The oratory of St. Colman echoes with hundreds upon hundreds of years worth of worshipful memory.

In a secluded glade of ancient trees nestled against the breast of the Burren, a landscape so surreal and old it seems the surface of a planet in a galaxy far, far away, the ruins of yet another holy structure keep…

To fully experience the Celtic spirit, one must embrace not only the essence of a pilgrim, but also the land the pilgrim walks upon.

Places such as Galway's Brigit's Garden are sacred keepers of beloved earthly traditions. A calendar year in the form of gardens lovingly corralled by their keepers, the Garden…

All Souls Night. A time of bonfires bursting to life beneath a cloudy sky. The grass wet from late Autumn mists that tumble haphazardly down the mountainsides as if driven by reckless celestial abandon. The soft moan of wind as it rushes through the caverns and craggy hills, meeting the water trickling into emerald…

There is poetry written into this land. Much like there is poetry written into the Irish soul. Poetry is not, as many think, a pretty art of whimsy and folly. Poetry, more oft than not, is the rawest and freest means of expression a person can have. I have always written poetry, but I began writing it…

The ritual of cleansing oneself with water to begin anew is an old one.

From the seemingly simple act of taking a shower to the tradition of baptising a baby, water is seen as a nurturing source of life and a cyclical element. Its passage through the world, be it fresh or saltwater, is a constant variable…

There is something deeply engrained in our makeup as a species to seek out our roots. To water them with knowledge and expressively branch out into the universe with greater understanding. To discover what makes us grow. We are constantly reaching for the stars, the skies, the freedom to be and encompass all we…

“As for believing things, I can believe anything, provided that it is quite incredible.” – Oscar Wilde

Well, I couldn’t believe it. I still can’t believe it. My belief is suspended on a wire made of…

I’m partial to the west coast of Ireland for its myriad wonders, which appear in small towns that are hidden like gemstones in neat grids of logic separated by rambling, idle roads. There are worlds within worlds in these Irish small towns: history and lineage and myth and folklore, meaning so resonate and full of…

The streets of Galway were gray that night. Everywhere I looked, gray buildings, gray sidewalks, gray sky, beneath a mist that floated inward from the Atlantic and hovered ominously, casting contrasting coronas of light upon the sidewalk from the interior lights of the handful of pubs still open in the midnight hour. Our…