Long ago, and far away, in the time before Time began, there was a beautiful lush-green valley hidden in the folds of a range of lofty, snow-capped mountains under a deep, blue sky. Think of it as being There, and we are Here. That was Then, and this is Now.
In that valley, resting below the mountain tops, is a peaceful Village. It isn’t sleepy though. In fact, it is far from sleepy, it is very active. The grown-ups in that village remember all they have been taught by their Teachers in the local school, at the centre of the village, near the Temple and make sure that their children learn what they have learned. The men and women of that village work hard, each according to their abilities, and their special individual gifts and skills are respected by their neighbours. In return for that respect, services are given and exchanged. The interlocking web of their lives moves smoothly in a cycle of birth, growing, harvesting and saving. Sometimes that wheel of life trundles peacefully along. Other times, the road of life is rough and the turning of the wheel is difficult. The villagers celebrate their joys and mourn their sorrows together, as One.
As we visit the Village today, the Sun is shining and the gentle breeze has a cold edge to it, carried down from the mountain snows. A little Girl, with a basket swinging on her arm, makes her way out to the fields to collect herbs and wild fruit for the family meal. As she works her way along the hedgerow surrounding the big field she is aware of the Spirit of Nature around her. She smiles at the little Robin who dropped down to check who is on his patch. Rustles in the undergrowth tell her that the other living creatures around her are busily going about their daily chores also.
So absorbed is she in her work, she does not notice the big, black Cloud gathering overhead until the Sun disappears and she feels the splashes of the first big drops of rain. Looking about her she recognises the old Oak tree in the middle of the field and runs to it. She is just in time. She stands panting next to the tree, with her basket on the ground next to her, and looking up sees the branches of the tree swaying hither and thither as the rain begins to pour down steadily. She settles down to wait for it to pass. She tastes some of her harvest. A few berries go nicely with the hazelnuts, she thinks. She waits for the rain to clear away. She waits. And waits.
Then she notices a Man plodding steadily along the road that lies beside the field. He is bent under the weight of the load of heavy boughs he is carrying and doesn’t see her until she calls out.
The man stops and looks around. “Daughter, what are you doing there, out in the rain, you’ll get wet and we will worry about you”.
Looking thoughtfully at her Father the little Girl says: “But I’m not getting wet. I am quite dry.”
And then adds: “Why am I not getting wet, Father?”
Her Father, with a slight smile on his weathered face, says: “Oh, Daughter, you are always asking questions when the answers should be clear to you. Haven’t I already told you about your Grandfather’s grandfather. He and others from this village planted trees in this field so that they and their children and their children’s children to the ninth generation would reap the benefits in the times that were to come. He tended his tree carefully, watering it when it was dry and protecting it from the snows and ice of winter with the straw he had gathered. That is why that Tree stands proudly now in this field and protects you from the rain. You should be thankful to your grandfather and his children,” adding, with a chuckle, “including me, your Father. Now don’t delay, run home as soon as the shower goes.”
He picks up his load and he continues his journey. The little Girl looks thoughtfully about her, feeling the care and love of her Ancestors about her.
The rain lightens and the Sun struggles occasionally to peer through gaps in the Cloud. As the little Girl checks again so see if she might leave her shelter, she notices an Old Man coming down the road towards the field. He picks his way carefully between the puddles of water, using his long staff to balance himself. The little Girl recognises him as a Teacher.
She calls out: “Please, Sir, why am I not getting wet even though it’s raining?”
The Teacher stops, looks around and sees the little Girl under the tree. He think for a while, and then, in a gentle voice, says: “Why do you ask me, little Girl? Surely you can see that you are standing under a big tree and the wind and rain are coming from the other side of the tree. That means, the tree and its beautiful foliage, are blocking the rain from reaching you. Isn’t that simple, now?”
To which the little Girl replies, “Thank you, Teacher”. The Teacher carries on his way, carrying his learning lightly, and picking his way carefully.
The little Girl checks her basket and sees that she has collected enough to add to the dinner. Just as she was about to go to the road and run home, she thinks out loud: “Why, that’s strange, Father and the Teacher gave me different answers! How can there be two different answers to the same question?”
A puzzled frown comes over her face as she ponders.
“That’s easy, they forgot the third answer”.
She turns quickly but sees no one there. The wind blows, the branches above her sprinkle more rain. She looks around the back of the tree but sees nothing.
“You won’t find the third answer there, little Girl”.
Then she laughs out loud. “Oh, it’s you, great Oak. I thought you were sleeping”.
“I was”, replies a deep, resonous voice, and again raindrops fall as the Oak tosses its head with impatience. “I was, until you woke me up asking your questions.”
“Well, what is this third answer you mentioned, great Oak?”
The Tree lets out a deep sigh, and seems to relax a little as the Sun comes out again. The Robin hops by, twittering “just checking, just checking, don’t mind me” as it peeks worriedly under every leaf and twig.
“Little Girl, just think now. One answer you got depended upon Cuimhne, or Memory, upon things that happened in the Past. The second answer depended upon Léargas, or Analysis, of the things that are happening Now. Each of those answers gives a satisfactory answer to the same question and together they both help you understand what is happening. But the third answer is based upon Fís, or Vision, and completes the picture. Cuimhne, Léargas, agus Fís. Memory, Analysis, and Vision are required when you want to solve a problem. Never forget that. Now, away home with you. The rain has cleared and I wish to resume my thinking”. The little Girl, who is polite and never rude to grown-ups, at least not out loud, mutters to herself – “Resume your sleep, Old Friend”- and laughs!
She doesn’t need to wait for a reply for there is none, just a gently soughing of wind through the branches, or perhaps it is a gentle sigh. The Robin, hops past again, tut-tutting busily. She runs home to share the delicacies she has collected and to share her story with her family. The valley rests. The great mountains stand guard. The Wheel turns. Now.