After a day harvesting on Lughnasadh I slept to dream of ancient games. I call it a dream but I was there. I watched Lugh presiding. I felt the rush of winning competitors and the death of others. The gallop of horses billowed in my chest and the scent of grass mixed with sweat filled my nostrils. Upon waking, compelled to research my dream, I discovered the story of Lugh and Tailtiu. Tailtiu, who gave the last of her strength to clear our lands for agriculture, dying in her giving. Lugh whom she raised, so stricken with grief that he organised funeral games in her honour later to be known as the Lughnasadh games. I immediately felt a deep bond with Tailtiu as both a Mother and a woman of the land. All my gratitude for this Earth, this magical Irish landscape, this abundant clay soil in which I plant, bubbled up inside me and welled my eyes with thankful tears.
This poem came to me to recount the experience but above all, to honour Tailtiu. 💛
Music: Dreamy by Hania Rani
Image: Harvest by thienbao
Tailtiu