Which is the Dream?
by Ann Irwin
Last night I dreamed
I walked the crunchy grass at Duacheen
speckled purple and yellow
ragged robin vetch and trefoils
the scent of rising tide and primrose
the air cool, fresh, the sun pale
the only sound, the lap of sea, squawk of diving gull
the cry of curlew.
My head empty, my body soft.
I wake, ask google to turn on the news.
I hear last night’s bombs
dropped on Gaza, twenty people dead
I can’t unsee the rubble
Can’t unhear the grief of mothers
the despair of fathers
hugging the bodies of their dead babies.
In Ireland the stories continue
of groups of men who used their holy privilege
to rape the boys in their care.
women tell of nuns snatching their babies
to sell to the highest bidder,
My stomach churns
Why were we so powerless then
Why did we not cry out
Why do we not cry out now
so loud our voices are heard above
genocide playing out before our eyes
What is it to be human?
When did religious ideology rob us of our wholeness
When did we replace wholeness, with the false gods of power
We, submissive lambs following blindly.
When did we stop seeing the beauty of the world
the essence of plants the majesty of trees,
the spirit of animals roaming earth and ocean
When did we stop hearing bird song
When did we stop paying homage to the grace and power
of river, mountain, sea and sky
Who told us the earth was ours
to be ruled by the self-appointed Holy Ones.
