughter Dierdre sits behind him, herself at the oars also.

Friends of mine from a few years back when I had ventured out here before and tried to swim the whole way out on my own. Thankfully they spotted me as the rip-tide had me going sideways out to the deeper ocean beyond.

“That’s the Selkies daughters dragging you off to your death” Brendain said to me the first time we spoke.

Diedre threw me out a life-line and I climbed aboard their long Currach and glad of it I was to, foolish as I felt to be lost in that current of salt water and brine.

Her long black hair flowing down from her strong sea-farers shoulders glowing a dark purple-blue in the reflected dappling shards of light coming off the sea surface around the black and red painted boat.

Muirin painted name on its bow, an old Irish word for a Marina that has other meanings attributed to it, a young virgin girl among other meanings.

They saved me that day for sure and they’re always at hand whenever I’m around the strand by Inishbroon Island just off the Western side Rinvyle Head as I call it.

Davillaun island was what I was aiming for, a rectangular island not unlike the Mediterranean island of Crete. Very similar is shape and I’m sure I saw a team of dancing women all dressed in white circling around a ring fort on its central shores.

“The daughters of Manannan, God of the sea” Diedre told me as I looked back at Inis davilllaun with a glazed look in my eyes.

“That’s their island, only women are allowed onto its shores this being the solstice eve. It’s well known that any man that comes near will be taken by them, as many have disappeared over the years.” She said to me with a graceful and pleasant look in her deep hazel eyes.

A four-mile swim it would have been, very much as far as I have ever attempted to swim in my life. Possibly the last if those two hadn’t had come along just in time.

There’s a pride welling up inside whenever you meet the person that saves your life or helps you in times of need. A greatness within that proves humanities boundless ability for goodness and godliness.

There before me now as I clamber off the curragh and wave bye to my two saviour’s for the while is the glorious green grassy Isle of Inishbofin- Inis Bo Finne.

After a quick dip in Inis Bo Finnes greatest and most glorious white sanded beach, without a soul there but myself. What a paradise is this wee island and its solitude, the cleanest looking sea waters I have ever witnessed.

Knowing full well, the majesty of the spirit world was buzzing all around my feet when I returned to the shore. For all spirits do we the seer people know the sight of and many exist by the shores of faraway places.

Yet the level of understanding that I am now on, calls only for calm and control of myself. The powerful shifting of the otherworld, as it moves between this world and its own realm, is a disciplined art to behold.

It’s not the sight of selkies nor of undines and maidens of Manannan, nor their messages and commands. It’s all in the secret of silence within, the power of controlling the bodies urges to become excited and look.

For the novice has multi-wonderous spirits to behold, yet they distract you from a deeper wisdom, the wisdom of feeling.

Mastery of fairy beings is a very hard achievement for all mystics and wizards, shamans and saints. It’s not unlike babysitting children outdoors and keeping them safe or calming down their tantrums and tempestuousness.

For I feel the power of the giants around me here on this secluded island. I seek their presence and hear their footsteps, struggling and debating with the Sidh, the Fairy Folk that surround them.

Learned is the fool that wears a silver ring, a ring made from the heart and held tight, never to fall, never to fail, always loyal to good thought and truth.

Where each sacred tree has its ancient name, its own protective spirit with their special powers and secret places. Each newly blossoming flower that gives us all wonderous pleasures.

Each petal on each flower can be a priceless thing, to those that wonder at the ever-changing seasons, the eternal springs fruitful mysteries.

For every living thing has its own spirit protector, well known their names to ancient Irelands healers and spirit-doctors. Druids and Seers, magical beings, poets and bards.

Deeply schooled where they in the endless names of the Sidh, the endless names of each sacred well and healing waters.

Great healing and great peace comes with a price, as does everything. Health and wealth within comes from without also, the world around us that even scientists must agree has living spirit, if for them is only a metaphor.

But for the spirits we have all been born from, they have sovereignty over our bodies, our thoughts, our soul even. For those that believe in God above must contemplate the factual truth sometimes.

Here on Inishbofin, where the elements themselves are ruled by elementals, by their own hierarchy of prince and princess, of king and queen and of Divine presence.

Here on an island far from the confusing blinding and binding of the fast paced and stressful modern world, such beings abound. Especially for the gifted mind, the sensitive soul, the goodness within can see deep inside our emotional mind.

For many years I have walked this world, this island, many other islands and sacred places. Seekers of truth, problem solvers, angels in disguise, so hard a task it has been to finally reach a destination of absolute truth.

Without the carnival of excited spirits in tow, for the little people as we call them are usually, if not always very excitable whenever a seer is about.

Seek and you will find, yet for what purpose do we seek? For the spirits revealed deliver miracles to the human mind. After much plunderous suffering along the way, we accept all miracles of the eyes, to be illusions.

For humans will not allow us sensitive souls to enjoy anu golden gifts of the mind. The spirits that rule them cannot allow for the miracles of sight to hold any power in themselves.

Tis only the presence that accompanies visions that holds enough life-force to keep our attention. After ten years of absolute sacrifice and suffering discipline’s for the health, will we be strong enough to study how the body reacts to miraculous visions.

Visions that can rule the mind of the uninitiated, only serve to teach the Seer, for what the Seer already knows of from their past life.

For all visual illusions are mere projections of images created by our minds. Until we accept that the spirits behind them are revealed to the adept that’s been chosen either by chance or by ancestor’s belief systems.

This path I’m walking now, is one of experience and discipline. Experience of many years of the source behind the cause.

The reason behind the thought, the emotion or lack of emotion behind the act. The pattern behind the path, the method for sanity where realms of spirits rule all molecular exitance.

There’s my path for example, as in Irish culture its well-known we do everything backwards. A discipline or a habit, perhaps for all neophytes and of the novice, we learn by mistake, which is habit forming.

Humanities path is habit forming, creatures seeking their own humanity. Irony verses truth, habit verses discipline.

My swim initially was a metaphysical near-disaster, my early seeking years where full of hypocrisy and experimentation. So be it, for wandering of the path, literally, life shows us the way, metaphorically in situ.

For the weight on our sense exact experience brings, is enormous and undeniable. Like when a basking shark swims right past you just as you turn around, a mile out in the sea.

There’s no denying that experience believe me! Yet when the spirit of an ancient mariner, his daughter or his crew do pass your sight, for many people, fear is one response.

Journey, voyage, adventure and spiritual pilgrimage are roads for the initiated of the most respected Spiritual Magi. Though some find solace in meddling and dabbling sloppily and destructively.

Others are chosen by the rejected youths they are, to become knights of the light. Either unapologetically as Christians through the Charismatics as some of us where, or by the Freemasons.

Though the waters are wide, it’s the happy child that makes the greatest servant, then as a master. A master of the tides and of the air, of the earth and of the heat within.

Though I walk along the grassy ground, feet bare and silent sounds around. My body is awake! The energies of life and quickened forces bring that secretive sacred ancient sound from large boulders buried deep.

All miracles of light shine bright, like the silver linings of storm clouds high. All riptides can be avoided before we swim into their vengeful forces.

Experience leads the wise, never wisdom, humans are made that way. For wisdom is shared by the experienced, and passed on by our fathers like mountains share their strength with the sky.

Nature’s way is hard sometimes and though the sweet nectar of wonderous and ever friendly maidens, dancing in rings of white angelic magic are sights for the seers eyes.

The will of those souls and creatures without wisdom is a life-force of struggle without breath. That’s metaphorical and physical both.

There’s one man I know, myself being him, that bought some swimming flippers, the kind that deep sea divers wear. Long and powerful enough to break the back of almost any rip-tide, current or wave.

Giving your legs an edge only otters, seals and dolphins would know. That no matter how hard life’s waters flow, those god given extra helps will nearly always get you out of trouble effortlessly.

Courage challenge’s our hearts and rises the chemicals within our blood. It gets us up off our backsides and wills us to challenge the day before its challenge’s us, or we are called lazy or afraid.

Mood rules the heart of everyone, human and animal, weather and ocean, though elements seem to have no mind of their own. They have countenance and spirits that rule them.

Those spirits have emotions, they can change their mood as we can. They also can be born vengeful as many people are, almost from their first few weeks of life. And an experienced healer knows why.

My time on the island is short and the next leg of this journey is near. A quick visit to Coonhound Portal Tomb near Tully Cross back on the mainland and it’s off to Killary harbour for another boat ride across to mayo.

A little spirit man awaits the Seer at Cloonlooaun Layline Portal as I call it, he motions to give his blessing. For he knows well the spirits of Inisbofin are in need of it. The light surrounds my head, all spirits are blessed, peace restored and after I take a quick pencil sketch of the tomb, with the wee spirit man hidden in the picture, I saunter on to Killary.

Stopping off by the wedge tomb at Ardnagreevagh first to pay my respects. Its set in the garden of a small cottage by the coast (The good people aren’t happy that the cottage blocks their view of the sea) and I remember to throw down a few Celtic style silver gifts from my pocket to the fairy folk before I move on.

There by the beaches of Hillary along the stony quartz crystal gravels of that ancient shoreline, lye the bones of famine victims still today. Though I am Irish myself and feel welcome here surrounded by the most startingly beautiful spirits, it is a place of pilgrimage for us all.

They live there and remain there, for the spirit of humanity abides in secretive places and rules them for eternity.

Yellow Orange Sunsets here I’ve seen for man the year and tonight’s no exception. The sights that surround my eyes here in this eternal and magical place amaze and astound.

Though the skies are turning a deep magentas-purple and the airs are cooling I’m full of energy and have no intention to sleep to early. Most of the birds are flocking off to their nests for the evening.

The last of the Autumns Swallows chasing their insect prey have finished up their swooping-circling dances and are seeking the warmth and safety of their nests.

How I love to swim at night here under a yellow Moon, listening for the lark or the blackbird’s song. Speaking to the spirits at night is a wonderful and mysterious experience.

Now were all living in a time-shift, alternate reality, transference of spirit existence here on Terra-Firm. Things couldn’t be more spiritual and more dualistic if they tried.

As I live and breathe, as my bare feet tread on the soft green ground, the black bird’s song rebounds off the tall birch trees along the pebbled beaches of Killary.

They sound as if they’re singing is going backwards, the way recordings can be reversed. It’s a powerful sound especially at three in the morning when most spirits are quiet.

Anyway, I’m off to my Leaba (Bed) down in the tent I’ve pitched beneath some fir trees, after helping myself to some warm mushroom soup and toasted locally sourced brown bread with some butter and handmade blackcurrant jam.

There’s a wee fairy man standing right beside the entrance to my tent, as bright as you please he is, standing in some twisted grass with a few wild flowers in the mix. Stuffing his little mouth with both hands with some wild berries, as happy as Larry.

By the look of him he has a blessing for me this night as he throws a couple of wild flowers and berries down by the door of my tent. I’m not sure as to the meaning of this gesture but it appears to be a positive one.

By the darkness of the night, his presence builds a powerful energy that builds up around us. The sound almost of a humming seems to come

As soon as I turn to look around for more of these friendly good people, his image vanishes as swiftly as it appeared.