Tir na nOg is a magical place where, if fairies lived would come to party, dwarfs to tell stories, and angels to meet for supper, knit and swap recipes over homebrew.
It is a place where trees, wild garlic, and cows sit side by side with fairy lights, massage and homemade soap, a place that makes you forget your hangover, traffic lights, and phone. And a place where people meet, laugh and share, while crows nesting above squawk their lungs out.
I was there for fire walking, fire performances, and a very large green man…
The Beltane festival.
I, a virgin fire walker vaguely wondered if it would hurt? My two pals swear by the powers of fire walking. They talked of their first time like I would my first kiss/shag/blowjob (depending on the listener). And they have been back several times; consoling until you think of childbirth-women return to that too.
I mean why walk on coals, what is the point? And if I did find the point, would my feet benefit, loss their cracked skin, soften the callouses, did magic happened on a foot?
It’s not even on my bucket list; not that I have one, apart from leaving a ton of books behind when I am no longer here. But I was curious and had a vague idea for a scene in a future book, so I told myself…
As we prepared to walk, I along with the forty odd walkers listened to the inspiring fire-walking instructor. A woman with Lady Godiva hair that talked with great wit of “burning past shit and walking to greater things”.
I thought I had nothing to burn, I racked my brains over a vegan chapatti. I was already walking towards what I wanted was there something else? And what if I wanted too much and didn’t get it? Would I burn my soul for an empty dream?
We lined up by the coals.
“Jesus,” I said, “it’s red”.
“Red is the colour of womanhood.” Muttered a voice from