Tír na nÓg (Blessed Isle to the West)
The Tír na nÓg is one of many blessed and magical isles to the west. It is the land of the forever young, revelling in beauty, merriment, and harmony. Its qualities are joy, pleasure, peace, and blessing.
Invoking the Qualities of Harmony, Peace, and Blessing.
IF YOU ARE DRAWN TO THIS ORACLE, you are becoming more aware of the simple and delightful pleasures of living. The blessings of a land "flowing with milk and honey" in your own terms are coming into your life. Long-held tensions, grudges, hurts, and fears are losing their hold on you. Personal and professional conflicts are being resolved. Harmony and contentment are replacing disappointment and loss. Your life's work is beginning to manifest in clear and concrete ways.
The blessed isles lie off the west coasts of Ireland and Scotland, as if to follow . - the sun in its homeward path. At the coming of the Celts to Ireland, the ancient Tuatha De Danann take shelter there. In The Voyage of Bran, Bran and his men wander the seas in search of the Island of Women, a land revelling in harmony, beautiful women, and merriment. In the Fionn Cycle, the young champion Oisín and the princess Niamh of the Golden Hair ride on the sea as if it were a plain to Tir na nÓg, the Land of the Forever Young.
The sanctity of islands to the west harkens back to a mythic time. Dozens of lake islands and islands off the coasts of Scotland and Ireland are revered as sites of homage and pilgrimage, associated with monasteries and abbeys in our time. The prospect of enchanted islands, beckoning the youthful and the adventurous, appearing and disappearing from sight, riding on shining pedestals to glisten in the sun, singing with music to sweeten the air, and bestowing gifts on the virtuous and forsaken has long inspired the Celtic imagination. "West of the sun," for example, is the island of Iona, St. Columba's (Colm Cille) holy strand.
The isles go by many names: Tír fo Thoinn, the Land Under the Waves; Tír Nam Beo, the Land of the Living; Tiirn Ail, the Otherworld; Magh Mór, the Great Plain; Magh Meall, the Pleasant Plain; Tir Tairngire, the Plain of Happiness. Tir na nÓg, the Land of the Forever Young, is a delightful place fit for myths and legends.
Bran mac Feabhail is feasting with his chiefs when a beautiful woman appears from nowhere. She is so lovely that "the company held its breath." Turning toward Bran, she begins to sing:
"I bring [an apple] branch of [the Isle of the Happy], In shape like those you know.
Twigs of white silver are upon it, buds of crystal with blossoms.
There is a distant isle, around which sea-horses glisten.
A fair course against the white-swelling surge Four pedestals uphold it....
Unknown is wailing or treachery In the homely well-tilled land.
There is nothing rough or harsh, But sweet music striking the ear.
Without grief, without gloom, without death, without any sickness or debility -
That is the sign of [the Isle of the Happy]. Uncommon is the like of such a marvel."
She admonishes Bran to stop feasting and drinking wine, and asks him to journey across the crystal sea westward to the blessed isle.
Similarly, in the Fionn Cycle from Ireland, Finn and his men, the Fianna, are resting in Lough Lene in Kerry after the bitter battle of Gowra. In the mist of the May morning, Finn and his men send out their dogs to hunt, when suddenly a lovely young woman gallops toward them on a willowy white horse. She is so beautiful that they hold their breath as one. She is Niamh of the Golden Hair and her father is king of Tir na nÓg, the Land of the Forever Young. She tells Finn that she has come because she loves one of his sons, Oisín. So fair is he that rumours have reached all the way to Tir na nÓg. Beckoning Oisín to follow her, she recounts the island's delights:
"You will never fall ill or grow old there. In my country you will never die. Trees grow tall there and trees bend low with fruit. The land flows with honey and wine, as much as you could ever want.... As well as all of this you will get beauty, strength and power. And me for your wife."
Oisín bids his father, Finn, and all his friends farewell. The horse neighs three times and carries them across the sea, the waves parting before them.
True paradise is a state of grace. No one can give you joy or take it away. No circumstance can deprive you of your dignity or value. No dream come true is necessarily better than the delight and opportunity to dream. No accord, contract, job, relationship, possession, privilege, or status is better than your inmost vision of yourself, the paradise of being fully content and satisfied. In the Celtic imagination, such a blessing is westward, in the direction of the sun's journey homeward, inward to itself, deep within the pleasures of being fabulously alive.
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