Some days I sit still and think about how my life became a dream full-circle.
There’s William Butler Yeats, James Joyce and Brendan Behan.
Seamus Heaney, Jonathan Swift, Samuel Beckett and George Bernard Shaw.
The Lake Isle of Innisfree, Land of Heart’s Desire and Yeats’s grave.
Dubliners, Ulysses and Bloomsday.
The mountains, lakes, Dublin, Sligo and the Shannon.
Brú na Boinne, Corcaigh, Beara, Daingean Uí Chúis, Zú Bhaile Átha Cliath, craic agus ceol.
Brian Ború, Michael Collins, Theobald Wolfe Tone and Daniel O’Connell.
Seven hundred years of cruelty, yet still able to endure hard times.
Writers, dancers, taps, tin whistles and uilleann pipes.
Books, almighty libraries and small bookshops selling secrets.
Friendships gained, lost and renewed.
New alliances forged in foothills and strengthened on mountain tops.
“You, the Irish” becoming “Us Irish”.
Utter dedication, loyalty, heartfelt passion and amazement.
Innate decency, long chats and fickle fiddlers, the smallest dance floors filled to the brim.
Haunting voices singing songs at night, softer voices talking about Irish history near the open fire.
Family falling for that Irish dream and character, its people and its truth.
Twelve and a half years of dreaming, believing, seeing and becoming.
Twelve and a half years and counting.
©Willeke Van Eeckhoutte and Ireland, Multiple Sclerosis & Me, 2011-2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Willeke Van Eeckhoutte and Ireland, Multiple Sclerosis & Me with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.