Tuatha De Danaan - Hidden Irish History

theres a people who live and their way is to turn the letters to sacred natural silent song, to decompose the fixed spaces and conceptions of bondage, and reinstate true freedom through spontaneous means, they themselves are the essences of the sounds and senses their spirits long ago conjoined by the Gods, to make their way through the wheel of karma reviving dharma and living that process, also dying, but in a way as we all in the thousand movements forms, formless, appearing from dream, askance the flow yet graceful in the eternal emptiness of reality, farmers of emptiness, yet what a fruit, the food of wanti
these spirits are ultimate compassion, their way true and unyielding, friends of the myth and the woven tale, and also of the scattered chaos,
lingering in abandon, by unseen communion, synchronicity, not by chance and yet, never made, simply arising, essential and equanimous everywhere, both glowing with the warm embrace of love and the ever changing mountainrange of expression
i am empty in this zen, nothing fills me, and life melts away, theyve gathered but it is nothingness, only that,
no one was there, i did what i wanted and found my true love, our way jarred them and scattered the written crystals, as it should be
there were no times of the roaming rivers, each, was purified, and all came back to see what had returned, a link, something not even really there
but a flow like maybe not in 300 hundred years, the ice melted away in the sunrays and we looked on as the heroes corresponded to the divine vibrations
we walked away puzzled, somehow it was all one, Rando was saying, but nothing made sense to me, nor did it seem applicable to
in the hermitage of confusion, we settled growing past the logic of word, yet coming back to it, it was the letters themselves that we alive, and we the ones read, they are the leaves, and the ancient spirits, the hackers know, deep dwelling within all systems, its the same with mud as with cloud wearing mullein drinking cowboys of happiness
the samurai is in the wall, the
magic, and the way back to san pedro, all the time, oh old crone, i said, but of course, it was just the dream
pouring through, i love you, sentimental temples, mesas, and hospital rituals, is that what this is, some strange aesthetic poem, outside, STOP zen, asanomis
trees of loneliness, yet something askew, this equation is not the brew, it is not the dew, it is not the momentum of things
suprised then long eyed and wondering, what are the trails of the blue herons in the creek and what are all the waitings and the wierd way of the folk, of course the land she has enveloped you by now, in some pretense of the way, the faeries have known and yet it must be for now, the land of peace is calling, and brings all the hills to blissful sleep
and upon them dancing in the waters of the creek, are the shamans, it means nothing
where it may have gone a thousand times, I left with no understanding, only having fallen into the trap, having met myself, everywhere, truly, only half recognizing, no, it was something different, it was the heart, it was our hearts, brewing something, even deeper, the chemistry of the way is like chi and seedlings, like the heavens and earth in their order, and the old way back in the true original mind however obscure, these traditions were real ancient methods known to the spirit and the divine messengers, all the ecosystem works as friends none knows a thing yet the divine happens, blossoming through every station even weighted by it all, waited, waiting, but everywhere, without an image or anything, this marriage is the true freedom, like an empty window, broken on a snowy day
but something is warm here, something is well, the candles and the meaning of peace is here, what has gone, a great thing has been won, peace, and peace of mind, all people return, all the places are beautiful, soul retrieval, the way it really is, they were just themselves there was no fear, except in truth, there were the ways of life and death, and the understanding of the boldness, really its just a matter of time, we all stumble there unknowingly, yet in one forgetting is to shine and in another to sleep
to sleep and to shine
to sleep in sunshine
to wake up
We had fashioned ourselves of everything, and it always was as pure, like the air, the infinite nature of it all is hard to grasp, yet we pack ourselves in, we follow these paths, the great symbols, but the symbols have inverted themselves, and now they themselves emit the very amrita everywhere, the poem itself is the plant, and the plant is the sleeping part of the spirit, good vibes there,
and theres a river but its unknown, and theres a moon but seldom seen, but in our hearts, they are everywhere, in our expressions, in our philosophies
what is it? what does it mean? it is the wholesome and anarchistic silence of sincerity

thats when we met her she was a kindly Fomorian warrior sage singing again the ancient tunes that brought us hear, she was peaceful and her battles were of the spirit, enchanting the world and tuning her inner attributes to the greater harmony that she was played by the spirit like a guitar or a harp, and the centuar in the dance, I knew the Evil One would be leaving soon, and the cycle would begin again, as if it were all the same, as if it was some great hidden language in it all, but only the centaur, hear and the memories across time, maybe through the dreamtime even, they came, I remembered, but we were all the same finally it was equal, there was no malice anywhere, no more karma, totally pure, and it smelled like amazing things, I remembered him too, from afar and her giants they were, and dragons, and part of everything, they seemed, and even myself, the perception of all seemed to grow and change, the connections zipped on and on, implicating greater and greater, empty pressure, the smiling trickster who teaches enlightenment. I forgot how to write and lived simply in my mind and the faeries gave me the stories of the land and I remembered who I was, but I am shy now to tell it fully, why? because of the randomness of all things, but even questioning myself, it all rolls by, up and out, the feeling of The Evil One, So Irational, but it was true, its all here, it is equal, and there was divine serendipity through the whole vessel of creation like a shrill vibe and everything was beautiful, anything could happen, the idiocy of it all, confounded me, why not just grow our own plants and live lives like decent but inherently wild and free beings among a world that truly matched us, now we have our obsessioned our notions crystallized so rigidly passed down from beings long gone, now in so many forms free, as we in many ways the same, find elation at the word and the experience.

all of it is the snow, which falls, the snow, the divine moments, the beginning of the year, is it the cebil tree, which wards the snow, and makes it so warm, is it just chance? I stand in the pines, as the windows light with eyes, the message, reverberating outward, but saying nothing. We had been writing for so long, but we had no idea, what it meant anymore, we just randomly did it, like the books, she was a supresser, and he was one who slammed his body thus, this is what the music spoke and the random book rendered it so, so who are these spirits and why? the prescience of a land afraid of the depth of the healing, where it might take them, strange, the course of the divine prana, through the soul, there is only one, think of no more, only one being, this is for sure, but conceptions are all binds, and without them it comes flowing loosely and perhaps this is nowhere near the beginning or the end, nor is beginning a beginning or an end any kind of end.

I wrote many letter for no reason, letters to reach the new world, to change the way things were, but I think I just encouraged some kind of strange game, wierd magic, silent goings on, of course, it all could fade away, in the night or in the forgetfulness of the daydream, but as alert as fate warrants, I continued on, through imaginary hills and valleys, that was all it was.

There were small rocks and they crunched and the birds sang sometimes, I was cold and then warm, and life was interesting. the mushrooms grew, the healings occured, they left and they ceased their idiocy, is it like the secret christians, like Jesus, I remembered being like King Arthur otherwise, the whole world would not fit my name so, how I fit into the myths, looking back it all was true, which came first? was I simply living it out or was it realer than that? I saw my true self, fighting through the delusion of so called compassion, the fake nazi hypocrites, the strange wonder of the true peace and harmony and place for all things and experience, as I remembered back even, to the truth, and to the small moments, and fading away, it meant much and nothing, and scattered here and there, there was anothing but their own binding, the herbs left us in the moonful reveires of the most interesting, and its strange to use a word like holy but so much is, there even resonance in the comments and the meanings of what is being said
all of it is the spirit speaking to itself, each plane is more arcane incomprehensible to the next, more fragile to the assumption, but if we hold back we can reach the true nirvana, forget surpassing any foolishness

just be peaceful and go along in the way it runs, follow the heart before the word, and all of this is just a load of insanity, I would like to meet the fairies, and to fly away in peace, and to keep the strength at one in myself, as it is everywhere, and cease the doubting in concrete truth, and save the world, but what is the true course of nature? multiplicity, total freedom, its the predictions which are the first boundary, and the spring from the people who spring from the planets, so when we align ourself back to Wanti and heaven, and unnamed unfelt realms, pouring back slowly,we experience all the realms joined by Adawapayo and all the empty space as the light, sound and the spirit, Goddess is there among Christ, its crazy how it works, the blessing of the Lord who is true, who is near, who is the tao,

I told them, in the temple of the mother, and they pushed me out, I told them everywhere, the Yomos blessing is everywhere, is the essence, and Yaveyetta, like the awesome sky licked dream, and I prayed and loved,.the names changed
the letters shifted, the universe fell apart and came together, it seemed to work in some way, but it was so random

the tuatha were not meant to be like this, in wanti, we lived one with nature, now we find this crazy way, this deep development, and it is beautiful too! Everything is amazing, and we are in wonder, at least I am, because we are very different, and we shapeshift sometimes, and sometimes it can be strange, because not much real mention is given to us, but moreso than some other folks even, like the Abatwa, whom we are good friends of. All things self liberate, the meanings of the art are real, but there is nothing to direct, we are breathed, as Dan Millman once wrote,

There is life does it change, is it life, is it truth, the Goddess, God, the Oneness, One Diety, one Being, self liberating, through all action, I look back and see it was all purest joy, and innocence, the divine mind, the divine heart, knows this, these realms of wandering are temporary and flase, there is no connection, just traditions to break down, stiffened muscles to bring back to the sleep, I jump around, and see, pi is there, acellerating after me, and the snow, of all of everything, quiet now, its 9:00 so many there is something true, or just something taking out of proportion, why does the world not let us be honest? Why is there the trickster shamanism?

We asked this, and beheld the feet, and saw the truth and the madness done, wrought by the patriarch, wierdness, shinto, yet even that had its purpose we came to understand, as we breathed and relaxed and across all of us the great light came.

God is all of it, and the only end, but in every form, in everyform, there is equality, its amazing, nothing can stop anything that must happen from happening, this idea is amazing.

God is within, and one of many layers but the wise know them as one!

We protected the earth and heaven with our existence and healed the corruption, brought wholeness through knowing all as God, and not seeking to end eachothers revery but build upon them, and with love, which begets itself, and is the meaning of life, so we learned immortality and to be the universe, which we always were, almost vanished in our union, and debunked of linear history, which is much changed to this day, yet even now randomly,there are the runoac

Yet the guardians continued to do thier strange ritual with the german tea,, the cotton and the sliced up trees, and the emphasis of their feet, the helicopters continued to hover overhead, yet no one did anything, no one spoke anything through, perhaps it is schizophrenia, and it truly has no sense, but hark we rose, and united all then, Odin came quickly and joined us in healing, and anansi was there as well, there was no explanation, but as it all passed about we understood that it was a strange kind of pointless psychological ritual, spontaneously happening in the world, it was the practice of wantism, and I looked straight at those germans, and the tea of the patriarchy and I brewed my own tea and I drank it.

Things began to change, all the people of the world, and all the beings are the brothers and sisters, there is an order to the way they have arranged themselves, all in exemplication of the ancients, all with the innocence and wisdom of the brook, the rain, the sea, all things lent to eachother their truth, I randomly searched the net and looked up videos of feet, it was entertaining and somehow magical, perhaps the reason for it all, that by those divine extensions of body, which hold in miniature the whole of our sensation, through the nerve maps, everyone was so drawn, the ego and the egoless, the pointlessness, the true sexuality, true bhakti, for everywhere was the beloved, even in those taboos which seemed to come as defiance blocks in the way, I thought nothing of them, people do what they must, and live in the way they must, but it is my way, to love regardless like the sun, what do I know of thier inner wisdom in the end? or they of mine? we are drawn by the way of nature and by that way our meeting is blessed, the lotuses and the love there it was different than before, it was truly equal, there are foot spirits I believe and a deeper meaning to it, a means of walking between the world, all of the organizations are repressive, but Nevertheless I returned to Africa, I called to Abassi and the oneness appeared, and it siad neer let go of the light, you do what you can, you live in a strange world, but slowly we gathered, we of clear mind, clear conception, calling ourselves the Danann, connected by a tradition of unity with the now, and by a love, around us all the darkness, we quest and find it fertile, like the soil, mixed with light, mixed in water, mixed in the endless solutions and disillusions of life. Its not too late, for only our names have changed, but we are always true, we abandon the official stories and run free from history, run free from the institutions and directly to the Earth.

Ultimately you lose youself in the words, the energy manifests in your aura and you intuitively develop the sense, which is the primal unity, the love, the goodness, there is nothing forbidden, nothing not sacred, nothing in our past or future, to reach, it was pointless, a new religion, the new words, what would they really do, did they really mean anything.
But one day across all the trees there came a feeling and in all the light every spirit woke and they said go out into the cold, and I followed them.

The oil spill was breaking down and the mushrooms had nullified remaining toxins, we weren't able to clean up. At the schools, we abandoned the teachings of the traditional way and we taught them how to break free, in secret, in groups, and to support themselves, soon the cities fell into ruin, and the moss started growing everywhere, there was a vibe like true life and we danced once more with the deer, as the collective mindful hearted of our own animal spirit enlightened us to the Yomo's blessing everywhere, There were poets and real plant people, gone from the sickness which had marred us so long, the stupidity, which had come from too much preparedness, had come from the words, but we always sent back through all time by means of the books, the messages of love, which can be seen, like the patterns of the leave and of the natural world, growing in all communication.

We broke free from the strange wierd laws of the past, and the cannabis grew free and ressurected the land, the herbs began to heal at large again, and the people knew which ones to take, and which ones to live by, all the planted seemed to sigh blissfully, the calm after the storm, and sing the truth in understandable ways again, among all the planets, there was harmony, and so the true God came

the one who appears spontaneously everywhere, the buddha the enlightened real state of living, It was very good.

Deep in Africa, they shared their taled their ways, it came out, freely they taught their truth, under roof with the spiritual proof of the living fruit of that same conscious spiral, we had grown, warriors of another class, like that old Fomorian sage, we had accessed our true power and grace, we had lost nothing, the prophecy was true. Faeries danced in the sky and we joined them, dancing from our bodies, and learning the wisdoms of the cosmos, and how our world reflected it, and our world brought them together, like a crystal, and drew together the sacred magic of our lives, which worked of such intricate divine and yet simple tao.

we came to the lakes and the came to the factories, we cease the smoke and we ceased the fallacies, the jungles grew again and now all understood the joke, even the monkeys, the monkey mind, in the passing, and the strangeness of men, have restored their own blessing, with Goddess, who can't be named, karma ended itself, the accumulation of the blockage was through, the protest of non doing was over, real life began.


I saw true feet and I saw their paths, paths through everything, every footstep there ever was, all layered so endlessly, I saw the sky and I saw the legs and the body, and I finally saw the faces of others, I saw them whole, and they were just like me, we saw eachother, we looked at eachother, two sides of one great spirit, and we made love, in every way, in truth to ourselves, and then we died.

There was enough of everything and it came something that no one did consciously. It came from Wanti.

Because I am the daughter of God and You are my sister, you are my brother, you are my father, you are my mother, you are my friend, you are my lover, and you are my solitude and I am yours.

This shall be

irish/celtic mythology *is* connected to other mythologies, because all beings are one people, you'd be surprised when you study mythology long enough, you realize the stories are about the same primordial energies and you can learn a lot, that is not even formally recognized yet, but you just know it intuitively because the spirits will teach you (and you'll be happier and wiser for it through your life, you'll live a better life), its the story of the universe, the story of being, long ago we all had psychic connections (you know those stories of people talking to trees and animals, fairies, the pyramids, stone henge the similarities of cultures across seas etc.), we still do.

its not about theft or someone stealing from someone else, if you can get over that trap, and just see it all as it truly is; different manifestations of cosmic truth, about people, about energy, life death, about all things, in ways everyday people can understand,

see yourself as you truly are, a part of all of it a child of the moment, the here, the now, then you really get somewhere,
then you are ready for the next level, and its true, it really does work, the spirits are real, they are not one set thing, they are everything, they are the deepest part of yourself.

it will take the best of you to really put it all together, you will have to use everything you have, and even then, you might fail, but for those who have the hero's call, the shamans call, nothing can stop them, they go all the way or die trying, you lose every part of yourself, and come back together, with a new vision, a complete vision, its impossible to impart and its never the same way twice, but its just the way of existence, the way of the universe,

we see that it is the universe which has done it, its in the patterning of things, ever wonder why near the end, it seems so much like the beginning? this is why, it is nature all is one, there is no beginning, nor end

in truth there is no middle either, there is nothing at all! but the shamans way is to make it seem so, why? is it some kind of strange sickness? is it a divine emanation? or big joke? in the rig veda it says that no one knows, perhaps not even the highest sages, at the top of the world tree who see all, we have to decide for ourselves, think for ourselves in the end, its anarchy out there, in every sense of the term, seriously, incomprehensible to us, we make patterns of it without even realizing it, such is our way, but it makes chaos of us also, its strange dance...
in the end, everything is endless love

faretheewell

It's clearer now.

Watch Ryder wrote: »

The sources written after St Patrick arrived were literary works amended and changed to suit a Celtic-Christian fusion. They were deliberately changed on the dates, knowledge and empowering wisdom to make historical reality a mythology and Christianity the dominant theme.
Think about it, if you were a Christian missionary or abbot in charge of writing down the history would you want to acknowledge the *real* details of that which preceded Christianity or would you distort it, mention it vaguely then discredit it?
Luckily for us in Ireland, the old ways still influence folk and the cultural sabotage was minimal compared to Britain, Gaul, Iberia and Germania where it was widespread.
Nevertheless the lack of literary works by the Celts and predecessor's really was the sum of their undoing from a historical record perspective...

The christian writers who wrote down the MYTHOLOGY were actually quite generous; they could have been a lot worse. You do have strange things shoe horned in like the children of lir getting baptised, and I think the same happened with oisin but these stories could have been completely lost if it weren't for the monks who wrote them down.