The Greenbox - Irish Archaeology Sites

The Greenbox area, comprising Sligo, Leitrim, Donegal, Fermanagh, Monaghan and the Cavan panhandle, is the vital spiritual and mythical centre of Ireland. Here is the battle between light and darkness, the perenial struggle between Olympians and Titans, here the secrets and fruits of the earth are released or witheld, here, in this liminal zone, among the hollow hills, the forces of the underwold flow to the surface and the balances of land and water go either way. To this place came tributary the high Kings of Ireland and beyond, seeking audience, understanding and favour.

For as Delphi is to all of Greece, so are these hollow hills to all of Ireland. Here Christianity meets Paganism, first in stand off, then in amazed delight of recognition, and among these hills as dawn breaks at Rath Grainne, love's longing is fulfilled and ended and fate is met on Ben Gulban.

But as the battle at Moytirra, east of lough Arrow near Kilmactranny, is about to begin, let us see the forces assembling on either side. Representing the titanic powers of darkness and the underworld is he who cannot be named, Crom Dubh of the baleful gaze in his avatar Breas or Balar. Pouring down from the coast of Sligo, where they have just emerged from under the sea, are fresh reinforcements of his Fomorian followers. These misshapen half evolved creatures of monstrous mien have only one eye, one arm and one leg. Yet they may be thought of as perfect beings, half spirit and half matter, with only one side visible to mortal sight. Their god Crom is dark and bloody, possessor of the secrets of agriculture, mean and stingy in the release of the goods. He is the dark blazing light of the sun. At the opening of his one eye in the morning, the tips of the rushes are scorched. By his gaze the corn may be ripened or withered in displeasure. His seat in Ireland, his shrine and idol, is in Derryragh, a mile North East of (Lough) Ballymagauran.

Hither used to come the high kings of Ireland from royal Tara, crying and lamenting with loud voice as they crossed Lake Garadice (Guth Ard Theas), bowing low in worhip before the gilded idol on the Plain of Prostrations (Mag Sleacht) until their forheads, noses, arms and knees were worn away and one third or two thirds of them were dead before Crom condescended to release to them the harvest. For a full year now Crom, as Balar, had ruled the land with particular stingyness and during this time the men of Eireann had neither wetted their lips with beer nor greased their knives with fat. This would not do at all, and this is why on this morning at Moytyrra we can cross over to the other side and see the resplendent hosts of the Tuath de Danaan who had come to Ireland in a mist that descended on Slieve Anieran. These heroes of generosity, champions of everything that is true noble wise and lyrically beautiful, have risen in revolt against Balar's meanness. At their head is Luighe, alias Lug, of the mighty arm (Luighe Lamh Fhada), soon to become the generous and joyfully celebrated harvest god, with shrines and cities from Leiden to Lugo, from London to Lyons (Londinium and Lug Dunum - the fort(s) of Lug). But we must focus on the action as the Formorians with chains and pulleys and in dread of their own lives are slowly raising the lid of Balar's lethal eye. With perfect timing and accuracy Lug releases a large jagged rock from his sling which smashes into the centre of Balar's single eye with such force that it emerges from the back of his head killing twenty seven of his strongest champions who had lined up directly behind him to protect themselves from his gaze. The Fomorians now flee to the sea, and henceforth, princely generosity (flaithiulacht) rules the land, and Lug is clebrated and proclaimed on the mountain tops with feasting, merrymaking, musicmaking and matchmaking at the games of Lughnasa (August).

The land to this day is dominated by the megalithic temples on the mountain tops, these great portals to the underworld and into the hollow hills where all vital decisions are made. He who would be king of Ireland must love the land of Ireland, for if he be not a lover the land will not bear fruit. The coronation ceremony is really a marriage feast. The king marries the goddess of the earth who generously gives him beer (laith) to drink. Should he prove to be mean, the land will not flourish, the crops will not swell, and the goddess will come at the end of the year to commend the poisoned chalice (deoch a' bhais) to his lips, and so finishing him off, will choose another more worthy than he. Thus Queen Maeve, who lives in Knocknarea, is heard saying: I never slept with a man without another man in the offing.

Reverence for the land and a mystical delight in its beauty were never absent in Ireland. When the Christian missioners came preaching Christ, the Irish, to their surprise, seem to have replied: 'O Christ, we know him well. Is He not the singing of the bird in the trees, the strength of the oak tree, the power of the wind and the waves. How wonderful to know that he has come on earth and walked among us. He has given his life for us; we will give our lives for Him' The wind was seen as his holy spirit, and they delighted in his play in storm and tempest, filling their sails and being at one with the Lord of the Cosmos, the King of the Elements (Ri na n-Uile) who controlled the wind and the waves in Galilee as on the Atlantic. On rocky bastions like Inishmurray, or wandering to the Faroes, America or Siberia, they were fearless for they knew He would be their guide and that he would be there before them. Such was their confidence, that they seem to have written to the Pope in Rome: Dear Pope, You seem to have got the date of Easter wrong. by our calculations...Fragments of the response survive: Who do you people think you are, living at the ends of the earth, swaithed in mists and darkness, to teach Us...But the Irish were unperturbed: they had touched the earth which He had made and knew its beauty. They could see Ben Gulban where Diarmaid had met fate, or slieve Anieran made visible when coverd in a mist. They could watch the fearsome drama of the ocean playing with the ancient rocks, they could hear the gentle and swift music of the underworld which had so transformed the musical career of the harper OCarolan, as he slept one night under the stars with his ear to the ground between Sheebeg and Sheemore.