My last time in Ireland we drove past many mass graves from An Gorta Mor, The Great Hunger. While there I dreamed we were driving past two women on the roadside who were weeping. I told the driver to stop but he didn't. I said, “But, they’re Irish women.”
In the same dream I had entered some property to relax and enjoy the scenery by a beautiful lake. Two men, one the son, the other the father, and with airs of self-importance and superiority, announced it was THEIR land and I should remove myself. When a young man, my favorite fight move was always a headlock, so I sprung one on him, twisted his neck, and killed him. I then had to do the same with his father.
I always interpreted that dream as both of the men being the spirits of self-righteous planters, those who were given Irish land taken from the those who rightfully owned it.
The old women? I believe they were spirits of the famine who continue to suffer unimagineable grief, still bound to the land, and not yet having moved on. I pray for their souls.
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