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an annual reprint - [this year precipitated by zynga]:

The Defining characteristic of the SHAMROCK is that it has THREE Leaves. THREE. It is a symbol of the TRINITY. (The Catholics don't have a monopoly on that concept, I hasten to point out. Triads loom large in the celtic brain. See my drabbles if you need confirmation *G*)

A Shamrock does NOT have four leaves, and isn't about luck.

The phrase "the luck of the Irish" may have confused you. You can wear a lucky clover if you wish. But it isn't a shamrock.

Most especially - Please don't tell me it doesn't matter/it's the same thing. It is the symbol of my people, and it has THREE leaves. People died for the right to wear it.

You would not, for instance, stick an oak leaf (powerful and lovely an image as it is) on the Canadian flag -- because That's Not Where It Goes.

Thanks for listening.
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This juxtaposition of Tarot and Folk Music has me thinking back to a conversation I once had with Robin Williamson. (He was playing at Outta Sights and Jim and I picked him up from the airport.) He was telling me an Amerind story about an ant and a belt of strength, and when I thanked him, I mentioned that I collect creation myths. He paused, I think running through his memory banks for a story for me, and came up blank. I could see it cross his face. He turned to me and said "We [meaning Celts] don't have any, do we!" I had never thought of it that way. I ran through my own memory banks and I laughed and said, "No, we don't. Arrival myths, but no creation myths."

Later, I was thinking about a recurring dream I had as a child of trying to gather up bright points of light out of the night sky into my arms, like nuerons in a net. I decided I would write myself a personal creation myth. After several attempts, I had to admit I was unable to do it. In spite of all the things I look back on as wonderful, I come to the point where I feel I begin as a person, and I find that I don't seem to care about all the years before Jim saved my life and I ran away to be with him in New Jersey. My life comes to a screeching halt - and then begins again. New Jersey.

Have you ever heard the part in The Transformation of Myth Through Time when Joseph Campbell tells the David Suzuki story about reaching Nirvana? The "people" are equated with New Yorkers, all yearning for the light on the far shore, (because no one has told them it is New Jersey.) Then they begin to attain spirituality, and they get to take the ferry. Of course, when they attain real enlightenment they reach New Jersey and some of them begin to yearn for the light on the far shore that they have forgotton is New York.

New Jersey! An Arrival myth.*Sigh* It must be in the blood.


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