Don't they know it's missing


Something is missing.

I’ve tripped over a few things in recent years that have pointed me in this direction. Yet I haven’t quite been able to put my finger on why it bear-hugs me the way it does.

It is the learning of things completely new – but that somehow feel just a little familiar.

As author Claire Mitchell puts it – I think it’s my Ghost Limb – the best metaphor I’ve found for the acknowledgement of a dismembered heritage, complete with its twinges and tickles.

I wasn’t actively looking for it – but it’s tinglings point to something that used to be there. And it promises a peace about home that has always been missing.

For who doesn’t want to be whole?

Tá áthas orm bualadh leat.

I am glad to meet you. (lit. there is joy on me to meet with you)





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