Magic is the Reality of Dreams

Bantierna Breandan Ceallach O'Donnabhain

Greetings, m'lords and m'ladies:

     Welcome and well met.  I am a 5th Century Irish Bard caught in this modern world.  While this can sometimes be confusing, I do find that I enjoy my current life.  Actually, I am part of a Medieval Re-Creation Organization and this is me in garb.  In real life, I am a poet, a musician and a writer.  I also work in Customer Service in a phone center (my real job).

     I love music, art, and literature.  I enjoy reading, writing and playing and singing music.  I have two cats who are my daily companions.  I have a fascination with history, archaeology, anthropology, nature and life in general.  I also enjoy RPGs, not live-action or on the computer, but with dice and paper.  I also attend Medieval Recreation events on a regular basis.

     While my life is busy, I have time for my friends and family and enjoy quiet evenings reading or writing.  I have included a poem that I wrote after attending one of the events I spoke of earlier.  Below that list is an image I created using a basic graphics program.  It is Celtic Knotwork of Twining Birds.  I am in the process of creating this image using cross-stitching.  I hope to be finished with it, eventually, but it is a slow process.

THE WILD HUNT

by

Bantierna Breandan Ceallach O'Donnabhain

Before you lay your weary head in sleep

Upon your downy bed, do not forget

To say your prayers and cross yourself tonight.

For though your doors be bolted tight against

The evening's chill, and though not e'en a gleam

Of light from moon or stars comes o'er your sills

Yet still the Wild Hunt rules this night. Across

The moors and through the fens the sweet, wild horn

Is heard, and tearing through your streets so quiet

The Horned Lord thus leads His hounds.  From Ynis

Witrin He has come, on this one night

Allowed to roam o'er all the land that once

He ruled.  This night alone belongs to H

im And so, you followers of Rome, must hide

Behind your doors in fear of Death.  "To hear

The Huntsman's Horn is Death!" you cry, forgetting

That all life must end in one way or another.

I prefer the sword or flame to sleep

And old age dotage.  So into the night I'll follow

Him, my Lord the Huntsman Wild, The Horned Lord.

 Into the night with all His train, the fearsome horde.

CELTIC KNOTWORK: TWINING BIRDS

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