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  • Writer's pictureLaura Grá

                                      The bliss of Irishness


My dear witty doodles,

The thought I am about to unfold here comprises the love of my life, my mature affection to authenticity, bravery and to the spring of destiny. Gratuitously, I felt an intrinsic urge to glorify the land of Celtic legends and enchanting stories as moral payment for 10 years of Irish bliss. I was acquainted with Eire in the quiet times of my childhood, in a poor and narrow -minded Romania where the glimpse of a mystic country was caught in the mystery of history. I was in the 5th grade when my mam praised the magic captured in Oscar Wilde's''Happy prince'', pointing at his Irish origin. Evoking the wondrous substance of the story about a prince with a lead heart who bore the burden of unhappiness behind a generous smile, she unveiled a seductive journey about love and sacrifice. My thoughts awoke in wonder, with an inner energy of the spiritual nobility of my heart. I was swallowing pages of the book in a literary frenzy, feeding my mind with supple ideas about life's unexpected missions. Ireland, as it was described to me by my mother, embraced eminently miracles in my mind due to the tales about fairy forts and druidic enchantments. Later,I discovered Joyce's spiritual sense of temporality, Beckett's chronic sense of waiting and Yeats's under the feet dreams along with the Celtic sound of Irishness. An island of histrionic weather behaviour as I found out when I moved here, a country of substantial determination and bravery and a realm of mythical tutorship! That was the image I kept in my dream about Eire. Moving here, it was a conscious act of amour, a calling of the heart and a final destination of a dream. I met Ireland before touching its ground, in the poetry of my soul, in my dreamland and in the past of my future metaphysical patrimony of sentiments. It is Ireland that moved me, changed me, turning me into a devotee of love, forgiveness and endurance. Ireland was born from the mythical essence of its past megalithic glory to his Celtic and Viking roots of bravery, perpetually renewed by the privilege of cathartic innocence. Here,in a cradle of mystery, the most dazzling gift of this glorified land is magic. Magic grows in every corner of Eire, in the tumultuous waters of the countryside brooks, along with the greenest grass of its sacred fields, into the heart of early-risen villagers, into the soul of smiley-faced children (paísti), in the ancestral promise of history, in the well-crafted words of its storytellers and in the Celtic heritage of dignity and moral greatness. The righteous zeal of the Irish wish to preserve its grandeur and the quintessence of its Celtic soul is depicted in centuries of sublime resistance against its foes. The stories of courage and glory embellish the Irish historical dowry with prestigious events of magic lying in the depths of the Irish folklore, swarming of creatures of the light of darkness, true performers of mystery. When you breath the Irish air, you 'll be inspiring a mythical flavour of fairytales,in which people of the land praise and cherish the tradition of telling and re -telling the stories with ghosts and kings, with siógs and banshees, leperchauns, silkies and pookas into an eternal confession of fantasy. A nation of storytellers, the Irish have the consistent gift of using allegories in order to shape their moral patterns. They were born out of mystery of a land that carries the determination of the stone and the versatility of the sea. Their stories bear a notable wisdom accompanied with an alluring and endearing sense of humour. Feeding themselves from the substance of the whimsical Irish weather, they inherit a sense of revolutionary uncongruencies that outlines their majestic sense of rebellion. They have experienced two key rebellions that have made their mark on their Irishness: the one overthrowing the Stuart dynasty and the other one being linked to the1848 uprising which ended up in the greatest famine of the modern history. They cannot be anyone's foes, but honourably opponents with a steady and dutiful sense of justice. Only in Ireland you could find the true triumph of authenticity in its purest form, hidden in every heart, in every song and in every battle. Cruelty vanished in times of forgotten wars, being gradually replaced by a vital bravery and a self- assertive glory. The old sentiment of godly bliss felt by St.Patrick on his first encounter with Eire,even if the circumstances weren't the most welcoming ones,has become the beguiled benediction of the Irishness sensed by every newcomer and rested in their heart for eternity. Ireland's symbols embrace the divine significance of spirituality: from the shamrock that represents the beneficial triad held in a high regard as the ancient druids considered and later its illustration of the Christian teachings, to the Irish harp enclosing a mystical immortality of the soul, its Claddagh ring given to the world to display timeless love in a cup of loyality and friendship, the Celtic cross, the emblem of Christianity beautifully adorned with the magical circle standing for our bond with the mighty sun and the nature and to St. Brigid's cross protecting the windows and the doors of Ireland. Even the linguistic treasures encapsulate the very energy of the words used in an apotropaic manner in order to keep the Irish realm safe and sound. Irrespective of the level of dangerousness in which the Irish could be situated they will use the powerful expression '' It will be grand!'' as a strong enchantment that is able to preserve their state of invulnerability against curses or afflictions of any kind. The other linguistic habit that induces the well-being of the Irish is the unyielding word "Stop!'' meaning ''unbelievable'' or ''hold on'' activating a shield that protects their folks from a potential negative attack of external mental forces. Another expression corresponding to the faculty of justness: ''fair play to you!'' reflects the Irish tendency towards a just treatment, moral verticality and a vivid clarity. Their unstoppable wisdom has been well-kept in the Irish collective thought from generation to generation, into a spiritual inheritance of paremiologic treasures that adorn their sense of civilization with cultural memories. My friends, The ÓLeannáinns revealed to me that the Irish wisdom lies in their genealogical recaptures. Here is a piece of their wisdom:''We never died the Winter yet, We never ate the snow!'' The Irish was given to the world to compensate all the misfortunes!  

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