I’ve partnered with Zeitgeist, an Atlanta-based spiritual community, to create a special interspiritual pilgrimage to Sacred Ireland in September 2023! We’ll explore sacred sites from both the pre-Christian and Christian traditions, celebrate the spiritual wisdom from Irish folklore, myth, story and song, and simply revel in the splendor and beauty of the Emerald Isle in fall! We are intentionally keeping the size of this pilgrimage small — we’re thinking 12 to no more than 20 people — so that we can have a sacred experience (and not just a packaged tour). People of all faith traditions (or no tradition) are welcome. Enrollment is limited, obviously — so if this is of interest, follow the link to learn more and to reserve your spot.
Friends, I am thrilled to announce that my good friends at Zeitgeist Atlanta are hosting a Pilgrimage in Ireland, September 20-27, 2023 — and they have asked me to be the spiritual guide for this pilgrimage!
This will be a very special week, as we will be keeping the size of the group very small: this will not be some big corporate “tour” — it will be a sacred pilgrimage, visiting several holy sites in Ireland along with time for daily meditation and reflection!
Zeitgeist is hosting an organizational meeting on Zoom, August 4, 2022 at 7:30 PM Eastern time! If you are interested in participating in the pilgrimage in 2023, please attend this Zoom call! There’s no charge for this Zoom call, and we’ll include a meditation and a bit of reflection on why Celtic spirituality is so universally appealing and more relevant than ever, even today.
I led my first pilgrimage in Ireland way back in 2003 — happy to celebrate the 20th anniversary of that trip by returning to the Isle of Saints and Scholars! Will you be in my next group picture from Ireland? Hope so!!!
I wrote the following article in 2002, when I was exploring Celtic paganism. I found it recently while looking for something in my archives and I thought it was worth sharing. It’s a reflection on my first trip to Ireland, when I was doing research for The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Celtic Wisdom. I wrote from the perspective of a student of pagan and Goddess-centered spirituality. I hope you enjoy it. If you wonder how a Christian like me once identified as a pagan (or how someone exploring Celtic paganism might become devoted to contemplative Christianity), please read “You Wrote Books About Paganism?!?”
James Joyce Statue, Dublin
A Spiritual Pilgrimage to Ireland
As Christians look to the Holy Land or Muslims revere Mecca, those of us who walk a Druidic or Celtic spiritual path regard Ireland, or Eire, as the spiritual home of our tradition. When the opportunity arose for me to spend 18 days in the Emerald Isle this summer doing research for a new book, it seemed like far more than a mere business trip. This would be a pilgrimage, a journey of personal and spiritual discovery.
Over eighteen days, I did indeed discover many things. I saw breathtaking coastlines, lush emerald-green farmland, and inspiring prehistoric monuments. I spoke with ordinary people, neopagans and Christians, college professors and retired farmers, friendly pub owners and aging hippies. The trip was also beset with plenty of problems. I had difficulties with my connecting flights in London, both coming and going. When I finally arrived in Dublin, my luggage was delayed—for 36 hours. And I even had a minor health crisis: a painful hemorrhoid that required a reassuring visit to an Irish doctor (“don’t worry, young man, you’ll be fine. Just drink an extra pint of Guinness every night”). Yes, even when we pursue a precious spiritual experience, the ordinary hassles of life still happen!
The Giant’s Causeway
The Singing Presence
Since this was my first visit to Ireland, my itinerary naturally included several must-see destinations: Dublin, with remarkable cultural treasures like the Book of Kells or the Armagh Chalice… the Hill of Tara, ancient seat of the Irish high kings from the days of myth and legend… Newgrange, the impressive stone age passage-tomb immortalized in Irish mythology… The Cliffs of Moher, majestic 700-foot walls of rock eternally buffeted by the power of the Atlantic… The Burren, an eerie limestone-covered landscape that looks like it could have been originally part of the Moon… The Giant’s Causeway, another awe-inspiring rock formation jutting out into the northern branch of the Irish channel, said to have been built by the mythic hero Finn McCool as an ancient bridge to Scotland.
Each of these sites conveyed its own sense of magic and mystery, especially thanks to a resonance I felt again and again, a lovely and indescribable sense of presence, as if the land herself were conscious, alive, and watching me. I came to regard this omnipresent, buzzing energy of the land as a “singing presence,” as if the Goddess herself expressed self-awareness through the terrain, singing a celestial melody into the minds of those willing to listen. More than one person had warned me that the energies of the land were different in Eire than in North America; but I had not been prepared for how unmistakeably and profoundly beautiful my experience of the Goddess’ presence would be.
The Stone of Destiny at the Hill of Tara
The Blessings of Bridget
The Pagan Celts worshipped a Goddess of healing and fire called Brighid, and when Christianity came to Ireland, devotion to Brighid didn’t die out, but was transformed. Either an early Christian woman took the name of the Goddess as her own, or else the Christian community transformed the memory of the Goddess into a more acceptable “saint.” Either way, today Bridget/Brighid represents a powerful uniting of the Christian religion and the ancient Pagan wisdom of Ireland. Whether Goddess or saint, Bridget is a role model for both men and women, as a powerful figure who exhibited compassion toward the poor, love for the earth, and leadership in her community.
St. Brigid’s Cathedral, Kildare
The home of this Goddess/Saint is Kildare, a lovely town southwest of Dublin. Up until the 16th century, Bridget’s nuns tended an eternal flame in her honor—a clear survival of ancient Pagan practices. In recent years, a Roman Catholic order of Brighidine nuns relit the sacred flame, and it burns today in the nun’s home in Kildare, standing for a sacred spirituality that transcends religious differences and calls people to a life of unity and balance. As a pilgrim, I found the cathedral, medieval tower, formal gardens, and several Holy Wells in Kildare to be powerful symbols of this important icon of the Divine Feminine.
Brigid’s Well, near Kildare
The Lady at the Well
One of the chief delights I discovered throughout Ireland was the Holy Well tradition. Hundreds of wells, springs, and other water sources are revered in Eire as places of healing, prayer, and meditation. Often the water of these wells is said to have powerful tonic and curative properties, and practices such as leaving offerings at the wells may date back to pagan times. My pilgrimage took me to the most famous wells, (like Tobernault near Sligo or St. Bridget’s Well in Liscannor, near the Cliffs of Moher), as well as a few little-known but still special sites.
St. Patrick’s Well, Clonmel
One of the most profound experiences I had was in the small village of Clonmel, at a well dedicated to Saint Patrick. At this site, I experienced a brief but dramatic vision of a lovely woman, with raven black hair, dressed in white. According to Celtic myth, every sacred well has a feminine spirit who serves as the guardian of the well. I spoke to the spirit, asking if she was the guardian; she engaged in a dynamic inner conversation with me, admonishing me not to just be a “spiritual tourist” visiting sacred sites like a boy scout collects merit badges, but to approach the powerful places of natural holiness with a due spirit of contemplation and reverence, so that I might form a true relationship with the energies of the place. So much for my pride! This encounter left me energized by a clear sense that the singing presence I had been experiencing was no mere figment of my imagination, but truly a profound doorway into the wisdom of the land.
St. Colman’s Well, near Gort, Co. Galway
Meetings with Remarkable Celts
I met several wonderful and amazing people, some by prior arrangement, others just by a chance encounter. I asked each person to give me their insights into what truly makes up the great tradition of Celtic wisdom.
In Kildare, I met Sr. Mary, one of the Brigidine Sisters who tend the current flame of Bridget’s fire. She described the Celtic tradition in terms of balance and unity, and mentioned that the real purpose of Bridget’s flame is to inspire the burning of a sacred fire within each soul.
The Turoe Stone
In County Cork, I met a colorful pagan couple, Bev and Del, who live on thirteen acres of gorgeous land in an environmentally-friendly home; they shared insights into the Celtic tradition that stem from a long-standing involvement in the Wiccan tradition. They shared their gentle spirituality based not on joining the right group or collecting the right initiations, but simply honoring the spirits of the land and embodying the Celtic virtue of hospitality.
In County Galway, I met Tom Hannon, an 81-year-old retired farmer and gifted storyteller. As I followed doctor’s orders and sipped a Guinness, he regaled me with tales of the fairies and the old gods and goddesses. From him I learned that the fairies are neither good nor evil, but tend to treat different humans pretty much as they deserve.
Emain Macha
On the Aran Islands, where Irish is still spoken and traditional Gaelic culture yet survives, I met Dara Molloy, a “priest of the Celtic tradition” who blends a profound earth-centered spirituality with an activist’s commitment to sustainable living, organic farming, and preservation of traditional ways. Dara taught me that the most important aspect of Celtic wisdom lies not in how much knowledge we gain, but in how we use that knowledge to truly live in harmony with the planet and our communities.
And finally, in Northern Ireland I met the folklorist Bob Curran, who built on the stories of Tom Hannon and gave me more to think about in regard to the fairies. From Bob I learned that a legend or a folktale can carry as much wisdom as a learned book or a theological treatise.
Knowth Passage Tomb, near Newgrange
Honoring the Ancestors
Many of the sacred sites I encountered were related to death. Newgrange is an ancient tomb; so are many other famous sites, like Knowth, Dowth, and Carrowmore. The stone circles at Beaghmore in Northern Ireland are accompanied by ancient burial mounds called cairns. Of course, sacred sites associated with Christianity (like Kildare) often incorporate cemetaries. Why is death such a profound part of Irish spirituality? Probably because it is a profound part of all spirituality, although we Americans do a better job than most at ignoring our own mortality. But seeing the link between spirituality and death is important, for true spirituality includes honoring one’s ancestors, those whose DNA we now carry. From Newgrange to the famine graveyards to a modern cemetary near a holy well, my trip was filled with a silent reverence for those who had gone before.
Poulnabrone Dolmen, in the Burren
Spiritual Lessons
All too soon, my time in Eire was up and I headed back to Atlanta. One of the most important parts of any spiritual adventure, whether an actual pilgrimage or an inner meditative journey, is reflecting on the lessons we learned over the course of the trip. Here are just a few of the nuggets of wisdom Ireland graciously shared with me:
1. Spirituality begins with the land.The spiritual life involves more than just books, or meditation, or rituals. It’s not about joining a group, learning myths, or completing a study program. It’s about our body and soul, which we inherited from our ancestors and from the land that feeds us, the air that nurtures us, and the water that quences our thirts. As human beings, we don’t relate to nature, we are part of nature.
2. The heart of wisdom lies in the telling of a story.Each of the remarkable people I had the honor to speak with was a born storyteller. Sure, that’s an Irish stereotype, but everyone has their own unique story to tell, their own unique experience of being alive on the earth at this time. When we tell our stories, we reveal our soul to others. What can be more spiritual–or wise– than this?
Brownshill Dolman
3. It doesn’t matter what label you wear.Christian or pagan, Wiccan or Druid, none-of-the above or some combination thereof… I met people of varying religious affiliations during my visit, but found repeatedly that the spirit of hospitality, reverence for the land, and devotion to the Divine crossed all boundaries and lines. Given the troubles of northern Ireland (as well as the troubles of the Middle East or of September 11, 2001), Ireland’s message is clear: we need less religious dogma and more spiritual openness, no matter what our personal identity might be.
4. Trust the process.My little visit with the Irish doctor was one of the sweetest and funniest moments of my trip. It wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t had a health problem. And thanks to a delayed piece of luggage, I bought very few knickknack souvenirs, but instead spent my money on useful, practical clothes! When we simply trust in the process, even the negative parts of our lives can lead to blessings.
5. If what you’re seeking you find not within yourself (or your own land), you won’t find it anywhere else, either. Sure, visiting Ireland was fun. But every time I encountered the singing presence of the land, she sang the same message: “Don’t just love Eire. Go home to Georgia and love the land there. She, after all, is your land. Sing to the land of Georgia, and she will sing back to you.” If you want to be a nature mystic, seek the magic of nature in your own back yard. That’s the true Celtic way.
Beaghmore Stone Circle
This article originally appeared in the August 2002 issue of Aquarius. All photos by Carl McColman excerpt for the featured photo of Poulabrone Dolmen, by K. Mitch Hodge on Unsplash.
In my last post I made several references to Holy Wells as thin places. From the Chalice Well in western England, to Tobernault in northwest Ireland, to countless wells throughout the Celtic lands dedicated to St. Brigid or other much loved saints — Holy Wells (water sources that serve as places of prayer and veneration) are icons of the Celtic spirit.
There is no “standard” Holy Well — they come in many forms. Some are wells are in the traditional sense, complete with round walls surrounding them and a bucket with a rope. But many others feature different kinds of water sources. Many are springs, or even waterfalls that emerge from underground, and I’ve even seen one that is merely a crevice in a rock where rain water stands. What they all share in common — and what separates them from ordinary or mundane water sources — is their sacred function as places where people go to pray, to worship, to intercede, and to seek healing.
Some Holy Wells are legendary for their healing properties; many have particular reputations: one is renowned for healing headaches, while another one nearby might be known for curing toothaches. Especially in lands with large Catholic populations like most of Ireland, many wells are dedicated to a saint, often a local holy man or woman who may not even be recognized as a canonized saint by the church at large. Of course, a good portion of wells have a particular association with saints of renown, especially St. Mary and St. Brigid. I don’t know if anyone has done a particular study on Holy Wells, but my sense is that far more are dedicated to women saints than to men — but “men’s” wells do exist.
Tobar Bride: St. Brigid’s Well, Kildare (photo by Carl McColman)
People come to Holy Wells for the water of course, treating it with the same respect that any Catholic would treat water from a shrine like Lourdes. Some Holy Wells even feature cups with signs encouraging visitors to take a drink. But there’s more to your average Holy Well than just the water it yields. Often wells have “patterns” associated with them: formal procedures for praying at the well, usually involving the Rosary or other formal prayers and a particular route to walk while praying (for example, moving clockwise around the well 9 times). Some wells even have signs that instruct the first-time visitor how to properly follow the pattern at the well.
Many “accessories” to holy wells can be found at various sites. Some have human-made adornments: statues, gardens, walls, crosses, huts or shelters, all meant to give the well a sense of spiritual reverence as well as a feeling of being well cared-for; indeed, many holy wells are located in beautifully tended grounds that function as a small park. Many wells are accompanied by a tree that has come to be venerated alongside the well; some of these trees are covered with clooties, small rags or strips of cloth that have been tied to the tree as a type of prayer remembrance. The legend of the clooties holds that they “carry” the prayers of the person who first tied them to the tree; as the clootie is slowly broken down by the elements over time, the prayers are “released” — almost like a time-released pill.
I must confess to feeling some ambivalence about clooties myself. While they clearly represent an ancient folk custom and are inspiring for the prayer and devotion they represent, on the other hand a tree covered by clooties could be hurt or even killed by all the tightly knotted strips of cloth. I’m not sure that God — or, for that matter, the ancient Celtic saints — truly want prayers when they are expressed at the expense of an innocent tree!
A Holy Well in the west of Ireland (the water source is inside the building). Photo by Carl McColman
Something else often found at holy wells: coins. Traditionally, the coins would have been tossed into the well, a custom that very likely has pre-Christian roots. Archaeology has shown that the ancient Celts would make offerings to their pagan gods by sacrificing valuable metal items to bodies of water — entire hoards of votive offerings have been excavated from rivers, including swords, torques, shields, and other items fashioned from metals like silver or bronze or even gold. Although some of these items are clearly valuable from their composition of precious metals, scholars suspect that the armaments offered as sacrifices to the rivers were actually made for ritual purposes (a shield made of silver or gold likely was too valuable and not practical enough for use in a real battle). The ritual sacrifice of votive offerings leaves us with more questions than answers, but it suggests that the pre-Christian Celts saw water sources as sacred, and perhaps even as portals to the “otherworld” — the realm the gods and the ancestors. By making offerings, the ancients were giving gifts to their spiritual allies, hoping in turn for blessings, a fruitful harvest, or triumph in battle.
It’s easy to see how the folk practice of tossing a coin into a wishing well is a vestige of the ancient forms of sacrifice. This has even extended to fountains (the next time you visit a shopping mall or an airport, stop and look at the fountains — they will likely contain hundreds of pennies and nickels and other coins, tossed in by passersby who were making a wish or simply re-enacting an ancient practice (or, making a donation, since the owners of many fountains now designate their “take” to a worthy cause). Some Holy Wells even have coin boxes installed next to the water source — which may make good ecological sense, since throwing the coins into the well could compromise the quality of the water.
Votive offerings at St. Brigid’s Well in Liscannor, on the west coast of Ireland. Photo by Carl McColman.
Other wells, for example St. Brigid’s Well near Liscannor in County Clare, Ireland, are renowned for various other “sacrificial” objects left at the well: candles, rosaries, holy cards, or for that matter dolls, pictures of loved ones, or even a pair of crutches. These “votive offerings” symbolize the prayers of the persons who visited the well.
One time I was leading a small group of American pilgrims through Ireland, and we stopped to pray at one of the Holy Wells near Kildare. While we were there, a local family came by to offer their own prayers, and one member of our group struck up a conversation with them. They were actually there to offer thanks — they had been praying at the well for their mother, who had been diagnosed with cancer, and they had recently received the good news that the cancer was in remission. So of course they returned to the place of their intercession to offer a new prayer of gratitude.
I suppose some people might look at the folk practices associated with Holy Wells — tying ribbons to trees, executing precise actions while praying, treating the water with special reverence — and dismiss it all as only so much superstition. But I want to make the case for looking at Holy Wells not with the cold eyes of scientific skepticism, but rather the compassionate eyes that see value in tradition and myth and wonder.
Prayer is not magic, and traditional practices associated with prayer — like visiting a sacred water source — do not imbue the prayer with any more “power” than any other type of prayer might contain. So why go to all the fuss, of visiting a well, or following the pattern, or treating the water with reverence? To answer that question I think we have to go back to the idea of the Thin Place. Some places have a special ability to bring us face to face with the mystery of eternity. That mystery is always present in our lives! But we do not always pay attention to it.
Statue of St. Brigid at the Holy Well dedicated to her in Liscannor. She’s kept in glass to protect her from the elements. (Photo by Carl McColman)
So we go to visit a place traditionally regarded as sacred, like a Holy Well, to help us pay attention. We perform the rituals associated with such a place: drinking the water, following the pattern, leaving a coin or some other votive object to symbolize our prayer, to help us pay attention. By joining in to long-standing folk customs associated with Holy Wells, we are joining in with people from generation after generation who have found comfort and inspiration by coming to these special places to pray and to praise.
So are Holy Wells “Celtic”? Not in any strict sense — the veneration of water sources can be found in many cultures around the world. But I think it’s no accident that Holy Wells are so visible in the Celtic lands. They are icons of the Celtic spirit, which means that I see in Holy Wells the gifts of Celtic wisdom: a recognition of God’s presence in nature and the ordinary stuff of life, the importance of regular prayer, a sense that spirituality is not something reserved just for Church or Sundays, but is intimately a part of everyday life. And since many Holy Wells do have associations with Celtic saints like Brigid or Patrick or Cuthbert, the Wells reinforce the sense of communion and connection that living spiritual seekers today can find with the great Celtic saints of old.
I first heard of the notion of Thin Places the first time I visited Glendalough, the ancient monastery nestled in a glacial valley south of Dublin. We were there on a crisp October day, the forest filled with hardwoods dancing with autumn colors. Even as I stood in the carpark after first arriving, I could sense something special about the place; and when our tourguide told us about “thin places,” my eyes danced with the gleam of recognition.
Glendalough Round Tower. Photo by Superbass (Creative Commons CC BY-SA 3.0)
“Glendalough is a thin place,” he said. “What is a thin place? It’s a sacred site, known to the Celts of ancient times, where the veil that separates our world from the otherworld, the world of silence and eternity, is particularly thin. So it’s a place where we can sense the nearness of the eternal.”
As I stood there at the edge of the forest, where it seemed that the memory of Saint Kevin and the other monks of Glendalough seemed especially present, I felt as if I knew, intuitively and deeply, just what he was talking about. And I had known this for years before. I knew it the first time I visited places like Chalice Well in the shadow of Glastonbury Tor, or the remarkable monument to the ancestors called Newgrange. I had sensed that Kildare, the home of St. Brigid and several beautiful holy wells, brought me face to face with the unseen realm. And yes, I’ve had that similar sense of mystery and wonder at other places I’ve visited over the years of my life.
Thin places, all of them.
Just the other day I read a blog post by a woman who’s unhappy with how people use the phrase “thin places.” She pointed to Richard Rohr (among others) who talk about “thin places” as a Celtic concept. She goes on to insist that the thin places exist before the Celts ever arrived in places like Ireland, so of course it had to be pre-Celtic in origin!
Sigh.
Celtic spirituality makes sense because it points us to something true and universal, something deeply human and at one with the radiance of heaven. So it’s a detour to get caught up on what is or isn’t authentically Celtic, as if that were the final arbiter of what is good and true and beautiful. Yes, there is a character, a distinctiveness, to Celtic language and myth and story and culture, and it’s good to celebrate what makes Celtic spirituality unique. But thin places matter not because they are Celtic (or pre-Celtic) — they matter because they are real, and point to something bigger than themselves.
The blogger’s other point may be a bit more reasonable: that thin places really are places. In other words, it doesn’t make sense to say “my heart is a thin place,” or even “my garden is a thin place, because that’s where I feel especially close to God.” Well, I hope your heart (and my heart, and everyone’s heart) is a place where we more readily touch eternity, and it’s always lovely to hear about places where people feel significant access to the breath of heaven — and a garden that you tend, mixing your own sweat with the moist soil of the good earth to nurture plants for joy and food — what place could take us closer to God than that?
But if just about every place could be a “thin place,” doesn’t that render the concept itself rather, well — pardon the pun — thin? So I see the blogger’s point: that certain places truly are holy places, numinous places, places of sacrality — a college word that means “pertaining to the sacred.” It’s what theologians call “the scandal of particularity.” It was originally applied to the Christian belief that Jesus is the one savior of all humankind — and even more than that, the one incarnation of the second person of the Trinity. Why would all people need just one particular savior? Because in this particular expression of God’s grace or God’s presence, the fullness of Divine Love is offered to all people. It’s the idea of a center — every circle has a center, and you need the center to draw the circumference. Jesus of Nazareth, at least for Christians, is the center of God’s saving love invading the universe and making all things possible. That’s not to say that God’s love doesn’t erupt in countless other ways: of course it does. But Jesus is still the ground zero point.
So thin places work in a similar way. There is a particular “thinness” that we encounter in places like Iona or Lindisfarne. Out of these think places, God’s Spirit invades the world at large. Of course your heart can also be a portal through which eternity flows into your life — indeed I hope every heart functions this way. And every garden, too, as well as every church.
But here’s something to think about: perhaps we more easily recognize the inflow of the Spirit through our hearts or our gardens or our neighborhood churches because, even if just once or twice in a lifetime, we visit places like Glendalough or St. David’s and there we find our hearts opened in a particular way — as if these places calibrate our spirits in such a way that we learn to recognize the whisper of the Holy, whenever or wherever it speaks to us.
This page features photos of Brigid’s Well in County Kildare, Ireland. This well is a lovely example of the ongoing practice of water veneration in the Celtic world. Many wells and springs are dedicated to Brigid in Ireland; this one is especially lovely because of its location, within walking distance of the town of Kildare (“the church of the oak”) where priestesses of Brigid, and later nuns, kept a sacred flame burning until the sixteenth century (and where, even today, Brigidine sisters keep a perpetual fire lit in honor of Brigid).
The well is located just off a country road, on a small parcel of land in the midst of pastures where cows and sheep graze. The well produces so much water that the rushing sound of the flowing stream creates a meditative ambience where it is easy to enter a contemplative state of consciousness. Leading up to the well is a row of five small standing stones, which according to local tradition represent virtues of Brigid: meditation, hospitality, charity, peacemaking, and reverence for nature. At the head of the stream, a small stone arch has been built, above the concrete “shoes” through which the water flows in two streams. Some observers have suggested that the “shoes” actually look more like breasts, the water flowing through them like milk through a mother’s breasts.
The well itself is surrounded by a short round wall, emphasizing its feminine symbolism. Next to it is a clootie (prayer rag) tree, where supplicants offer coins and strips of cloth, tied to the tree as “time-capsule” prayers. The entire site has a feeling of deep holiness that transcends the religious differences of Pagan and Christian; this is a site of universal peace and love.
Here are some pictures taken at Brigid’s Well in the summer of 2002.
This handpainted sign is as fancy as it gets.
The emphasis here is on spirituality, not “polish.”
In this picture you see the well in the background,
the five standing stones,
and the stone arch where the stream begins.
This photo was taken with my back to the well,
looking toward the carpark. Notice the Brigid’s Cross
on the arch, and the “shoes” beneath it.
A better look at the five stones.
They stand for five qualities associated with Brigid:
meditation, hospitality, charity,
peacemaking, and reverence for nature.
A closer look at the arch and the “shoes” beneath it.
This picture (taken at a different holy well)
shows how the water flows through the “shoes”
in a way that has made some observers suggest
that they represent breasts: the breasts of the
Divine Feminine, nurturing us with her healing waters?
Two photos of the holy well itself.
Notice how someone has superimposed a
Brigid’s Cross on top of the Christian cross.
Traditional customs do not die easily in the Celtic world.
The clootie, or prayer-rag tree,
located next to the well (which
is seen in the foreground of this picture).
