A Protective Mist, though not of Oats

 

I promised a discussion of oats and vegetables this week and though I understand that the announcement I’m about to make will be a terrible disappointment to you all, the oats must wait until next week, as this past week was very, very busy.

Instead, I offer Ceistireacht Eoghain Baiste, a protective blessing/rann cosanta from Corca Dhuibhne

 

Ceistireacht Eoghain Baiste,                                       Catachism of John the Baptist,

Eilisibheat Naomhtha ‘ ghrinn,                                   of the wise Saint Elisabeth,

Mathair Eoghain Baiste béal binn,                             the mother of eloquent John the B:

Go saoraidh tú sinn                                                    protect us from

Ar cheistni, ar ghoin, ar chrochadh,                           problems, from wounding, from                                                                                               hanging

Ar losgadh, ar bhathadh, ar phláigh,                         from burns, from drowning, from                                                                                               disease

Ar fhiabhras agus ar gach aicíd.                                 From fever and from every illness.

Ar chomharaí na gceithre gcrann dúinn:                   With the sign of the four trees (to us):

Crann fola, crann feóla,                                              tree of blood, tree of flesh,

Crann do cheasadh Críost,                                         tree on which Christ was crucified,

Crann go dtáinig sé beó.                                             tree on/from which he which he came                                                                                             free/safe.

Ar chomharaí na gceithre meádh dhúinn                  with the sign of the four scales(?):

tré cheotharnach, tré cheó.                                       Through mist, through fog.

Píosa a chuir Muire tíompall a hAon-mhic,              Cloth that Mary wrapped around her :                                                                                        son:

Píosa go dtáinig sé beó.                                              cloth because of which he came free.

Críos na catharach fé’ m bhráid.                                Belt of the fortress around my chest.

Nár dheargaid mo charaid ná mo namhaid,              May neither friend or enemy wound me,

Ach fé’m  chorporacht soillse geala.                         but to my body of shining light,

Aingeal dilís Dé go dur’thacht,                                 (may the) true zealous angel of God

Sabháil sprid m’anam                                                save my spirit and soul

Ar an-chomhachta ‘n Diabhail.                                  against the devil’s evil powers.

Pádraig ‘a a bhacaill,                                                  Patrick with his staff,

Mártan ‘as a chochall,                                                Martin with his hood,

Muire ‘s a mac,                                                           Mary and her son,

Brighde ‘s a brat.                                                        Bridget and cloak.

Ag gabháil tre Choill Muire dom,                               As I go through Mary’s Wood,

Hat’ iarrainn ar mo cheann,                                         an iron helmet on my head,

Lutarach iarrainn fé’m chom,                                      an iron breastplate around my body

Bróg iarrainn fé’m bhonn.                                           iron shoes under my feet.

Ceó Muire, ceó Críost,                                                Mary’s mist, Christ’s mist

Ceó ceó ceathair Críost,                                               a mist, a mist of Christ four times,

Ceó sonais agus ceó séimh                                           a mist of good luck, a happy mist

I(n)’s gach áit dá ngeobhfar linn,                                 in every  place into which we happen,

I(n)’s gach cluais dá n-éistfidh linn                             in every ear that hears us,

Ar dhíon agua ar thearmaid   (tearmainn)                   in the protection and sanctuary

Na Tríonóide Naomtha, Amen.                                   of the Blessed Trinity.

 

“Ó’m mathair do chuala é, agus aon duine déarfadh é, níor bhaoghal do aon chinneamhaint (cinniúnt)  I rith a’ lae, deireadh sí. Sin mar a chloisinn-se í á reá, ach go háraithe. Deireadh sí féin gach lá é – na’h (gach) aom mhaidean dá n-éirigheadh sí. Deirim féin é ga’h aon mhaidean. (Timpeall 1834 a rugadh í.) Níor fhág sí Lios Deargáin riamh: is ann a saoghluigheadh (rugadh)í agus phós sí. Ní eolach dom an phaidir sin ag aon duine eile anois...”

 “From my mother I heard it, and anyone who pronounces it, he is in no danger of accident during the day in which he pronounced it. That’s how I heard her tell it, at any rate. She herself pronounced it every morning when she got up. I myself say it every morning. (The mother was born about 1834.) She never left Lios Deargáin. That’s where she was born and married. I don’t know that anyone else has this prayer now.”

It sounds like part of the prayer involved wearing a piece of blessed cloth.

It was taken down from Domhnall Ó Ruairc who was 58 in 1934  in Lios Deargáin, and was printed in  Béalodeas, number ??,  page 342, to fill up an empty bit of a page. (Níl aon Ghaoluinn I Lios Deargáin le fada an lá anois. I bparoiste Lios Póil atá, ó’n Daingean soir.)

Bhí an saghas seo paidir coitianta i measc na ndaoine, tráth dá raibh. Tuilleadh eolais in Orthaí Cosanta sa Chráifeacht Cheiltreach, le Seán Ó Duinn, an Sagart, 1990.

And by the way…Deirtear uaireannta ná raibh tuiscint do rudaí “deasa” nó “maithe” ag an dream a tháinig romhainn-se, a’s gur Heloise a’s Abelard a bhúnaigh “romantic love”, a’s sinne a bhúnaigh nach mór gach aon rud fiúntach eile.

(It's often said that common people in previous times had no appreciation of "nice" or "good" things, and that Abelard and Heloise discovered romantic love, and that we, contemporary people of the right sort, established almost every other worthwhile thing.)

Seo blúirín ó (Here's a bit from) Ireland’s Welcome to the Stranger le Asanath Nicholson, ban-Mheiriceánach  a’s Quaker a shiúil Ėire in 1844-45. (The Lilliput Press, 2002). Laistiar do’n Daingean a bhí an lá so... (D 276) (She was west of Dingle on the day she describes here.)

“When returning, we met a peasant girl, with her dress turned over her head (Baisteach a bhí ann/It was raining) who in the most earnest manner spoke in Irish and beckoned us to go further. We declined, and she changed her laughing look for one of pitiful  endearing disappointment, which prevailed with me, and I said “We will go.” She exultingly bounded away, leading us forward, looking back to encourage us for the way was precipitous and somewhat difficultly, until she places us upon an awfully grand precipice.  Here she stopped, and in the most animated manner pointed us down, then to a mountain across  the channel, then to the golden stripes of the sun upon the water, then to the seagulls , then to the eastern sky which was extremely beautiful ; and when she saw we understood and were pleased, she was delighted....She was pretty in look and graceful in manner, and when we parted and saw her entering a mud-walled cabin...”