I've been out in the hedgerows all last week, mixing it up with the forces of Sauron in the battle for the soul of corporate America, and when I return I find in my Feedly Reader a mix of posts concerning matters only young graduate students with time on their hands and a lack of life experience, or, conversely, knuckle-draggers and mouth-breathers, might think crucial. Here's what's "crucial": life and death. Not that anyone keeps their eye on the prize, of course. They're too bogged down with politicians, as if the programs proposed by any one of them will "solve our problems."
Jesus, save us from ourselves.
Crucán na bPáiste
Broken my heart, lonely my life
With my darling child lying here and me tormented
It is the end of my world, my little red-haired girl
Laid out in Crucán na bPáiste
She will not see again the dew on the grass
Nor the snow in the glens of Maamtrasna
No sun on her face, no sweet song of the birds
Only the cold earth of Crucán na bPáiste
In the name of the Father and in the name of the Son
And Mother Mary full of grace;
In the name of the Holy Spirit, don’t leave me alive
With my little angel in Crucán na bPáiste
There is sadness on the mountains, anger on the Mask
But much worse am I that didn’t save her
And for the time I am alive never more will I stand
In Ireland or in Crucán na bPáiste.
Yeah, "repeat chorus" until people understand on what is worth spending a nanosecond of life's limited time and on what is worth not.
From the BBC's "Transatlantic Sessions," Scottish singer Karen Matheson and the best of American, Scottish and Irish musicians parse nuances, but of the essential kind: those of the heart.