Descend into Ireland in a mist . . . arrive magically

Inspired by the writings of the late John Moriarty, I included the following words in a talk entitled 'The Tuatha Dé Danann - They haven't gone away you know' to the Brigid of Faughart Festival in Dundalk earlier this year.

Descend in a mist . . . arrive magically.

I’d much prefer to descend into Ireland in a mist, from the stars, and set my foot gently upon her soil, wrapped up in the Féth Fiada with Manannán by my side. That way, my arrival might take place unknown, so that I could gently tiptoe across dew-covered grasses into some otherworldly copse, and there enchant my every thought with the newfound joy of arrival into an earthly paradise.

I would much prefer this to a Milesian arrival. From a distance of nine waves, as a Milesian you come in sturdy ships, beating drums of battle, and unfurl your banner of war, your standard of conquest.

But no nation ever conquered in spite or by subjugation or force could afterwards live a peaceful existence.

So I urge you to come like the Tuatha Dé Danann. Come in a mist. Arrive magically. And ask Eriú, gently, if perchance you can stay awhile, and dance and sing upon her carpet of tender green, and write joyous words and sing merry songs about netherworlds concealed in the ditches and vales of her beautiful quarters.