The Heelers Diaries

the fantasy world of ireland's greatest living poet

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Location: Kilcullen (Phone 087 7790766), County Kildare, Ireland

Saturday, March 12, 2016

a word on behalf of our sponsor

Ah thank you God for the sweet softness of dawn glistening on the fields with the Wicklow mountains all robed in purple, the sky tinged ochre gold, and the leaves of every tree in Urquahart's woods reflecting a thousand nameless shades of living light.
Thank you God for the morning breeze whispering verses from the Bible in the garden of my father.
Thank you God for the kiss of consciousness as I awoke this royal morning.
Thank you God for the early stir of life in the houses and on the streets of Kilcullen, this burgeoning humming hamlet, with its businessmen, its teachers, its young people, its sages, its radicals, its conformists, its farmers, its shopkeepers, its students, its truants, its hoodlums, its thug policemen, its heroes, its sexors, its idle rich, its unemployed, its pagans, its proselytizers, its poets, and its priests, for all in all, good and bad, this is my Jerusalem, and I could ask you for no other.
Thank you God for the roses.
Thank you God for Paddy Pup hiding in the bedroom every time I put on a rasher because he's afraid I'm going to set off Father Peter's smoke alarm.
Thank you God for Siobhan Cullen's young lad Robert saying to his mother "How many times did James win the Nobel prize?" and Lord what a great kid.
Thank you God for distant melodies from Maharashtra.
Thank you God for Bella Donna's bright eyes, flowing hair and intriguing tee shirt slogans.
Thank you God for the sound of wood pigeons cooing in the trees.
Thank you God for Sister Lelia's card which said "go confidently in the direction of your dreams, live the life you have imagined."
Thank you God for the moment when I told Vivian Clarke that I was going to invite the nuns to my play and he responded "Are you mad or what?"
Thank you God for the open road with Esmerelda's engine purring like a cat and the sudden suspicion in my mind that anything is possible.
Thank you God for the gentle cadences of memory and the presence in my heart of people long gone.
Thank you God for Summer rain.
Thank you God for the bumble bee's drone which is in its way a song of praise.
Thank you God for letting me overhear Nuala Egan and Siobhan Patterson from behind a curtain in Kilcullen theatre last week when Nuala was saying "If neither of us talk to James he can't put us in his column," and Siobhan answering "Right so, we'll be like the politicians, as soon as we see him coming we'll say no comment," and Lord bless their innocence.
Thank you God for the shadows brooding on the field of souls where my grandfather rests at last.
Thank you God for Beata from Lithuania who responds to all my complaints about every situation by saying "You must be strong, it's a life test," and I really think she isn't afraid of anything, and maybe it's something to do with the fact that the Lithuanians survived the Nazis, and then saw off the Soviets, or maybe it isn't, but there's no going back in them, and crumbs Lord she's the toughest pretty girl I've ever met.
Thank you God for the inspired words "Jesus you are perfect love and perfect love casts out fear."
Thank you God for Maisie Wogan saying: "The Lord doesn't tell you to throw in the towel, he tells you to cast out your nets," and Louisa Forthright giving me the prayer: "Jesus I love you, God I love you, Lord forgive me, Lord heal me," and Anne Byrne advising: "Be the eucharist to each other," and Wilma Ryan proclaiming: "Forgive, forgive, forgive, no matter what, just forgive," and Bernadette Smythe pontificating about divine mercy, and for all the other nut jobs from prayer groups wherever they are and whatever they are doing in this age when satan has sought the ultimate destruction of the Catholic Church, and these few, these precious few, have defied him.
Thank you God for the teenager nicknaming me Professor last week as it does appear to be the first nickname I've acquired that doesn't have a vaguely pejorative ring, and I definitely much prefer it to Yakky, Dracula, Tasmanian Devil, Heeler the Peeler, Yeh B-ll-x, and all the rest.
Thank you God for the sudden flashes of elemental beauty that illumine our world and show your hand in the creation, you know what I mean, kingfishers o'er the stream, bluebells at the roadside, dolphins on the ocean and little German Mareen anywhere.
Thank you God for the Spanish Onion and her amazing snot green paintings.
Thank you God for my innate genius and sublime modesty.
Thank you God for the cattle belling out of sight in the heat of evening.
Thank you God for the scent of new mown grass.
Thank you God for the tide of night sweeping in on raven's wings and gathering up my town in a cloak of stillness while the universe itself watches with bated breath.
Thank you God for the stars scattered like precious stones across the vastness of sky.
Thank you God for the moment when we were performing "Poets In Paradise" for inmates at the Curragh Prison, and I suggested to Maurice O'Mahoney who was portraying Patrick Kavanagh, that he should sing A Boy Named Sue instead of Raglan Road, which was an hilarious one liner even by my usual superb standards, but of course I didn't say it too loud Lord, for I may be obnoxious but I'm not stupid.
Thank you God for that additionally hilarious moment at the Curragh Prison after the curtain fell, when I was trying to mix it with the prisoners doing my Saint James of Compostela routine, and next minute I noticed all the other cast members and the director proceeding at a rate of knots for the door, verily like startled fawns bounding up the mountain path, and suddenly I felt very lonely indeed.
Thank you God for the impossible majesty of created things.
Thank you God for the dignity of creatures.
Thank you God for the miracle of song and the miracle of the singer.
Thank you God for the glory of light.
Thank you God for the writings of the Lutheran Richard Wurmbrand.
Thank you God for the courage of your witnesses.
Thank you God again and again and again for Sister Gemma, Sister Lelia, Sister Elizabeth, Mother Nirmala, Mother Angelica, and all the crazy hero nuns from the planet Zorg, and also most especially for the courage of the young Galway woman who lost the fingers on one hand after the devil tried to scare her away from being a nun, and for the Padres, Father Supple, Father O'Siochru, Pete, Dave, Sweeney, and the Pap(s).
Thank you God for you.