"Your sails carry the voice of freedom echoing in our hearts"

2 years ago today, I was hosting a retreat upon the sacred Celtic lands of Scotland. That weekend we switched off from the outside world and communed with the spirit of the land, the stones, the elementals and of course each other, the group that were called to join that particular retreat.

Word reached us of the attack in Gaza / The State of Palestine / Israeli-occupied West Bank. We gathered in circle and prayed for all those suffering in war, division, separation, lack of safety, violence, cruelty, dehumanisation, torture, hatred, inhumanity. While we were singing and praying, dancing barefoot around the standing stones, bombs rained down on the people of Gaza with deadly drones hovering overhead to complete the job.

Last week I watched live as the Global Sumud Flotilla sailed across the Mediterranean sea to bring humanitarian aid to the people of Gaza who have suffered so so much. Another epic attempt to reach Gazan shores to bring basic supplies. 44 boats with 462 people on board. The flotilla is described on their website as:

"...a coalition of everyday people—organizers, humanitarians, doctors, artists, clergy, lawyers, and seafarers—who believe in human dignity and the power of nonviolent action."

Ordinary people who heeded the call from over 40 different countries worldwide. A grassroots movement. I could feel the hope rising within me.

I also watched on social media as the people lined up along the shores of Gaza. The azure blue sea rolling onto the golden white sand. Of children sitting on the sand drawing pictures in anticipation of the flotilla's arrival. Filled with hope and joy. Some hoping for chocolate and sweets. Others made tiny paper boats, coloured in red, black, white and green representing the Palestinian flag with the words "Global Sumud Flotilla" written in crayon on them.

A beautiful mediterranean scene infused with so much love, until the camera angle turns inland to a land reduced to rubble, flimsy tents and the constant hum of horror; or zooms in to the faces of the people ground down and desperate yet courageous beyond my comprehension. Turning up the volume to the incessant sound of planes, bombs and drones.

From my peaceful perch in Scotland, I cried and cried for the people of war. For the brave activists sailing on the sea. Knowing exactly what they are sailing into. And going there regardless.

I cried for everyone. For humanity.

For all of the people.

For the perpetrators - for they know exactly what they do.

But what use are my tears? When have tears ended world wars?

Then I came across a message on social media that is so infused with love and humility, it melted my heart, all the way from a girl on the Gazan shore:

"To of the Global Sumud Flotilla… Know that it’s not only the sea awaiting your arrival, but all of Gaza watching the horizon for your ships. The journey may not be easy, but the moment you set sail, you already broke the siege—your sails carry the voice of freedom echoing in our hearts. Sail with peace of mind… here in Gaza, we are waiting for you with prayers, with love, and with the certainty that victory is closer than we think." - ​https://www.instagram.com/juwayriya208​

Even with all the raw horror of war, love shines through the tears.

Ireland was the first country to be colonised by England with the Norman Invasion in 1169. Described as a laboratory for the British Empire by Jane Ohlmeyer, Professor at Trinity College Dublin. So successful was their colonial lab work, that many of the culprits (including the formidable Black and Tans) travelled to Palestine where a British Mandate of suppression was eventually enforced and the colonial template re-enacted.

On and on goes history repeating itself. Stuck in a colonial mindset which is at the root of division, war, the current atrocities and man-made famine.

Whether you've been colonised or the coloniser, the mind-set is present within our DNA.

Within my DNA.

It's this colonial mind-set that has birthed colonial queens (and kings).

It's our patriarchal structure that raises patriarchal people.

That's why the Sovereign Queen is rising now. To remind humanity of who we are as pure, noble hearted beings. Those who have the heart to heal and the willingness to transform.

This, therefore, is my kind of activism. Rooted in the voices of the land that calls on the ancient new Queens codes to rise again from the inside out in a renewed strength, love and peace. As an antidote to war or feeling helpless.

What I can offer you today is an invitation to step into sacred circle with me to call back our soul fragments lost to the ravages of time. To witness, support, activate and heal so that you may express the pure illuminated Queen energies into your form of activism.

Details are below.

1) Carriers of the Wisdom: Keepers of the Code

Return to Tara: Resurrect Your Gold

~ Become the Sovereign Queen Embodied once again ~

This is an 8-week online ceremonial pilgrimage through the deep pure wisdom of Ireland. We begin on 29th October 2025.

​CLICK HERE​ to find out more.

2) Queen Code Wealth Temple Immersion

In-Person Spring Equinox Retreat Scotland

27 - 29 March 2026

~ A foundationally immersive transmission for women who have been in service, but not in wealth to become the prosperous Queen on sacred Celtic lands ~

​CLICK HERE​ to find out more.

I believe in human dignity and the power of nonviolent action.

I believe in love.

I believe in peace.

I believe in unity.

I believe in humanity.

I believe in freedom of expression.

I believe in multi-cultural diversity.

I believe in our ability to end all wars. To end all suffering.

I know this journey starts from within.

And I too carry the voice of freedom that echoes in my heart.

From my heart to yours.

I ngrá agus síocháin / in love and peace,

Eimear x

Breaking Spirit

Elephant in the savanna shows himself to me this morning whilst in meditation.

A bull elephant.

There he stands, facing me.

Wild.

Strong.

Free.

Yet wary of humans.

As I watch in awe, I'm instantly shown an elephant's ankle shackled with a huge thick heavy chain. This is a different elephant. Same blue grey colour but a female. Her calf is nearby.

This is how they break her spirit.

This is how they break her spirit.

Bull wants me to see, but it's hard for me to watch.

I'm filled with grief so deep it overwhelms me.

So I breathe.

And breathe.

And witness.

They're breaking the spirit of the animal kingdom, separating them from humanity. Cutting the cords of connection and intuition between us. Severing the trust we once had with each other.

Striving for domestication in our taming.

Embedding trauma in cells for seeing.

As bull elephant stands motionless before me in the savanna, with only the occasional swish of his tail, I'm shown other scenes equally as awful. Abhorrent. Scary.

For I too am prisoner. Shackled in a different way. No longer free. I clutch the cold black bars with my tiny hands as I peer out of the open window.

My spirit is breaking into smithereens.

We saw so much. We saw sooo much.

We witnessed so much that was so far beyond our comprehension.

We had to shut ourselves down to protect ourselves. Compartmentalising to exist. To not see the violence playing out before our eyes so that we could at least try to function in this 3D reality.

Unable to process.

Too big for our little minds.

Too awful for our pure souls.

Thrown into a state of turmoil and confusion.

Breaking spirit.

Blinded.

Breaking spirit.

Shackled.

Breaking spirit.

Forgetting what it feels like to be free.

Back in the room, I pick up my drum and begin to tap softly with my fingertips. Red brested robin arrives on the bench outside my window as if beckoning to follow him!

I see the form of my father beginning to take shape in my third eye. Smiling. Asking how his cailín is. His little girl.

He reaches over and hands me something. I recognise it. It's his shoe shine brush. I feel its texture in my shaky hands.

"What the feck am I to do this, dad", I ask?

"Dry my tears with the few remaining bristles?!"

He stands as still as bull elephant but without the swishing tail, gazing lovingly at me.

"Use it", he says.

"Shine.

Keep going. Keep going.

Be the disciple to your truth that you are.

Follow your heart."

I accept. Still shaking with all that has unfolded. Huge energies flowing through me.

Picking up the pieces of my broken spirit, for me, humanity, the animal kingdom and all beings.

Welcome September.

You've already cracked me open as I struggle to find my shine.

Le grá / with love,

Eimear x

Who Am I When I'm Irish Today?

Originally written on 17 March 2025

Last year, a friend recommended a book to me. "It's a hard read", she warned, glancing at me sideways, as if sizing me up for whether I was of the right calibre for a read of this kind.

I purchased the book. I felt I had to. That I was duty bound to.

When the book arrived, it was bigger and heavier than I imagined, with big writing and lots of pictures inside. Think coffee table style book. Which is where it sat in my house for a while before it was relegated to the storage unit inside our cylindrical baby blue foot stool.

Unread.

The soft padded tufted lid placed firmly atop.

That book was called The Truth Behind the Irish Famine. Written by Kerryman Jerry Mulvihill, his dedication inside indicates the deep need for his work:

"The Irish people who passed away during the famine have a story that needs to be told and fully understood. It is the utmost importance that their suffering was not in vain. May they humble us and remind us how fortunate we are today. Let them awaken us to the suffering that still exists within entire populations. They will never be forgotten." - Jerry Mulvihill

By pure mistake, I carted the book with me last November whilst co-hosting a retreat in Scotland. It was hidden amongst a whole load of Positive News magazines that I brought with me for a visioning exercise. I was shocked when one of the participants held it up and placed it on our altar for healing.

"What's that doing here?" I exclaimed, in embarrassment and disgust.

When I returned home, I placed the book back in the footstool. Still unread by me.

This weekend, I felt called to unearth the book from the footstool where it lay beneath the same pile of Positive News magazines. Cradling my warm cup of tea, I began to read. I made it to page 6 before the tears began arrive. The book was setting the scene for the series of catastrophic events that led to the famine. With each and every page I turned, my tears became more plentiful, bouncing off the big shiny pages. Blurring my vision.

But it was page 18 that got me. Hook, line and sinker. The "ferocious and devastating" Penal Laws of 1695. The book wasn't to blame. The Penal Laws get me every time. They catch me in my throat and fill me with dread and fear. Their purpose was complete eradication of the Irish and Ireland's ancient ways.

It was hard to read on. With a hot drop of tea in my cup, I made it to page 44, past the "Heads of Power & People of Interest" section. Robert Peel, John Russell, Charles Edward Trevelyan, Queen Victoria (ah feck you, ya famine queen, sorry if that is offensive to you, but I had to let it out.)...The London Times reporting of the Irish plight with ridicule and satire, John Mitchel, Daniel O'Connell, George Wilkinson...

...flicking forward to Asenath Nicholson, an American philanthropist who, in 1844, travelled Ireland mainly on foot, and, traumatised by the suffering she witnessed of the Irish people, wrote back home to her native New York for assistance.

I couldn't go any further. I had read enough. The lump remains in my throat. The suffering and trauma still feels real. The wound is rising to the surface now. Begging to be healed.

Today is St Patricks Day as you most likely know. On this day in 2021, I wrote a poem in the form of a cultural enquiry and contemplation for myself and my Irishness.

As everyone celebrates being Irish, what does this really mean?

So I share it with you today as my gift to you. That you may continue this contemplation by inserting any word of your choice in replacement of "Irish" if you so choose.

Who am I when I'm Irish today?

I am Eimear.

I am Dubliner.

I am native to Ireland.

Her boggy river waters wind through me.

Words flow forth from Her mouth as She speaks.

Undammed.

Untamed.

Renewed.

Revealing the eons of pain, of sadness that seeps through Her land.

Saturated.

Rising to the surface in great big bubbling crescendos of…

…acknowledgment? Forgiveness?

…of love?

Blown away by wild Atlantic winds that have shaped Her rugged coastlines.

My roots, they’re spread across Her landscapes.

Timeless. Old. Wise.

Connected to the oral lore of these ancient times.

Who am I when I’m Irish today?

​Click here​ or on the video below to enjoy the full narrated version.

Who are you when you’re Irish today?

With love,

Eimear x

Good-bye, dear, dear Mother

There's a park near my birth home in Dublin called St Enda’s. It’s only a five minute walk up the road. We would go there to feed the ducks as children; play hide and seek in the stone folly's dotted around the park or roll down the grassy hill like wild ones, shrieking in dizzying delight.

As a studious teenager I'd take a break to clear my head crammed full of facts and information for the hefty Leaving Certificate exams and walk in the direction of St Enda's. But I rarely stopped there. I'd cut through the park to continue on up Grange Road to the jewel in the crown of Rathfarnham, Marlay Park. With sweeping views of the Dublin Mountains, it was here that I felt most expansive and free.

Yet now that I have lived away from Ireland since March 2000, it's to St Enda's park I am often drawn when I go home.

I have just returned from a week in Dublin celebrating my mother's big birthday with all the family. I felt a strong pull to wander the grounds of St Enda's across several days of my visit.

You see St Enda's isn't just your bog standard suburban green haven of elderly Yew, Hawthorn and Cherry Blossom; Horse Chestnut, Silver Birch and Oak. Where a tributary of the River Dodder flows serenely over silted river floor and an expansive walled garden is home to shapely flower beds framed by a central bubbling water fountain feature from which stony pebble paths guide you in contemplation to walk alongside the green grassy lawns.

Where squirrels run here and there whilst blackbird busily feeds his chicks, translucent wings of flies protruding from his strong yellow beak and thrush with beautiful speckled chest and sweet song hops amongst the pale yellow and orange daffodils. A place to enjoy a coffee, cake and chat in the tranquil courtyard, to the trickle of a smaller fountain.

St Enda's Park is home to the Pearse Museum in remembrance of Pádraig Pearse, poet, writer, teacher and activist. Gifted to the Irish state in 1968 at the behest of his mother Margaret in order to remember her two sons Pádraig and William.

On one particular visit, it was a quick visit with my husband and daughter. After a short walk, we popped into the Pearse Museum.

"Have you been before?" asked the lady at reception.

"Many times", I told her, adding that my daughter shares a birthday with Pádraig Pearse, born 128 years apart. It's so fitting since we named her Aisling which means a dream or a vision in Irish, with the deeper poetic meaning of the vision of a free Ireland.

I guided Aisling to the room that housed Pádraig's handwritten letter to his mother. It felt important to show her. Written on 3rd May 1916 only a few hours before his death.

I began to read Pádraig's words aloud, my eyes welling up as I paused on the line "Good-bye, dear, dear Mother...". I felt his deep deep love for his mother in his handwritten words alongside an acceptance of his fate. I realised that his unwavering love of Ireland mirrors my love for Ireland too. His prose flow like that tributary of the River Dodder with much depth, love and thought. We have a lot in common.

"Good-bye, dear, dear Mother...I have not words to tell my love of you, and how my heart yearns to you all. I will call to you in my heart at the last moment. Your son, Pat" - Pádraig Pearse

As we walked through the rest of the museum, I felt a connection rise up through my feet as I tread upon the dark wooden floorboards. A remembrance of walking these floors proudly, with confidence when it was a school for boys. Knowing that I have indeed been here before.

Pádraig Pearse was the first of fifteen men to be executed over the course of nine days. In front of a twelve man firing squad. In Stonebreakers Yard, Kilmainham Gaol. At 3:45am on 3rd May 1916. Aged 36. For his part in the Easter 1916 Rising. His mother and siblings were not able to visit him before his death due to the ongoing upheaval in Dublin. His final letter eventually found its way to his mother weeks after his death.

Did the twelve soldiers also call to their mothers in their hearts as they pressed their forefingers down on the trigger to fire those bullets that killed?

"I am happy except for the great grief of parting from you. This is the death I should have asked for if God had given me the choice of all deaths, - to die a soldier's death for Ireland and for freedom." - Pádraig Pearse

There is much more that I wish to share to honour this man who played a key role in Ireland's fight for freedom. I wish to carry on his legacy, not through guns and fighting but with my artistic endeavours of word weaving, poetry and our shared love for the indigenous landscape of language and these native lands.

☘️☘️☘️

Join me live on the anniversary of the beginning of the 1916 Rising in an online gathering

called

I AM IRELAND

Celebrating Pádraig Pearse

~ Ignite Your Aisling ~

~ Resurrect Your Inner Rebel ~

~ Activate Your Artistic Muse ~

24th April 2025

3 - 4.30pm UK

​Purchase your ticket here.​

A replay will be sent to all ticket holders within 24 hours of the live gathering.

☘️☘️☘️

I AM IRELAND Online Gathering Outline:

• Honouring Bealtaine: Uniting with the passion, power and poise of Queen Maebh. Reclaim your true queendom.

• Sacred Storytelling: The Story of Pádraig Pearse from Eimear’s poetic perspective

• The Aisling & The Proclamation: In the spirit of sovereignty and freedom, birth your own Aisling, your visionary proclamation for yourself and your people

• Mise Éire / I AM IRELAND Meditation: Why is Ireland lonelier than the Cailleach Béara? Reconnect to The Motherland and your indigenous roots.

• Soul Journalling: Connect with your inner rebel and visionary truth this Bealtaine

​CLICK HERE​ to purchase your ticket.

Le neart i mo chroí / with strength in my heart,

Eimear x