With the day fast dying and a down hill trail, Lugh focused on keeping up.  There were plenty of sites to see, little ponds, forests, flower filled meadows, all bathed in sunset richness of color, and of course, Oatie.

Oatie would spring off the trail whenever she saw firewood.  Lugh’s burden grew as he struggled to keep up with her and balance the load while she kept adding dry stick after stick.  It wasn’t too long and she stopped by a little meandering stream.  The place was the remains of a silted in pool caused by an avalanche long ago.  The grass was lush and the ground, soft and forgiving.  Lugh lay his firewood next to where Oatie had dropped her’s.  She was already returning with some rocks and a few more trips had a hearth of stones laid with a fire merrily burning and the stars shining above them.

Oatie seemed accustomed to making camp and Lugh had no objection to letting her do the lion’s share.  Soon there was something cooking in both their pots.  Lugh lay on the thick grass and wondered if he could remain awake long enough for dinner.  The smell was enticing, but the deepening night, and the long day’s hike was a powerful sedative.  Lugh found himself dosing as Oatie tended the camp.

Oatie stirring up the fire and pulling the pots from the coals woke Lugh from his light slumber, “Hey there sleepy-head.  You need to eat.  We have another long walk tomorrow.” 

Lugh groaned and rolled onto his belly.  Oatie was fussing with the fire on the other side of the pit.  The light made her skin look golden and her hair glowed like fire itself.  Lugh shook off his torpor, “Hey, if there’s food to eat, I’ll eat it.”

“Well, come and get it.  The least you can do is come this far since I made it,” Oatie chided, but smiled as he approached, “I guess you aren’t used to hiking that hard.”

“I guess not.”  I do my share of walking, especially of late.  Truth is, I had to leave some fine horses when I came North. . .” Lugh realized he didn’t really want to broach the subject of his expulsion from his previous accommodations.  He was surprised by his embarrassment, he flushed hot, but the heat of the dancing flames served to cover his blush.  “What have you made?  It smells wonderful, better than anything I make on the road.”

Oatie beamed at his compliment, conveniently diverted from the sore subject of his infidelities.  “Taste and see,” she said, holding out a spoonful for him to sample.”

“That’s amazing.  What is it?  It’s delicious, how did you learn to cook so well?”

She was proud, but a little sad too as she explained, “When my mother died it was just me and Father.  My father was a hopeless cook, so I learned for survival reasons.  Do you really like it?”

Lugh nodded emphatically and reached for the pot. She playfully slapped his hands away.  “There’s enough for both of us.  Just wait a moment.”

Oatie hot handed a round loaf of fresh bread out of one of the pots and broke it in half.  One half of the loaf went on each pot lid. 

Lugh gasped, “Fresh bread? From a camp pot? How did you. . .”

Oatie playfully stuffed a small chunk of sweet warm bread in his mouth and Lugh was busy savoring it for a moment. “You don’t have anything else to work with and you learn, I guess.  Truth is I don’t usually bother, but I felt like showing off a little.”  Oatie laddled out hot stew into the bread bowls and there was quiet around the fire as they enjoyed the warm food.

I’m finding it hard to find the time to write.  I believe I mentioned before that my hours have changed from the optimal late night schedule with easy access to the Internet to this less helpful one.  Worse, while once I was left alone at the end of the night recently I’ve had company.  I believe when I mentioned this, I suggested that I might need to figure out how to work at home.  I regret to inform you, dear reader, that to this point I havehad no success in that endeavor.

Then too, I’m running up against the realization that I should put some effort into taking the raw ideas I have put out on these pages and posts and refine some of them.  I’ve spent time on organization here at L. Stephen O’Neill dot com, but I haven’t begun to polish.  I’m sure there are many other projects I could work on too, many that I haven’t even thought of, though there are many that I have and then realized that, though valuable, they were not top priorities.

So, what to do?  I believe that I am going to put my effort into two main areas that will lead to a third.  First, I am doing research that I hope will lead to more “Celtic Fiction.”  That is my original and most treasured goal.  Priority-wise, that is what I most want to present.  A reason that it hasn’t been most of what I have presented is really that it IS what I value the most and I don’t want to screw it up. 

So, to address the glaring lack of things Celtic in my fictional offerings, I began a novel that is going to present a group of people I want to resemble Irish Monastics with a little fictional leavening and of course their setting in the world of Tir na Nua.  I think the Abbott and the Djinn project will continue.  I need to put more effort into that project making it the first of the two priorities.

Truth to tell, its ponderous pace led me to realize that I need to present something good.  I mean, you can look at the Abbott and the Djinn, but with the exception of a few passages that I’m proud of I don’t think it is very good.  (not yet anyway)

I have promised Free Celtic Fiction.  It’s what I want to do.  So I think that the second thing leading to the third is to come up with more that can be directly called Celtic in outlook, presentation, topic, and flavor.  Along with continuing the Abbott and the Djinn I see this as a top priority.  That would make it the second priority which I hope will lead to the third.

When I’m able to produce some of this “Celtic Fiction” (in outlook, presentation, topic, and flavor) I will need to begin to polish.  Hopefully it won’t take a long long time.  Perhaps Child of Moss will serve, it certainly needs polishing.  Let me know if you have some ideas.  Producing more polished work, stories I can stop claiming I’ve put out raw and unedited, will be that third key priority.

But the problem still remains.  I have little to no time, so I very much need to prioritize and capitalize on the little that I have.

At least that’s how it seems from here.

LSO

Note: I’ve been sitting in a common area at work where I’ve had two co-workers jabber away about their weekends making it impossible for me to get anything done.  One of them is so irritating I am imagining a horror genre story involving the offender at least at the beginning of the story all in livid detail.<sigh> Such is life.

“You’re into town early, brother.” The fellow lounged just inside the gate of a paddock, apparently associated with the nearby rhamshackled inn.  “What brings you to Bellhaven so early?” 

Iamerge stopped and looked at the fellow.  “Well, I’m looking for somebody.  A business matter. . .”

“Business?  Well, then you’ve met your man.  Why, I’m the mayor of Rat Town.”

“Rat town?”

“Sure sure, this ain’t Fish Town, this ain’t the Square, this ain’t the Hill, it’s Rat Town.” The man chuckled to himself, “Truth is t’was rats voted me mayor, so it ain’t rit down or noth’n.  Still, you ask anybody who’s the mayor of Rat Town and they’ll say old Jim is.

“Yes, well good to meet you. . .”

“Jim, Jim Cooper is my name.  I make my way, sure I do.  I know what’s what, and who, that I do.  If you need know’n you talk to old Jim. You ask anyone who the mayor of Rat Town is, they’ll tell you, old Jim is, sure enough.

“I’ll remember your honor.”

Cooper laughed at that and jumped to his feet, “I like you.  Most of them brothers don’t want noth’n to do with old Jim, but you ain’t no brother at all are you?”

Iamerge whirled on the man who was standing in the gate now, not lounging, on his guard, “Why do you say that?” 

Cooper laughed again,  “Well you can take the monk out of the habit, but you can’t take the habits out of the man.  Most of your brothers cut the front of their hair off.  You look like nobody cut your hair for awhile.”  Cooper’s chuckle lost its humor, “No brother’d have much to do with old Jim, but that don’t mean we in town don’t know their worth.  You aren’t likely to find no friend around here if you did them ill.  So how’d you come dressed like a brother to Bellhaven lad, and don’t try to tell Jim no tale.” 

“I’m looking for a man, just looking for him,”  Iamerge stepped back toward the center of the street.

“Now that’s not what I asked,” And Jim Cooper, or whoever he was, moved after, staying closer than Iamerge liked.

“I’m staying with the brothers, with Gospels,”  He said, defensively. There was a rumbling, but Iamerge’s attention was on old Jim, who moved like a fighter and not that old either.  The rumbling sound was louder, drawing his attention, He saw horses and men bearing down, and in that moment Cooper had a fist full of Iamerge’s garment and was yanking him into the paddock.

The night was dark save for one star.  I breathed and felt much pain.  My voice echo in the hollow earth when I cried out.  I had fallen into a sidhe and there I lay atop a mound of broken timbers and sod.

There was no flying out of this, nor could I climb up the walls as if it were a well.  Panic gripped me, I confess, my breath came too quickly and as sod was still drifting down I breathed so much I began to cough.  I struggled to my hands and knees.  The fight to breath focused me.  I was not dead, nor even that injured.  I was in the home of my friend, the girl who had laughed, Jella.

At first this was small comfort.  I was in darkness and knowing that none of my folk would ever find me here brought rising panic again.  I tried to remember the place in my dream, it had been lit in the middle and around the perimeter. In truth it wasn’t that large.  I walked down off the pile I had ridden to the floor and promptly tripped over something hard and sprawled on stone flagging covered with more of the result of my descent.

I rose again, walking like a blind man, arms waving, I headed off in what I thought a straight line toward the wall of the place.  Eventually I must find it, surely.  Before I did, I found a wall of stone.  I followed it to a quick turning and felt along one side to the back.  Reaching, I found a screen richly carved with images my fingers could not puzzle out, but I followed it to stone again.  Now I hurried, trusting this was a back wall and was rewarded with slamming my knee into something hard.  I fell into more hard edged items and then the stone floor.  In agony I clutched my knee.

Light was gone from my world.  I was lost.  Lost in a big room, not much more, but it was frighteningly strange for a boy who had always lived with not much more than some leather between himself and the sky.  I felt stiffled in the dusty hole.  I cried out for the only friend who I thought could help, “Jella!” Echoes died quickly and silence mocked me, “Jella, where are you? I need you now.”

I felt my way back to the wall and was too wounded in spirit and frightened by the dark to try to find my way.  I leaned back against the wall and stared, marvelling that eyes opened or closed it made no difference.  “Jella!” I closed my eyes.

The sun was rising where she was.  I saw it color the clouds before it mounted into the sky.  There were herd deer everywhere.  The north deer all have antlers and they are all colored alike, I could not tell which was male and which female, I was in a sea of tawny, antlered, steam breathed herd deer.  There were snorts and a bellow and the creatures shied from where I was.

Tonight George talked to Michael Tsarion.  I have to say that in the past Michael has sounded at least somewhat Christian.  Tonight, not so much.  Here is his main website.

It’s fun to listen to Michael as he is originally from Ireland.  In fact he has some interesting ideas about Ireland and such on this page of his website.

Now Michael has some interesting ideas, some of which ring true.  He does go on about how an elite is controlling all of us and that is the subject of his new book/dvd offering.

I was a bit distrubed to see a lot about divination and such.  I don’t think any of us, even the very best thinkers, is immune to being drawn into error.  Therefore, I guess I have to say, that though I do believe that hyperdimensional forces are at work in the world today as they have been for many many years to enslave and degrade humanity, I’ll have to look a bit more at Mr. Tsarion’s work to know if he might be deluded from a truth into a rare and somewhat unused error.

Because I am no sure arbiter of truth I have to say too, I have been reminded that the unpardonable sin was not misbelief alone, but rather ascribing to Satan the works of the Holy Spirit.  A more familiar bromide is “Judge not that ye be not judged.”  Words to live by without abdicating all responsibility to “Test the spirits so you may discern which are from God.”

LSO

PS. It has been days and days and Coast keeps rolling on and tonight is yet another night.  Tonight one of the guests was Author Henry Kroll. Among the topics he discussed was the early history of Earth and how it transformed from a gas planet with an atmosphere too dense to admit much solar energy into a life-sustaining one. I think he believes that Sol had a close approach to a binary star system with a total of about 3.5 solar masses and at that time there was enough energy to warm earth out of its deep freeze and we are currently heading back toward that binary, and might possibly become a trinary star system.  He had some other interesting thoughts such as that giants and dinosaurs were products of a thicker atmosphere on Earth. Henry Kroll sells his book here.

George also talked to Stephen Bassett, a UFOlogist, who is trying to get disclosure by rebranding it as exopolitics.  Steve feels that more people can be interested in the politics of extraterrestrial involvement and/or the terrestrial stonewalling of people who want to know.  Good luck Steve.  Check him out here.  Interested in exopolitics?  Look here.  And here.  Wana talk about it?  Try here.