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© Seáfra O’Ceallaigh 2006.

Chapter 1

The Shaman

The road ahead no less than the journey long since begun. I ventured to this time and place in order that I might witness at first hand the reasoning of your quest. Seated now sheltered at the headland, in anticipation of the storm. Beyond the mountains to the north that border and do protect all that is rightful and sacred to the clan. A Shaman in darkened robe strode by paused momentarily he looked askance in my direction head bowed in prayer mouthing platitudes and blessed by the sanctity of sin, he then moved on.

I considered his plight to be of consequence to me and that I should further his enquiry regarding the dawn and other matters of concern to the brethren of the abyss.

Beyond the gates of the citadel on the road that leads to Damascus a crowd had gathered excited in their charge a young man, high born of merchant quality and political favour. The agitation of the throng well placed in consideration of this genteel vagrant now succumbed to sin, servitude, and pleasures of the flesh. Begged forgiveness of his act and bade the crowd to welcome his transgressor in his place, this hateful accomplice albeit unwilling co-respondent in his downfall. The crowd thus relieved of their moral burden released the young genteel man. Then as one, took hold of his transgressor and did aid the headlong flight of this poor young soul, flung him into the Abyss.

As darkness settled the city lights grew bright, the taverns filled the music drifted slowly out upon a wintered air fresh with fatted calf and grape of vine. I climbed the rock below the headland. The tides had turned west and lapped harshly now on foreign shores. In this the rising of the light of the moon, I could see your face as though asleep. I knew then of course this was not to be. There was no awakening at the dawn rise. I settled for a moment and raised you up into my arms once more as in your life, now as in your death.

I told you many tales of sorrow and just concern at your demise but I unlike the Shaman did not believe in the resurrection that must surely follow the journey far beyond the abyss. I could not aid you then in your quest for salvation and I cannot aid you now. I wipe only the mud from your lips now grown cold without that favoured kiss blue tinged and broken split asunder by my passion in a vain attempt at self-resurrection. The sea salt tinged your raven hair as sea crab shrimp and mollusc found sustenance in your brain. Those tears of birth and agonies of death you now encounter in their place that led me to my own salvation. To consider that once again the mystery of the life, I once so proudly gave you.

In respect to the diligence of the builder, who having constructed the chimneys of old and in provision of their purpose, so ordered your body to be brought to the surface and carried by the acolytes on shoulder high far into the city walls and well beyond the fires in aid of your eternal rest. The tides returned from foreign shores once more. In addition, in so doing made good of all that was unworthy in the shattered rocks below. Bleached bone carcass sinew and rotted flesh, now sailed gently along with the tides of ebb.

The ferryman took proffered coin spat bit and pocketed his gold. He did not smile for he has no face with which to smile. His import far greater than the souls left in his charge. With hand raised, he bade me farewell and soon 'ere long as the Sun set eternally in western skies. He, one by one discharged his cargo of lost souls to be raised anew amongst the tribes and thus reborn into this our sacred Isle.

The Shaman returned next morning. Sat beside me eyes closed in silence, speaking not a word of his discomfort or the turmoil from within. I spoke at length on the parody of justice. A discourse in right over wrong, heaven and hell, sinners, saints and scholars and the plethora of imaginings that lead only to my ruin.

I asked of him this one question. ‘Can you define to me the term and the singular word of, truth? He did not understand my questioning; it was obvious he then answered thus: ' My robes signify that I diligently pursue my duties as a Shaman of the tribe. I am ever vigilant against the sins of human kind. I punish those that transgress with sobriety and caring in order to save their soul for immortality. I punish only wrongdoers the innocent have nothing to fear from the brethren of the abyss. I dispatch their souls quickly with understanding passion, and in truth.'

I considered his words for some time before offering my reply. I spoke thus:

Long into the night, I had reflected upon that which had happened in recent times. A worldview devoid of consensus is a rarity in this day and age as well as, in past ages. I spoke at length to no one in particular except perhaps you who now read these words. In the beginning was the word and the word was truth. Define the term truth to me. Is your version of the truth any less a definition of the truth because you have defined it? I think not. On the other hand, you may well discard your version of the truth, when as will happen your definition undergoes scrutiny and then my dearest of friends you will acquiesce.

Let us analyze while we have this time together, in depth the notion of truth. Truth or justice and the ways of State are strange indeed. The all-seeing empirical power lodged firmly in the skies above. A sworn testament of all that is good on this shared planet of ours. If we do not as a sovereign nation amongst all other sovereign nation’s on this earth who hold their sovereignty as dear to their hearts as the eagle atop on mountain high. Be assured the iconic wildfowl will swoop and rip your heart asunder and so too the heart of your child. Without hesitation aforethought and you my dearest of friends will be no more. Dispatched by sword and dagger, scattered to the four winds your arid molecules now returned to mother energy from whence you came. You are no more a being in one low technologically induced scenario of unscientific infusion you will implode upon self and return to the dust from whence you came.

I walk a lonely path in praise of truth. It is a journey fraught with dangerous adventure. On the road to Damascus in ancient times long gone, now since faded into historical account I lay for some moments estranged from the notion of human kind. My body broken with eyes gauged out witnessed only the light that had blinded me, not the truth of the matter in hand. I reached forth and spoke in tongues to my God. Who replied at length at my bequest for salvation and the return of fortune that had led me from this place? Silence was to be my just reward. To seek out forever and then happen upon those few remaining mortals that once way back beyond the mists of time travelled the same road of contention in their valiant if unholy quest in search of a truth.

It matters not the question of consequence. It becomes an irrelevancy as would guilt when hand an eye coordinate and with steel and bayonet bright you plunge into the depths of another’s soul. Heavenwards you turn with watchful eye and speak of duty that now completes. You do not beg nor is there need to demand on the part of your saviour their forgiveness and re assignment of your role. You have completed your task as writ with complicity knowing that you hold dearer to you the action in life rather than life itself to facilitate your concept of truth. The drumbeats and the footsteps forward. The hand held high in salutation to greet the rising sun settling gently on your direction home. Once more, you fail in your attempt to fall headlong into the Abyss. You did not follow me, you did not heed my words, you did, as is your right choose the path of old and return once more to scale the walls of your own indifference. I travelled then on beyond the gate of the citadel. In search of the knowledge of the resurrection yet to pass and in so doing led you to this time and place in order that we should be acquainted, even more.

However, I digress; forgive me you were on the point of telling me of your sin. I do not understand the purpose that lies beyond the crucifixion but I do accept the reasoning of this time honoured ritual. You supposed and of this, much is the truth of those around when they assured you at the time of your demise and alienation from the truth. That I would, give time and solaces to heal then forgive their deceit. Do you still suppose there was need of your destruction to better facilitate and further accommodate thereby educate those that would stray far from the chosen path of their own enlightenment. I look now to the Sun and express all that is hatred, all that is anger, all that is truth. We sat both you and I, at the feet of Plato do you recall? We spoke then as now; we discussed long into the night the ways of servitude and democracy the twin evils of State, the schematic on the fall of Rome. The barbarian paused then forced on to his salvation. His eye fell upon your body as though this final act of contrition would resolve his plight. You smiled in eager anticipation of this favour that would rest upon arid ground. The artisan then with diligence took control and bade welcome to his charge. Hands bound the proud barbarian took his rightful place at the scaffold base. He held loosely outstretched arms and considered his pious fate. Later that day on our journey home, you bade the carriage to halt awhile to consider the barbarian once more. His face though tortured by asphyxiation and laboured breath, shed tears of joy at your return. As darkness fell, you turned from him, as my arms enfolded in response to your caress. No more, would I stand in judgement of the cuckold nor his dreams. I led you from that place of retribution in the sure and certain knowledge of our own salvation. Later on, that night would prove the advent of your sin. As dawn broke amid a gladdened heart, I rose from your side and faced north once more to walk tall amongst the tribes.

I write in tongues to better illustrate my reasoning. Take for example why you feel my words are not worth their notation on parchment. I know you cannot, therefore I will enlighten you in the ways of the word. In the beginning was the word and the word was Truth. In truth, with the syllables so ordered, the consonants arranged and the vowels inserted correctly in their predefined spaces. An image will appear in your subconscious. It will either control a synapse that induces calm or on the other hand induces discomfort. If I say, you are corrupt in your thinking and the production of your thought. You will feel discomfort, protest your innocence, and become the victim of misunderstanding by others. If on the other hand, I appease your virtue and acquiesce to your given demands. I will place upon your shoulders the burden of your own serenity and you will succumb to the abyss. There is no hope of the resurrection without first placing your trust in the abyss. You will attempt to withdraw as always in fear of the imagery that now resides inside your brain. You having once heard my words will be forever damned. You will not raise the same but differ without knowledge of that fact from all other mortals that traverse the planet at the start of day. How is it you are so certain of the power of your words, you now demand of me? These are not my words you will hear me say in reply. They are simply words. Your ear and brain interrogates the external power of the word before allowing conquest. If in the case of my written word, you may wish to understand their meaning, if any. Then I suggest you begin the process of articulating your own emotion to overcome all prior conditioning and bring forth your own imaginings, on this world still sleeping.

However, wait just one moment before you interject.

If what I say is spoke in truth then surely it must follow that the subject of my words is truth. I myself am not convinced at the wisdom of your way of reasoning at least not at these early stages of our continuing discourse. Regardless, we must venture on in our newfound alliance. In search of answers that lay only in truth. Truth then as I suppose it to be worth more in the finding when found? Alternatively, is truth no more in consequence than the journey we aspire to undertake? I await your response.

The Shaman replied. As the Sun must surely rise in the East it may be assumed that it; the Sun, should settle more easily below western skies at days end. Is the Citadel within the city parameters not testament to this one truth? Each break of day the light falls upon the righteous in pious prostration before the holy one above and all those administering angels of the lord attest to this one truth. I and all my brethren are earthly testament in that we exist only to exercise the will of God upon the errant flock. There is but one truth and it follows from my devotions that I expose the antitheses of my considered soul. I follow the path of exactness laid down and etched in rock and I take comfort in the journey as did the master before me on the descent from the summit, so long ago. This I ascribe in truth and lay most firmly but with compassion at the foot of sin.

I must subjugate self in order to fulfil with consequence the matters that have confounded human kind since the dawn of time. There is the substance of evolution to consider in all this that we regard as being of human life. The child must benefit in collaboration of the birch twig in chastisement of a soul in one so young that doth embrace then profess to err in the ways of human behaviour. It follows through example of the sin of the father that it should rightly be placed on the shoulders of those yet unborn to understand then reap the eternal reward of the consequence of sin. We are born of sin if we attest in life only to that premise then life is therefore lived in celebration of sin and we succumb in the last moments to eternity safe and secure in the knowledge of sin. The forces of darkness will then fail heavily the power of the Citadels throughout my world and the barbarian shall once again triumph at the gates of hell. You who are a traveller in time should know of this. How many of your worlds once surveyed have drawn you to this conclusion? You have the privilege of transition if one planet wears heavily on your cloth, you withdraw. You fall into my realm and decide with god given alacrity to condemn all that is correct and favoured in my world. I must therefore eradicate not only the faction of sin but also the acolytes of time and their propensity toward the forgiveness of sin. Such a notion indeed is far from my understanding! I must attend now to my devotions and bid you good day. May god, look kindly upon your face and guide you to the true path of righteousness at the gates of the Citadel. Farewell, traveller.

The Shaman was correct, I have seen many worlds and many truths, real and those supposed. I search not for many truths. My journeys concern but one identification of truth. Truth in essence cannot be happened upon by chance. Truth is the journey in itself and the meaning of which becomes clearer as each footprint marks the passage of the soul, forever lost in time and space amongst the rocks and crimson sands of this once great universal nation. I favoured his world more so than most others I had travelled. The Sunsets like no other; even that of earth, I had witnessed before or since, a subtle indigo settling to give rise to the twin moons of Phobos and Deimos. They no more than captured asteroids but rightly named by the brethren, Phobos meaning fear and Deimos, terrified in flight. This cold desert world of ice, sand and rock scarred by ancient flood and volcanic activity would settle more easily the notion of the brethren in the minds of their charges, now awaiting the word in eager anticipation of The Shaman and his return.

© Seáfra O’Ceallaigh 2006.

How to get away with Murder in three easy stages:

1. Move to Dundalk
2. Kill someone, anyone - someone you hate - someone you love -it matters not a jot! monty python.faulty towers
3. Be patient, simply wait three months for them to run out of time to prosecute you then, as happens on many occasion 'they'll' let you go FREE and you can - go live on an Island somewhere. Life of brian, Monty Python

Simple as M-U-R-D-E-R just like that, not like that. tommy Cooper 

For futher information on how to get away with murder contact your local Solicitor.

[NOT the  solicitor's/accountants already in custody this year. Doh!] gift of sympathy to  the family and the friends of the

Victim 

Then dear reader, unless you want to be the next statistic - go visit your local fat cat politician and demand of them they supply the correct tools to further the role of the forces of law and order in this country.

An Garda Siochana - Guardians of the peace of Ireland 

Thankyou for reading my words: Jeff 'noCompromise' Kelly

Ps: Visit and download My Strange Nation from Susan Werner as an adimirable adjunct to the above article.

Susan Werner

Listen while you read at thebunker. RIGHT click to open in new window. 

'Pause background music courtesy of thugsatbay'

In the beginning was the word and the word was... the journey.

Those of you who journey through time and space will better understand the reasoning of my quest. It began as journeys often do, at the point of arrival. The road ahead no less than the path that lay behind. I see you standing  head held proud in your eternal anguish.

Your body thought less useless now than in an age, long since passed. When I, in my indifference lay you down amongst the rocks  and settled like rain to refresh the dawn. We spoke then, not of our indescision but of the golden age to come.  When the child of our reunion would reach out and touch the Sun.  

But there is no promised  laughter that doth scorch, this hallowed ground and thus prove testament, to a love now dead and muted without sound. I no less than your accusers  and the witness to your sin.  Stood in judgement at the crossroads in praise of mortal creed. Abandoned then your forgiveness and of your weeping sorrows, took no heed.

The Clann now gathers silently we kneel and pray forlorn as we attest to your indifference and ignore your rightful scorn.  The seed now grown inside you wanders lost amongst the tribes.  The flame haired girl of memory or so the legend told. Would never touch my gentle hand to guide me through the storm.

A place is set on table high in search of your return. To celebrate the mysteries lost in chilhood  in resurrection and in pain.  To ease my passage from this life. As you lower me to the grave.