January though not quite gone will for this last week lack a little laughter and son as we faced the final curtain last night. The Claremorris Musical Society Anything goes came and went on a wet and windy Saturday evening in the Town Hall of Claremorris. We worked and partied hard last night and I slunk home after 5 in the morning yawning copiously but woke content after a melodious nigh in the company of many strange voices on familiar faces. It funny what a bit of helium can do to a talented Tenor just a little bit tipsy. Music and dance brought out the gypsy in many last night and after the last few days it was great to see so many ladies letting their hair down literally. The Chinese convert in me kept me sober while a rather saucy lady in red reminded me of a bruise I accidentally inflicted when I karate kicked her on the shin many moons ago on the night I became her Romeio. Last night she once again serenaded me from the ship's balcony. Unfortunately along with many other paying customers, the fluzzy! Married now to another Johnny,  alas that ship has sailed but at least I loved you when you were sweet sixteen and we parted with such sweet sorrow that there were no regrets for tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. 

“Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”

Another Scottish Lady regained me with her philosophy on life and though she may be as cursed as me when it comes to matrimony, she is always bright and bonny, singing hey nanny, noon.

Sigh No More: sigh no more no more, one foot in sea one on shore, my heart was never pure, and you know me, and you know me.

Balthasar sung it differently:

Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,

 Men were deceivers ever,

 One foot in sea and one on shore,

 To one thing constant never.

 Then sigh not so, but let them go,

 And be you blithe and bonny,

 Converting all your sounds of woe

 Into Hey, nonny nonny.

 Sing no more ditties, sing no mo

 Of dumps so dull and heavy.

 The fraud of men was ever so,

 Since summer first was leavy.

 Then sigh not so, but let them go

 And be you blithe and bonny,

 Converting all your sounds of woe

 Into Hey, nonny nonny.

"I'm amazed that a man, after watching romance turn another man into a fool and laughing at that man, can turn right around and become the thing he’s scorned. That’s the kind of man Billy Crocker is. I knew him when he listened to nothing but the military drum and fife; now he would rather hear the sweet and refined music of the tabor and pipe. I knew him when he would’ve walked ten miles to see a well-crafted suit of armor; now he spends ten nights awake in his room designing himself a fancy new jacket. He used to speak plainly and to the point, like an honorable man and soldier; now his speech is elaborate and flowery. His words are like a miraculous banquet, full of strange new dishes. Will I be changed like that, and see the world through a lover’s eyes? I’m not sure, but I don’t think so."

I spoke and thought like Benedict did having loved my Beatrice, like Dante did once but hell hath no fury like a woman scorned and now some speaks poniards:

That a woman conceived me, I thank her. That she brought

me up, I likewise give her most humble thanks. But that I

will have a recheat winded in my forehead or hang my bugle

in an invisible baldrick, all women shall pardon me.

Because I will not do them the wrong to mistrust any, I will

do myself the right to trust none. And the fine is, for the

which I may go the finer, I will live a bachelor.

But better to have lost in love than never loved at all. Strange that I should have heard these words uttered by the oldest and youngest of the men in whose gallant company I sallied forth last night only to be enchanted once again by the beauty of the angels who danced and sang with such unabashed generosity.

Truly you are poetry in motion and I will be horribly in love if ever one of you should be foolish enough to give me hope. Not that Hope I hope some other kind of hope.

I will not be sworn but love may transform me to an oyster,

but I’ll take my oath on it, till he have made an oyster of me,

he shall never make me such a fool. One woman is fair, yet

I am well; another is wise, yet I am well; another virtuous,

yet I am well; but till all graces be in one woman, one

woman shall not come in my grace. Rich she shall be, that’s

certain; wise, or I’ll none; virtuous, or I’ll never cheapen

her; fair, or I’ll ever look on her; mild, or come not near

me; noble, or not I for an angel; of good discourse, an

excellent musician, and her hair shall be of what color it

please God.

You see before you a man enchanted by an English accent and poetry

I don’t want to live in the shadows anymore

I’m tired of being cool in the shade

I want to feel the burning passion of the sun

Of you my gold locked one

I want passion not pretence

I want truth not half truths

I don’t want to read between the lines

I want to see something as simple as a smile upon your face

That causes in me a state of grace

Where silence speaks

Where I have peace of mind

Where I don’t feel like a blind man

Wandering in the dark

With the scent of some flower or woman

You’ve given me something no other Lady has and the last one I loved took a way,

my desire to write and play 

This courting game and suffer the bittersweet pain

Of unrequited passion and restrain.

no, no, that won't do. It's too....

What compels me to put feelings into words that are easier spoken?

A flower, a love token, all this I can do

Though not yet for you.

Though you delight yet you frighten me

And despite my love for thee tamed I cannot be.

Yet there is always a price to pay

For not having the courage to say

I love you.

Pure and simple like my smile

Which waits a while to reveal its splendor

In case like words too crude it should offend her.

But if the truth be known these shall remain words unspoken

For a heart that has been broken takes time to mend.

So this I may never say or send until my trust in thee has grown

And then with eyes and mouth wide open

I’ll let you take my hand and guide me through this untamed land.

More worthy of the Bard surely but alack, alack, too much self-pity

Perhaps this then when I learn to sing and share the sound of music in your company again

I will be your Sun

Wake up everyone

Wipe away your fears

Make rainbows from your tears

I will be your sun

My darling little one

Say goodbye to sorrow

Sunny day tomorrow

I will be your sun

Though I shine for everyone

When that sky is blue

I’m saying I love you

I will be your sun

Love you like no one

Clouds will fade away

But the sun is here to stay

Forget those rainy days

Lost in misty haze

For now the sky is blue

And I’m still in love with you

I will be your sun

Love you like no one

For the light that shines from me

Is for all eternity

I will be your sun

My darling little one

All you have to do

Is say I love you

And I will be your sun

Though I’m from Mayo you wouldn’t think it at times. I had to look up Finny on the map after googling it and being sent to the U.S. The trouble with technology is it thinks globally and not locally like me. I rang Mr. Joyce not once but twice to make sure the lake district walk was going ahead and I was on the right route travelling from Claremorris to Ballinrobe through Clonbur and onto Finny a few kilometres further on between Lough Mask and Lough Corrib for the start of our walk in the Partry mountains. Maumtrasna was our destination that day and we set off in glorious sunshine putting on sun cream and soon striping down to one rather than the typical three layers one needs.

While walking can be a relatively inexpensive form of exercise one can also spend a fortune on equipment when all you need is a fairly decent rain jacket, good boots and in general stuff that is waterproof. It’s probably more important to have more than less as you can always take off what you have to put on in the first place but if you find yourself freezing to death on the mountains it’s because you’ve failed to properly prepare for all eventualities and in Ireland on the mountains you need to be ready for the four seasons in one day. Having begun walking in earnest last year I’ve built up a collection of maps and equipment that is still pretty basic. I’ve gone out in the right weather  for me so I generally come home with a bit of colour on my cheeks and a healthy glow. 

There’s no need to blow a thousand euros when you can go to supermarkets like Aldi and pick up some of the stuff you need relatively cheap. It won’t last a life time but nothing does nowadays. Look after it and you’ll get a good few years. Take it for granted and like any relationship that isn’t shown a bit of TLC it'll die more quickly. Enough lecturing, let’s walk. We followed the road and turned in on a path that brought us towards our destination. I was in the company of seven others all with a bit of walking experience and no one had a map but me. This was the leader's backyard and he had been up here before so didn’t need to worry about losing his way even in the clouds. However I’m learning to read maps and would like to lead so it's important for me to have my map and compass at hand and to stop and look around me. I was going to time the ascent but forgot when we stopped for lunch to turn my stopwatch on again. It’s probably better to look at your watch before you begin and when you come down again. That’s the length of your journey when your logging it in your notebook and one should also take into account the time it takes you to get there and home again because that’s really what a day in the mountains means. I needed to drive approximately 40kms as the crows flies but when your driving or walking in the mountains you don’t travel directly from A to B. It’s more like the stages of any journey, starting with the decision to go on the journey in the first place. Once that decision is made one has to prepare. Fail to prepare, prepare to fail as the saying goes. You usually begin by checking the weather forecast for that day and then you choose what to wear. I tend to throw more things than I need into my bag or into the back of my little camper van. This means that when I get to wherever I’m going I'm prepared for all eventualities.

Come spring I’m usually ready to be on the road again and it’s hard even on a day like today to be stuck inside because work keeps getting in the way. I could of course be writing in the back of my van today with or without a laptop but I’m also looking after an aged parent and doing things on the internet. As I said earlier, natural progress and technology seems to oblige me to stay put or move in a certain way when I’d rather be free from the shackles of mortality. C’est la vie.

Maybe because we or at least I spend so much time in front of a screen it’s almost more customary to communicate with people through a screen. I notice now if someone calls me unexpectedly or I don’t know the number on my screen I don’t always answer if I’m not feeling socially inclined to talk to them. It’s a different story when face to face with somebody as we’re communicating without necessarily speaking by the way we walk. I like to walk alone for a time and gradually begin to clear my thoughts and breathe in the fresh air and open up once again to what is natural within: curiosity of the world around me. I spoke to everybody but listen more readily than talk and intervene when something or someone strikes me as engaging. I find I learn a lot more saying less and just observing although if we all did that perhaps it would lead to suspicious minds. We are social creatures after all and gifted with possibility of abstract thought and many means of communicating with ourselves both the past and the present. Then there’s the rest of our natural environment and it’s hard to believe that there still exists areas where we haven’t yet thread or left our indelible footprint. From the top of Maumtrasna one can see south as far as Clare and in the opposite direction as far as Achill probably although I remember most seeing Croagh Patrick from what we’d normally consider behind.You’d hardly consider it a peak or know of it's steep and stony rise to the little chapel on top if it weren’t for the visible scar that continues to mar this beautiful and holy mountain, which can be seen from afar.

There was no great difficulty get to the top of Maumtrasna and it’s easy to know you’ve reached the spot height because of the concrete column on top albeit weather beaten.

We made our made down the valley that lies between Maumtrasna and Buckaun following the Srahnalong river that flows into lough Mask. We parted company with it’s lovely little waterfalls and pools which I would have gladly dipped my sweaty feet in had I been leading. Nothing was stopping me really but the lack of a towel as we weren’t rushing but I’ll get a chance to dip my feet into the river again as I’ll definitely be going back there again in the company of other friends.

There is quite a lot to see from the heights but what is impressive and relieves the pressure on the knees as you descend is to look around at the steep rock faces both sides of you and the sheep whom you always see in the strangest of places picking there way across these stony faces. Some never make their way down again falling to their death and thus the walls and fences we found in the strangest of places. After all why would you be bothered building a wall at the top of mountain but to stop people and sheep from going to close to the edge on a cloudy day and with a strong gust of wind meeting their end. The only other thing crying in the wind apart from the birds are those foolhardy sheep and people pausing and posing in places they shouldn't be. I miss in some ways not taking my camera with me but it obliges me to pay closer attention to the memory etched in my body and not captured virtually.

Walking in the mountains leaves a lasting physical experience for days to come. I feel a little tired today but not because of the climb or the game of badminton afterwards but from staying up much later than I normally would to wind down more than anything else from a day of exercise in the heaven and the depressing return to civilisation with all its competitiveness and conflict.

Maybe that’s why I find such solace in the hills and mountain far from the madding crowd. I must read this book once again just to see if Hardy captures that feeling or whether my writing can one day emulate the great writers that inspire us to keep seeking new routes to inner peace. It’s probably this that I search for more than happiness or beautiful scenery to cope with the constant negativity one has to absorb from society and in particular the media. Long live my silent friends the hills and mountains of Ireland.

The Non Prophet Organisation recognises the essential role of the wider community in partnering with us to achieve our aims. The involvement of volunteers is a key element in this partnership.

 We seek to involve volunteers in order to:

•    Ensure that our services meet the needs of our community

•    Provide new perspectives to community and volunteers alike

•    Enable volunteers to develop and contribute to all areas of our work

•    Increase our local and global network to create with other communities

•    Maintain an independent public presence within our organisation to help ensure our belief in the participation of everyday experts within a wide range of fields.

The Non Prophet Organisation recognises that without the valuable contribution of the community and the many roles volunteers have played in the creative process these words would be those of “a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. […] A tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury signifying nothing.”

We depend hugely on enthusiastic and dedicated volunteers to help transform the town over the weekend celebrating culture and creativity. As a volunteer you'll be part of a team who create the Festival spirit, meet the public, greet audiences at venues and welcome visitors. At all events we put our audience at the heart of everything we do and whatever role you play as a volunteer remember that its for the greater good of community. 

Audiences can expect a very high quality artistic programme with a superb literary, musical and performance content which like last year’s festival again will have the community arts of Claremorris and the surrounding areas as a central focus with creative writing, music, film & theatre workshop and indoor and outdoor performances taking place in the locality for the duration of the festival.

Please contact This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. or volunteermayo.ie for roles you could fill.

Thanks

John

We all know what funding is but who knows what punding is?

A stereotypy (/ˈstɛriː.ɵtaɪpi/, "stair-ee-oh-teye-pee") is a repetitive or ritualistic movement, posture, or utterance. Stereotypies may be simple movements such as body rocking, or complex, such as self-caressing, crossing and uncrossing of legs, and marching in place. They are found in people with intellectual disabilities, autism spectrum disorders, tardive dyskinesia and stereotypic movement disorder; studies have shown stereotypies associated with some types of schizophrenia. Frontotemporal dementia is also a common neurological cause of repetitive behaviors and stereotypies. Several causes have been hypothesized for stereotypy, and several treatment options are available.

What's the connection I hear you say. Yesterday I went through the ritual of applying for funding for theatre projects: Hours spent in front of a computer, installing programs just so I could apply, staring at my words on the screen, trying to figure out if what I'm saying makes sense and fits the criteria. The competition is stiff and with the sun shining outside I sometime wonder am I wasting my life away seeking funding to create or should I just do what I say I'd like to do. Funding like punding is gathering bits of information into little piles, like my Dad does with dust. He had Parkinson's and this annoying repetitive behaviour used to get on my nerves until it was explained to us by a neurologist as a symptom of the onset of dementia for people suffering neurological disorders such as Parkinson's. Of course there are a lot of strange modes of behaviour all around us and none more so than the ritualistic performance we go through everyday of lives. This ritual is our culture that defines our thoughts and actions and almost everything we daily do.

I've noticed some of my own rituals and what happens when for one reason or another that ritual is upset. I went to get my teeth cleaned on the eve of St Patrick's Day: I was going to be in the parade and I was told by our town councillor that RTE were going to be there so naturally I had to have my telly teeth smile ready and waiting to flash for the cameras and eye of the Nation. What nonsense! Of course I didn't get them cleaned because of the TV but because I drink two to three expressos daily as well as cups of tea so my teeth have gradually faded to fifty shades of grey and yellow. I wouldn't really care except I like to smile and became conscious that it might not be such as an attractive or healthy sight for the fairer sex whose pearly whites shine back at me. In an image conscious and somewhat superficial world we subconsciously notice the signs of aging and ill-health in the whites our eyes, our posture and facial expression. In brief once we step out there we're on stage and we aim to give a pleasing performance for all to see.

Which brings me to my application for a theatre trilogy I've been working on for some time. Not yet completed but well on its way:

I’ve written, performed and had publicly performed readings of a collection of literary and theatrical pieces that examine, from an autoethnogrpahic perspective, our dramatically orientated culture as we move towards a postdramatic automated society. Stories shape our lives but it is the dramatic narrative that defines the structure of our lives. Storytellers are the narrators that shape the spect-actors thoughts and actions. We speak truth to power when our words are given voice but we rarely question the social environment that shapes our own story. In theatre we’ve moved from community dialogue to professional monologue and I am moving back again to engage with audiences. I chose a rural setting to create with everyday experts because there’s a growing market and need for creative facilitators in rural community theatre. The organisation and performances I’m creating promote dialogue and local participation alongside professional representation to address the role of theatrical performance in shaping our culture. I’m looking at practical and participatory ways in real life contexts as well as dramatic representation to address how we deal with psycho-social dislocation in our environment. Working with other professionals the goal is to effectively communicate through theatrical representation to examine dysfunctional relationships and transform behavioural patterns through conscious performance. 

The trilogy of performances will go from the individual to societal experiences by way of a Dantesque-like journey from urban isolation to reintegration and existential acceptance of personal responsibility for community, culture and environment. I’m not a prophet but trying to create performances as a rehearsal for life. These are works designed to reengage our creative and childlike imagination using theatrical practices from Aristotelian dramatic practices to Shakespearean soliloquy to post Beckettian theatrical practices where theatre plays an active role in shaping society. I’m concerned about the role of technology as a means of speaking truth to power by virtue of its omnipotent presence in capturing and controlling our actions. On our mulit-media world stage our attachment to technology is effectively replacing rather than representing humanity while theatre is about making our presence felt through the collective unconscious transformed by the theatrical gathering.

The pieces come together in a non-linear narrative moving from dramatic techniques  and influence to postdramatic transparency examing the creative editing process of the leisure industry using multi-disciplinary performing arts and multi-media, to the rawer documentary style theatre back towards community theatrical performance as a rehearsal for life and active participation. The aim is to preserve and perpetuate theatrical storytelling practices and active participation by many rather than fewer people on stage due to technology and economic circumstances.  

It's a never-ending process of discovery throughout life and despite the dis-ease we feel at times within ourselves and the lack of support and funding that seems to block our way, there's our indomitable will to survive and passion to live life free from the shackles of our culture and society, which is as ephemerally brief as our ideas of how to be. Be in the moment, be in the mystery of existence and beauty of being.

In the virtual words of Stephan Hawking or his representation in The Theory of Everything “While there is life there is hope. I beg to assert...that as long as a man's heart beats, as long as a man's flesh quivers, I do not allow that a being gifted with thought and will can allow himself to despair.”

― Jules Verne, Journey to the Center of the Earth