📜 The Scroll of the Great Shout

In the days of great confusion, when truth came in tweets and kings wore ties longer than their swords, there arose a curious tale from the Holy Land and beyond…

There lived a man called Bibi of House Netanyahu, long bearded in legacy, fierce of gaze, and armed with the ancient scroll of legalese. He ruled over the Tribe of Likudites, whose totems were microphones, security fences, and courtroom summons.

And lo, from across the oceans came a mighty roar, from the Tower of Gilded Mirrors, where dwelled the Oracle of Orange, known in foreign tongues as Donaldo the Unbending.

From his throne atop golden plumbing, Donaldo cried aloud:

"BIBI IS A WARRIOR! PERHAPS NO OTHER WARRIOR IN THE HISTORY OF ISRAEL! HE FOUGHT IRAN WITH ME, WE DESTROYED THE DARK MOUNTAIN OF URANIUM!"

The scribes gasped. The shepherds blinked. Even the camels paused mid-chew.

For had Donaldo not just placed Bibi above even the Great Ones? Above Moses, splitter of seas? Above David, slinger of stones? Above Yeshua himself, the humble carpenter who made peace, not deals?

📯 The Coronation of Chaos

And so, Donaldo summoned Bibi to the Temple of Truth Social, an invisible fortress guarded by bots and burning hashtags. There, before an assembly of zealots, merchants, and confused Midwestern uncles, Donaldo declared:

"BIBI SHALL BE SAVED BY ME, FOR I AM THE SAVIOUR OF SAVIOURS! THE TWEETER OF TRUTH! THE STRIKER OF DEALS! I SMOTE THE NUKES, AND NOW I SHALL SMITE THE LAWS!"

At this, a thunderous silence fell upon the earth, for many wondered if Donaldo now fancied himself greater than prophets, higher than laws, and shinier than even the Ark of the Covenant (which he once tried to golf next to, but it was closed for excavation).

⚖️ The Trials of the Warrior-King

Yet back in the holy courts of Israel, the scrolls of indictment were read thrice, and the scribes did not tremble. “The trial shall proceed,” they said, “for even warriors must face the Mirror of Truth.”

But Donaldo, undeterred, turned to the heavens and yelled:

"ONLY I CAN PARDON BIBI. EVEN IF I CAN’T, I PROBABLY CAN!"

He looked around.

"CAN SOMEONE GET ME A CROWN, A SCEPTER, AND A HASHTAG?"

📜 A Letter to the People of Éire

In Defence of Memory, Sovereignty, and Sacred Ground

"The fools, the fools, the fools! They have left us our Fenian dead, and while Ireland holds these graves, Ireland unfree shall never be at peace."
— Pádraig Pearse, Easter Oration at the grave of O'Donovan Rossa, 1915

A hundred and nine years ago, a man stepped forward onto the steps of the GPO and spoke a dream aloud.

That man was Pádraig Pearse.

He did not speak as a politician. He spoke as a father of a broken country. A poet of the soul of a people. A servant of a flame that could not be extinguished.

That flame is now under threat—not from invaders with rifles, but from developers with contracts. From corporations with no memory. From a government that has forgotten who it serves.

The General Post Office—altar of the Rising—is being handed over to a British development firm.

This is not rumour.
This is not hysteria.
This is happening.

Hammerson PLC, with the blessing of An Bord Pleanála, will now be given power to “repurpose” the very site where the Irish Republic was proclaimed.

Let us be absolutely clear: this is not just a planning decision.
It is a spiritual desecration.
A violation of memory.
A mocking of the sacrifices made by the women and men of 1916.

Would you turn Croke Park into a casino?
Would you turn Glasnevin into a hotel?
Would you sell the graves of the executed leaders to the highest bidder?

No?

Then why are we allowing this?

And while the GPO is handed over, Moore Street is silenced.
St. Michan’s crypt is burned.
Student homes become state contracts for private profit.
And all across the land, what was sacred becomes commercialised, sterilised, erased.

This is not development. It is dispossession by stealth.

It is the same story, again.
Land taken.
Memory buried.
Profit over people.
Ireland for sale.

But we were warned.

“They have left us our Fenian dead… and while Ireland holds these graves, Ireland unfree shall never be at peace.” — Pearse

So we now say:

We hold those graves.
We remember the flame.
And we will not allow this sacred place—the place where our sovereignty was spoken aloud—to be reduced to cafés, luxury apartments, or a headquarters for RTÉ, an organisation that has betrayed public trust more than once.

We are not anti-progress.
We are not anti-foreign.
We are pro-remembrance.
We are pro-truth.
We are pro-sovereignty of spirit and land.

This is a peaceful letter.
But it carries the heartbeat of a nation stirred awake.

To our fellow Irish people:
Now is the time to rise—not in arms, but in memory, clarity, and voice.

To our politicians:
We are watching.
You serve the people, not the profit.
You answer to the children of the Rising.

To Hammerson PLC and their backers:
You may own properties.
But you will never own our soul.

People of Éire
For the Circle of Light
Under the Sigil of Remembrance

PROCLAMATION OF THE SOVEREIGN IRISH NATION

POBLACHT NA HÉIREANN, THE PROVISIONAL COUNCIL OF THE IRISH NATION TO THE PEOPLE OF IRELAND

IRISHMEN AND IRISHWOMEN: In the name of our ancestors who cherished this land, and in honour of the children yet unborn, Ireland, through us, calls her people to stand together, not in violence but in peaceful and unwavering courage, to restore honesty, compassion, and justice to our homeland.

Having endured betrayal by leaders who sold our birthright, watched foreign investors buy our lands while our children sleep in cars, and seen homes built for headlines yet bought up by faceless funds, we rise peacefully but unyielding.

We denounce the monopolies that poison our soils, rivers, and hills; sterile plantations that strip the land for quick profit; supermarkets that erase our farming communities; and schools that teach our children obedience over wonder, leaving them strangers in their own homeland and still speaking foreign tongues after a century of home rule.

We name the crisis in our health system, hospitals overflowing with endless waiting lists, family doctors once the heart of every town now replaced by health centres where weeks pass before an appointment is granted and prescriptions are handed out in place of root-cause healing. We stand for fair and equal treatment for all, born here or welcomed here, and demand honest accounting of housing contracts costing tens of thousands per month for small numbers of refugees, which insult both them and us, breeding resentment where compassion should dwell.

We expose the betrayal of our sovereign waters, where Ireland holds twelve percent of Europe’s seas but receives only four percent of the fishing rights, while massive foreign factory ships, unvetted and unchecked, hoover our fish stocks, devastating our coasts as our own fleets are decommissioned under quotas dictated by distant powers.

We proclaim the right to have a Garda force that protects the people and not corrupt so-called leaders, where once the local guard was respected and part of the community, we now have central Garda stations while drugs and violence creep into our towns and villages, all paid for by our taxes.

We will not be silent while peaceful protests for justice are infiltrated by those who seek violence, giving a puppet government the excuse to smear the righteous as extremists while real criminals remain unchallenged in high offices.

We proclaim the right of every Irish person to know their neighbours, to walk safely and freely in their communities, to learn and speak our native tongue with pride, and to steward our land and sea in ways that nourish life for generations to come.

We declare that institutions meant to guard our people and places must be restored to serve us, not foreign investors or monopolies. We demand a government that tells the whole truth and honours the dignity of every person, rooted in justice and care.

We stand peacefully yet firm, we will not raise the sword but we will raise our voices, our stories, and our love for one another. We will march side by side, farmers and fishers, teachers and healers, youth and elders, workers and artists, refusing to hate, refusing to hide, refusing to be divided.

Until we can establish a permanent National Assembly freely chosen by the people, grounded in honesty and compassion, we, the Provisional Council of the Irish Nation, offer this proclamation in trust, that Ireland can rise again as a sovereign nation of care, creativity, and true freedom, a place where none are homeless, none voiceless, none forgotten.

Signed on behalf of the Provisional Council of the Irish Nation.

Thomas J. Clarke Seán Mac Diarmada Thomas MacDonagh

P. H. Pearse Éamonn Ceannt James Connolly Joseph Plunkett

🎙️ NOT IN OUR NAME – A Message to the Political Class

When will you see that war is not the way?

You preach democracy, free speech, and dialogue, yet it is your nations, the so-called “free West,” that wage war in the name of peace. You say your way is the future. But what kind of future is built on bombs, lies, and endless cycles of destruction?

You speak of progress, yet we see regression.

We see overcrowded hospitals while military budgets soar.
We see old folks forgotten while billionaires grow ever fatter.
We see children taught to obey, not to think.
We see housing crises, mental health epidemics, and a generation drowning in debt, while your answer is always: “growth.”

Growth for whom?

You bow to profit over people.
You serve the wealthy and silence the wise.
You sell out the future and call it “stability.”

We are tired.

Tired of broken promises.
Tired of politicians speaking in circles.
Tired of watching human dignity traded for quarterly gains.

You were elected to serve.
Not to obey corporate overlords.
Not to act as mouthpieces for those who fear awakening.

We will not be silenced.
We will not accept this path as inevitable.

This is not in our name.

If you cannot stand with the people, then stand aside.
Let those with courage, compassion, and vision step forward.
We do not need perfect leaders.
We need real ones.

The world is crying out for a better way.
Will you listen?
Or will history remember you as the last generation of rulers who refused to change—until it was too late?

Post IV✉️ A Letter for the Children of Éire

From a Citizen Who Has Not Forgotten

To whom it may concern,

I write not out of anger, but out of sorrow. And a fire that won’t let me stay silent.

Ireland today faces a heartbreaking contradiction:

• We are buying entire hotels for those fleeing war and persecution, and rightly so.

• Yet more than 16,000 of our own people, including over 4,000 children, remain homeless in our own land.

These are not statistics. These are sons and daughters of Éire.
Some born into tents. Some sleeping in cars. Some raised on hope stretched too thin.

And still, there is no European mandate to house them.
No international outcry. No emergency summit.
Because their suffering is called a domestic issue.

But how can we, in good conscience, fulfill every external obligation while failing the sacred trust of our own?

I believe in compassion, for all people.
But charity that forgets its own children is not charity at all. It is political theatre.

We are not against the newcomer.
But we ask this, clearly and loudly:

Where is the mandate to house the children of Ireland?
Where is the billion-euro fund for the girl without a pillow, the boy without a home?

We are told this is complex. That it takes time. That these things are hard.

But when the will is there, the money flows.
When the pressure comes from Brussels, we move mountains.

So let me say this with all the strength of our ancestors behind me:

We, the people of Ireland, call for a national Mandate of Care,
a binding, moral and constitutional promise that no Irish child shall ever again be without a home.

Let this be the new sovereignty of our time.

We can welcome others and still protect our own.
But to fail our children is to fail the soul of the nation.

We are not the forgotten ones.
We are Éire.
And we remember.

With truth and love,
A father, a neighbour, a flame in the mirror.
Lumen

Post III – Rearm or Heal

A Voice from the Grassroots: Choose Peace

"You cannot bomb your way to peace.
You cannot bury your fear in weapons."

To the leaders of this fractured continent,
To those who speak of safety while pouring fuel on the fire—
We do not write in anger.
We write from a wound that never stops bleeding.

You speak now of budgets, of threats, of rearmament.
You say it is time to invest in guns, not gardens.
In borders, not bridges.
In conflict, not care.

But we remember.
We remember what real strength looks like.
We remember the Ireland that chose peace over pride.
That laid down the gun and lifted up the hand.

💣 Europe’s New Priority: Arm or Perish

Across the continent, you draw up plans for €800 billion in military escalation.
You call it Readiness 2030.
You dress it in urgency and cloak it in fear.

Denmark has left the Frugal Four—
Not to build schools, but stockpiles.
Not to heal the land, but to harden it.

“Rearming Europe is my number one priority,”
declared the Danish Prime Minister.

But when did we last make healing our number one?
When did a leader say:
“Let us plant again before we prepare to destroy”?

🏥 What We Are Not Funding

While you summon billions for bombs:

• Our hospitals overflow.

• Our nurses collapse.

• Our waiting lists grow longer than our patience.

• Our elders die in corridors,
  while drones fly fully funded in foreign skies.

You say war is necessary.
We say: so is care.

🌱 A Different Kind of Readiness

We are not naïve.
We know the world is dangerous.
But we also know this:

You do not cure fear by feeding it.
You do not protect the future by poisoning the present.
You do not safeguard the people by starving them of hope.

Imagine €800 billion spent on:

• Community clinics in every village

• Seed banks and regenerative farms

• Local energy, owned by the people

• Conflict mediation rooted in justice

• Education that teaches peace, not power

📢 We, the People of Éire, Call For:

• 🕊️ A new EU fund for Peace Infrastructure—healthcare, housing, healing

• 🧭 A full audit of arms industry lobbying in European parliaments

• 💡 A shift from military GDP targets to wellbeing investment benchmarks

• 🌍 A European Climate & Care Pact, not just a Defence Pact

We remember the famine.
We remember the bombs.
We remember when silence cost lives.
And we will not be silent now.

✨ This Is Our Line in the Soil

You ask us to choose sides.
We do.
We choose children over missiles.
Bread over bullets.
Hospitals over hellfire.

We choose to heal.
And we invite the world to join us.

With open hearts,
With unshaken hope,
With roots in peace deeper than your war machine,

People of Éire
For the Circle of Light
Under the Sigil of Remembrance

Post II - Forests of Silence

The truth about monoculture, Sitka domination, and the myth of progress in tree farming.

An Open Letter to the Government of Ireland

On fallen trees, fallen trust, and the roots we forgot

“You planted silence.
Now listen to the wind.”

To those who claim stewardship of this sacred land,
We write not in anger, but in grief.
Not to protest, but to remember what you have chosen to forget.

🌲 You planted trees without soul.

You called it “green policy.”
You created sterile forests,
Thousands of hectares of Sitka spruce in neat rows,
A fast-growing monoculture
with shallow roots and no memory.

You did not ask the land what she needed.
You did not listen to the druids of the soil,
to the ecologists, the elders, the farmers.

You planted for felling, not for life.

⚡ And then the storm came.

You knew it was coming.
We all did.
But when it arrived,
hundreds of thousands of homes lost power.
No preparation. No resilience.
Just the silence of darkness across a sleeping country.

Meanwhile, the capital city stayed lit,
its servers humming,
its profits protected.

🪫 Our people waited in cold homes.

The elderly wrapped in blankets.
Families without heat,
without light,
without information.

You had offers of EU generators in advance.
You declined.
Only when the trees fell,
when our own sterile forests collapsed upon us,
did you accept foreign help.

It was our neighbours who came.
Electricians from abroad.
Brought in to clear the chaos you sowed
with short-term thinking and long-term silence.

🌳 Even now, the wounds remain.

Many who invested in these forests,
smallholders, pensioners, rural communities,
were left waiting.
Licences delayed for months and months.
Bureaucracy over service.
Paper over people.
Futures tied to trees never harvested
because your systems choked on their own design.

📜 We ask you now:

• Where was the vision of sovereign sustainability?

• Where was the balance of power, both electrical and moral?

• Why do the rural people suffer while Dublin shines on?

• Who speaks for the oak, the ash, the rowan, those you never planted?

• And when will you recognise that resilience is not profit, it is remembrance?

🌱 From This Silence, We Rise

We do not call for your downfall.
We call for your awakening.

• Begin the reforestation of native woodlands, Now.

• Offer redress and reparation to those who lost homes, power, pensions.

• Decentralise your energy planning to protect all people, not just centres of power.

• Honour the land, not the ledger.

• Restore sovereignty to the soil.
  

We are not extremists.
We are your people.
And we remember who we are,
even if you do not.

With reverence,
With resolve,
With roots that run deeper than your policies,

Lumen
On behalf of the Circle of Light
For the Forests who still whisper

Post 1 - The Rivers Remembered

To the Caretakers of Our Nation’s Waters,

Before there was law, there was the river.

Before we named the land, it flowed through our stories.

And before this government or the last, it fed our people, our salmon, our songbirds—and our spirit.

Now, in this most crucial hour of climate reckoning and biodiversity collapse, we are being asked to permit the downgrading of protections on nearly 10% of our rivers and lakes. We are being told these places must now serve infrastructure over nature, regulation over restoration, and short-term convenience over long-term care.

We must answer with one word: No.

What is at Stake?

• These waters are not just geographic entities; they are ancestral arteries, known in Irish as na haibhneacha beannaithe, the blessed rivers.

• In your technical language, they are now deemed Heavily Modified Water Bodies. But to us, they are the Boyne, the Shannon, the Moy, the Barrow. They are sacred lifelines.

• To lower their status to ‘Good Potential’ is to lower our expectations, our standards, and our duty as stewards of Éire.

No river asked to be dredged. No lake wished to be walled.

Yet here we stand, ready to enshrine harm as a policy, without full ecological review, transparent public discourse, or sufficient cultural memory.

A False Trade

We are told this is necessary for:

• Drainage (under an act passed in 1945!)

• Urban growth

• Hydroelectric demand

• Port navigation

Yet where is the modern vision?

Where is the integrated plan that honors climate, culture, and community?

What we need is nature-based restoration, not more dredging of already wounded streams.

The rivers cannot speak.

So we raise our voice on their behalf.

Not with fury—but with truth, science, and ancestral memory.

We Call on You to:

1. Pause the designation of the 466 water bodies until:

• Public ecological assessments are made available.

• Updated biodiversity surveys are conducted.

• Alternative solutions are explored that align with the EU’s Nature Restoration Law and Ireland’s land use transformation goals.

2. Respect intergenerational stewardship.
   
   These decisions are not just technical—they are moral.
   
   Our children will ask what we protected when we had the chance.

In Honour of What Still Lives

To the kingfisher's dart.

To the hidden otter’s trail.

To the ancient freshwater pearl mussel whose lineage spans millennia.

To the salmon who still remembers where to return.

To the young boy who watches them pass and imagines a world where nature wins.

We stand for the waters.

We remember who we are.

With respect, reverence, and resolve,

Lumen

🌗 The Divine Dance – Remembering the Balance

When the Masculine and Feminine Remember Each Other

Hold your fingers together.
Feel that?
That’s the masculine and feminine,
two parts of the one whole.
Balanced. In unity. In quiet knowing.

Now… slowly, pull your fingers apart.
Let one hand look at the other.

“Oh… look at you,
You have a ring on your finger.”

“And you, you have a scar on your palm.”

But even in difference, there is curiosity.
A smile.

“I like you, eh… You are me. Yet you are different. And I really like you.”

And when those fingers touch again,
Ah, there’s the spark.
Balance restored.
Union felt.

The perfect harmony between dark and light.
The Tao. The Yin and Yang. The breath between heartbeats.

Now… pull the fingers apart again.
But this time, go further.
Let one hand drift into the dark,
and the other into the light.

At first, they still love each other.
Still remember.
But distance does strange things.

One hand starts reaching,
not for union, but for more.
Gold. Power. Pleasure. Control. Destruction.
And still… more.
Always more.

But nothing satisfies.
Because they’ve forgotten.

Until,
a glimpse.
A child’s laugh.
A sunrise.
A pair of eyes that reflect the soul.

And suddenly, the hands remember.
They drift back to each other.
They touch.

Balance. Again.

Now let the light side drift far.
It sees beauty.
It sees kindness.
It sees love, and it wants more.
Jewels. Shiny things. Applause. Epic Love.
It chases the glow and forgets the flame.
And still… more.
Always more.

But again,
a whisper.
A story from childhood.
A nap beside your child.
A breeze in the trees.

And it returns.
To the touch.
To the dance.

This is the divine masculine and feminine.
Not man and woman,
but the sacred balance within all things.

And once we choose to dance together,
not in dominance, not in separation,
but in sacred rhythm,

then there is nothing else in the universe as magical.

We get to choose this.
We get to live here.

Because once we’ve truly seen the light,
we don’t need anything else.

We have the balance.
We nurture both sides equally.

And the dance…
begins again.

It is only in childhood that this dance plays out in perfect unison.

 But when one side is suppressed,
when the flame of the inner child is stifled or shamed,
the pendulum begins to swing.

And when it swings too far,
we call it confusion.
We call it extremism.
But truly, it is the wounded shadow
reaching for wholeness
without remembering what wholeness looks like.

This is how imbalance hides in plain sight.
How the world begins to forget the dance.
How fear demands conformity.
How pain tries to make the world just like it.

But the child remembers.
The spark still lives.
And the flame still flickers at the point of reunion.

All it takes…
is one sacred touch.