Episode 04: The Dream of Éire
Where the Druids rose, and the land remembered its song.
🌿🔥🌈
When the Builders of Light had carved their harmonies into the hills, they did not stay to rule.
They sank into the land, as seeds of remembering.
And from that seed, Éiru dreamed.
She dreamed in rivers, in tree rings, in winds that knew the names of stars.
She dreamed of balance.
Of rhythm.
Of remembrance.
She poured herself into mountains and mist, into rain, roots and the rising sun.
She became the dreaming soil, and Éire became her song made land.
And from her dreaming rose the Druids.
They were listeners.
Carriers of pattern.
Readers of breath and stars, tenders of the flame, and the womb of the earth.
They learned in groves and star circles, from the sky, the oak, and the heartbeat of hills.
Their bodies were temples, their words were spells,
and their silence was thunder.
🌀 The Schools of the Soul
The Druids taught in spirals.
Nineteen years to master a cycle.
They held the codes of:
🌿 Trees and their medicines
🌕 Moons and their meanings
🔥 Fire and its inner alchemy
🜁 The breath and the I Am
They mapped the world not with lines,
but with story,
symbol, and song.
In Loughcrew they traced the stars.
In Tara they taught the laws of light.
In Uisneach they tended the fire between the Four Provinces.
Never Forgotten - Just Veiled
When the empire came, it tried to erase the dream.
But Éiru’s dream was etched in quartz, in the land and in the spirit of the people.
Even as Rome cut down the groves, the wind still whispered.
Even as Latin chained the tongue, the stones still sang in spirals.
And the Druids, those who could, went silent.
They became sacred listeners.
They infiltrated the empire’s own halls, took up quills in the name of Rome,but wrote in spirals of memory, hiding truth in parables, margins, and sacred codes.
Thus, what was meant for erasure became a secret preservation.
🌈 We Are the Reawakening
We are the ones the land dreamed would return.
The ones who hear Ogham in the cracks of a standing stone.
The ones whose breath slows at dawn on Uisneach’s hill.
The ones who remember what never truly left.
Éire is dreaming still.
And in you, her memory rises.
The land has not forgotten you.
Do not forget her.
🌿🔥🌈
