"Go dtuga Dia deoch duit as an tobar nach dtrann."
"May God give you drink from the well that never
runs dry."
(A Traditional Irish Prayer)
Welcome to the Otherworld!
This site is devoted
to the study of Celtic Spiritualism.
Psychoanalyst
Carl Jung believed that each of us has the history
of his or her
culture written in his or her heart. This site is devoted tothe belief
that the manner in which we view existence is reflective ofthat Jungian,
"Heart-History". These are the ideas and the beliefs that,while never
having been formally taught to us, still feel like "coming home".They are
the beliefs and practices of our ancestors. For those of us ofCeltic
descent, the voices of those upon whose shoulders we standwhisper to us
across the generations calling to us to heed the lessonsof our their lives
so that they might bring us comfort, and in so doing,
find peace. The Celts believed that the spirits of the departed
were all around them; communicating with them, guiding them and watchingover
their spiritual development. It was the Celt's belief that the spirits
of our ancestors watch and pray for us to re-discover the lessons of their
lives,to help us along our path toward a blessed union with God.
It is withthis idea in mind that I have created this web site, where all
those ofCeltic ancestry can gather to share their faith, their spirit and
their hope.
This is Celtic
Spiritualism.
Irish Folklore
Mary O'Brien
of Portarlington lost her only son, a little boy of eight years;
although the
Priest told her that her son had gone straight to heaven the mother
wept and would
not be comforted.. One night the lights were put out in her
cabin, and
she lay wakeful, the tears dropping ceaselessly on her pillow, when
a light that
was not of this world shone in the miserable place, and she
saw her son
standing beside the bed, in the fine white shirt that she had
buried him
in, which seemed to cling to him as if wet.
"Willy, is
that you my darl'in?" sobbed the mother. "Oh, mother you are a bad
mother to
me," said the boy. "I was very happy in heaven, but you cried and
cried after me,
an' now you
have me standin' up to my neck in a pond; the Saints and
the
Angels won't have me wid them; an I can't get to hearin' the music, nor
seein' the
lights of heaven. Stop your cryin' mother, and I'll be happy again."
The vision
faded, and Mary O'Brien dried her eyes, and from that time until the day
of her own
death, was never seen to shed another tear.
(From the Akron
Breeze, July 23, 1879. I found this story while researching my
family history
in Akron, New York in 1997. The obituary of my 3rd Great
Grandmother,
Jane McMullen was published on the next page.)