Woody Harrelson & a "Big Brother" in full retreat.

Observations on a cancer in temporary remission and a new energy on the rise.

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It was an official admission and as official admissions go it was about as rock solid a one as we are going to receive from the Big Brother covidians. Woody Harrelson delivered the key lines, at the end of his opening monologue, on Saturday Night Live, this weekend just gone by. A mea-culpa delivered in that lazy, laconic style of his at the end of his opening set and using the cover of an imaginary script to release the truth bomb. While I appreciate Harrelson and some of the stances he has taken through-out the lockdown era, as always, the last laugh, ultimately, is on us.

This was Big Brother testing the waters.

“ ( Imagine) the biggest drug cartels in the world get together and buy up all the media and all the politicians and force all the people in the world to stay locked in their homes and the people can only come out if they take the cartels’ drugs and keep taking them. Over and over. I threw the script away. I mean who is gonna believe that crazy idea . Being force to do drugs “

Every time we move a step closer to the truth it takes me back. Back to the second-half of 2021 and the height of political and technocratic passport oppression. So, what I am going to say next might come as a shock of sorts.

Government over-reach did the long-term future of the country a huge, huge favour.

An odd statement I know, but let’s see if I can flesh it out a little. So, about 10% of the country will never forget, and most will never forgive, our state institutions and media for what they allowed to happen during the corona era. For what they forced to happen. As we can see, in the Saturday Night Live sketch above, Big Brother is trying to shrug their wrong-doing off their shoulders and for abnormal service and corruption to resume as quickly as possible. The same players moving on to new bonkers narratives. No accountability. No apology. No jail-time.

Yet, I doubt the strategy will work past a short-term reprieve.

In Ireland, when you sit down to think about it, the evilness of the forced passport era distilled the resistance down to its purest essence. The half-hearted, lazy, or half-asleep jumped off the train and succumbed to the tyranny of the coercion. That is not meant as a judgement on them just a personal observation, and in actual fact, I believe this outcome was of very long-term benefit to the people who remained behind. Without the coercion perhaps up to 30-35% of the country would have rejected the experimental products on offer and if that happened we might not have learned all we needed to know.

My suspicion is that the few who remained are not just the most interesting and fascinating group of people in the country but that the vast, vast majority of them are connected spiritually or energetically in some - as of yet- undefined way. I don’t have many strong beliefs but I must admit that this is one of them. That doesn’t make us better or worse. Just different and connected. A tribe or group of umbilically linked tribes. And like many tribes you don’t often get a choice about the one you find yourself a member of - you’re simply born into one.

Anyone that was left standing after the corona high-tide watermark - that is the last three months of 2021 - won a very significant battle. Although it may not have felt like a win at the time to many. On long drives I sometimes get consumed with the notion that something almost ethereal or other-worldly connects these nay-sayers. About a month ago, I was at a poetry reading with about twenty others in Kinsale and fell into conversation with a microbiologist who spends a great deal of time examining vaccine material under a microscope. A man with a long, trailing list of letters after his name. It was one of those conversations in which you’re struggling to comprehend “ the science” such is the depth of knowledge on display by the other person. Towards the end, I asked him a simple question.

“ Do you think everyone in this room is in someway resonating with each other, energetically, like on a frequency level? “

Without missing a beat he just nodded vigorously and said “ Absolutely” - as if it should be the most obvious scientific observation in the world. Kinsale to Tuam is about a three hour drive and I spent a chunk of it, on the final Limerick motorway leg, teasing this idea out in my mind. In these little time warps, my mind consistently falls back to the people I have met along the journey. Truth be told, this type of “social science” is the only science I have access to and is the only science I really have any interest in pursuing too. The science of people. Or maybe the unscience of them would be a more fitting description. So, over the last eighteen months, this question of what, if anything, connects us - is one I return to regularly while cruising along the highways and byways of Ireland and I sometimes jot down my thoughts on the subject here as regular readers will know. I am more and more convinced that one of the significant commonalities between us all might well be trauma and specifically how we process trauma. I would say, as a guesstimate, close to three quarters of the people I have met along this journey fall into and have experienced one or all of the following types of suffering which I have loosely thrown together in the below categories:

• Abuse, particularly childhood and teen abuse

• Parental marital breakdown

• severely damaging romantic relationships

Now, that is not to say people from the jabbed world do not fall into these categories. Of course, they do. What I wonder about sometimes on these lengthy drives through small towns and old villages is whether there is a subliminal, common system we have of processing this type of trauma. A method that starts to beat rather than one that follows logical thought patterns. A tribe that knows the answer but often has no clue why exactly they know the answer to certain things. Often, working back through the expert knowledge of others, scientific papers or on-line content to eek out an accepted logic that proves their own theorem or instinctive conclusion.

The best answer I can come up with at the present moment is that all of these people I mention above seem to possess a hyper-sensitivity through troubling, sometimes tortured, personal experiences for knowing when a particular something isn’t right. An energy resonation perhaps that when it bumps into, say a loved one, who is rapidly drinking a second cup of tea in tandem with a quickened puff of a cigerette, understands, that this isn’t evidence of thirst or addiction, in the first instance, but of something much deeper, a sinking recognition of the imminent arrival of trouble in the minutes and hours ahead. An early warning defence mechanism.

Curiously, while this superpower seems perfectly attuned to answering some of the hardest and most difficult questions life can throw, it also, in many cases, acts as a solid piece of kryptonite thwarting development in other more mundane aspects of living a peaceful and drama-free life. I think, the key though, is that it has been a significant healing process for all of these people to now have met, connected, and fundamentally understand that they are not alone. The more these people meet the more the power of the energy will grow. And that indeed there are a multitude of us out here. Pulsing away.

I may have written about this before but I am struck again as I sit here typing about an encounter from December 2021. Sitting in a van with a woman from the tribes on the outskirts of Roscommon town smoking a joint. Prior to this smoke, I’d say it was over a decade, probably more, since I’d a drag of the auld wacky tabaccy. We sat in the car-park chatting away like old friends, looking-in on the big petrol station monstrosity parked before our eyes, you know the type of place, one that also comes with a fast-food outlet and other amenities attached at the hip. The jabbed and digitally tattooed were buzzing about inside taking seats with their trays of snack-boxes and Big Macs. The woman was working as a driver delivering and replenishing cleaning products to offices and many government buildings in the West. But had somehow found a way to negotiate and side-step the heavy restrictions. As we sat mesmerized observing the sleep-walking masses, and no doubt the weed played a part, we blurted out the same words at the same time.

“ I feel sorry for them “

We started to smile at the common thought bubble. Then laughed aloud harder and harder before, after a few minutes, the noise gently subsided into a silence of common comprehension.

“ I wouldn’t mind a fucking Smokey Bacon burger though “ I said after awhile breaking the peaceful respite.

“ Well we could always spin round to the drive-thru and see if its open “ she replied and soon the giggles returned.

As I sit here now thinking about this episode it reminds me that there’s always a way around things and more importantly that we shared a deep understanding about something that probably neither of us could ever adequately explain. We never met before or since but I’d pick up the aroma of her energy blindfolded in an instant if we were to bump into each other again. These meetings and interactions leave a mark and their own invisible tattoos on us all I believe. A calling card if you will and one seemingly instantaneously recognizable.

And we have our corrupt, virtue-signaling, power hungry government to thank for this flower of light. It has been quite a gift for me. The gift that keeps on giving.

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Now, keep the following piece of information to yourselves, and away from Eamon Ryan but I burnt about 1,400 miles of diesel rubber in the last ten days. It’s left me with a few observations as well as many pit-stops in those aforementioned petrol station forecourts. The main take-away is that there is a marked difference between rural, country awake people and the awakened from Dublin and the satellite towns dotted around it. It seems to me that the majority of the city brigade are much more organised and goal-orientated. Maybe it is just happenstance but I meet a lot more people from the east of the country that are university educated and working in corporate or government jobs and in fairly well paying roles than I do in the west. This cohort are to the fore-front of many of the street protests, new finance, and putting an organizational structure on emerging ideas. An interesting bunch.

The country cousins, in my experience, are a lot more spontaneous in approach and resonate with the land and spirit to be found beneath the soil of that land. A message on my phone beeped last night regarding a group polytunnel that is in need of some water and pitch-fork elbow grease after the winter hibernation period. This is often preceded with messages of a little sea-swimming or a Stand in the Park gathering on a Sunday. A bit of everything. Community, protest, creation and a little sprinkling of madness. I haven’t yet give in to the delights of swimming in the artic conditions of the Atlantic Ocean. But, no doubt, I’ll probably succumb before the year is out.

Perhaps, all of this, is merely a new pulsing of our ancient land and sea DNA. A calling from the old tribal forces on the western sea-board. From the fingertips of Cork and Kerry’s rugged peninsulas right up to Donegal and the isolation of Malin head. A soul carved from generations of harshness, toiling and suffering. Of dependence on one another to survive. I found that this essence has been a glove that has easily slipped back on for many of the people that I meet in the West. A modern take on the old Irish Meitheal concept. Neighbors gathering to help each other with crop harvests and other tasks.

These are a “ bring your own dish “ crowd who understand well the old healing powers of sitting-down to break bread with friends and neighbors. Followed by back-kitchen entertainment with mad poets and speakers lined up not just for everyone’s entertainment, but to prod the gathering into contemplation about what miracles might indeed be possible if the power in the room was unleashed out onto the surrounding fields and villages.

What might that country look like it asks ?

I am very fond of both sets of people and feel they could learn a lot from the practices of the other. To find a better balance between chiseling out new independent ecosystems, tearing down the old one, building community and regenerating spirit while negotiating the oppression of the existing regime and their apologists. I strongly feel that the problems of Ireland can only be solved by the ingenuity of the people on this island. So while, I see the benefit of global leaders and movements I’m not really too consumed with the idea that templates from abroad are the best solution for the tribes here to follow. But I guess maybe that is my own inherent bias at play. While, I am the type of person who understands fully the importance of letter writing campaigns and Freedom of Information requests as vital weapons in the arsenal to fight back against state oppression, I probably enjoy more, the woman I met on Saturday who walked into a local pharmacy and enquired of the two counter assistants as to whether or not they had souls. And proceeded to start grilling them on why they were partaking in the pushing of trial vaccines on babies.

“ Do you not have any souls left in ye at all “ she demanded to know of them.

“ Jaysus, how did they react to that!!! “

“ Sure they didn’t know what to say. They just stood there shocked and silent with their mouths hanging wide open “

I’m a sucker for the pure balls of this approach I must admit.

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