This book is a momento of The Memory of Trees. As with Shepherd Moons I have written some personal notes to accompany the album. Again these notes are only part of the equation, but give some idea as to the origin of the songs or to the meanings they may hold.
The land of the summer stars...the winter garden...that way...the land of paradoxes... the city of angels...aigle...anywhere is...roma...the island of ebony...
persia...the island of the four precious walls...the willows on the water...the land of three winters...ole inigo...thoraigh...wood of dreams...the plain of the winds...
anywhere is...gaothdobhair...this way...a whispering world...orinoco...lothlorien... the palace of solitude...the garden of the singing-ringing tree...
the land of illusion...cuyahoga...the painted ball...the crystal sea...lake disppointment...aldebaran...life...my way home...anywhere is...
Pax Deorum translates as "Peace of the Gods." This Goodwill of the Gods expressed accord between ancient Roma and her Gods, maintaining a harmonious relationship between Man and Divinity. This concept, and variations of it, are echoed throughout history in other ages and cultures.
...the voice of epiphany is found in Athair ar Neamh. It is the voice of day, the voice of all, of understanding.
It is a peace which is unique to the individual, a peace that is felt rather than described. It is that moment in which we experience a sense of calm and understanding amidst the bustle and hustle of everyday living, and although it is a brief encounter, it is complete.
Everyone has their own idea of heaven. What creates the beauty of the world is the love we have for it, connected to memories, wishes, desires. For each of us it is a different treasure we embrace- a changing sky, the crimson flower of the Keys of Heaven, a love token, the endless delight of faerie-tales, the ever-shifting pictures of our world that we find in the words of poets. For each one of us a different love becomes our own woo of dreams.
Denique non omnes eadem mirantur amantque: All men, in short, do not admire and love the same things.
Hope has a place in the lover's heart.
If love was always kind there would be no need to worry for those who begin this journey. On Love or the loss of it, no amount of advice or reason can ultimately protect the one who loves from pain or from the disappointment of loss. We hurt so much because we love so much.
This is a wish that love may be kind, and if it should not be, that the one precious feeling held captive in Pandora's box may find it's place in the lover's heart.
It has been told that the path to the tea-house was one of a copse of summer trees, a wave of the sea, the pale evening moon. The trees, the sea, the moon evoked old dreams and the tea-house represented an oasis where the travellor could find peace. On entering through the low door, one could hear the song of water echo the distant sea or the sound of the rain in a bamboo forest. The tea-house was a place of repose and one in which the harmony of nature pervaded.
For some it will be the memory of darkness and their journey through it. Looking back to the walk through winter into vernal days. Knowing that all things must pass, both good and bad.
For other it is the mother reassuring her child. the ways of the world hold both darkness and dreams. Every day had its ending and every night its new dawn. And, although Summer sheds to winter, days will once again become bright.
Others will see the path which took them from one understanding to another; one in which they realised that which was most precious to them.
From the mythologies of our origins to the dreams of Borges and beyond. From probable to abstract, from the one to the many, from the dreamer to the bedreamed.
In Irish mythology there is often mention of the Druid; the Druid was regarded as a man of knowledge and power. He held the knowledge in dreams and signs and interpretation. He knew the lie of the lands and the way of the winds. He understood the elements. His was the knowledge of words. One Druid in particular inspired the seed to this lyric; Amergin, who came from the shores of Iberia, modern-day Spain, with the Son of Mil.
And so the dreamer dreams.
The journey home. A clear, fresh evening, quiet, restful. Thoughts are comforting, memories are warm and sweet. The air is so still reflection comes easy. A gentle snow may cocoon us and can deaden the night sounds. The mind can dwell on the good things in life as, with each step, one joyful thought begets another. The journey home is filled with the anticipation and excitment of arrival-family, friends, those we love. The solitary path had more room for wishes, in that stillness, in that night, going home.
Thank you Ebony. Thank you Persia. Thank you Rob. Thank you Cherry. Gracias Inigo.
These words. The Memory of Trees. My moments found a maze of worlds. My maze of memory is in my moments. These moments hold my maze of memory. This momento is a memory of my moments. This book is a momemto of The Memory of Trees.
