Last updated on September 23, 2025
There is a reason I am drawn to magical realism, folklore, and the faeries in my stories. It is not an academic pursuit, but one born of real life experiences.
It was September 2024 when I stumbled upon an image that would unravel my understanding of Ireland—and myself. A simple map, etched with ley lines crisscrossing the island, caught my eye. At first, it seemed like a curiosity, a blend of ancient lore and speculative geometry. But as I traced those straight paths connecting sacred sites from Tullyhogue Fort in the north to Ardmore’s St. Declan’s Stone in the south, something clicked. This wasn’t just a diagram—it was a key to a hidden, magical reality that had been humming beneath my feet all along.
That moment opened my eyes to the strangeness of this land. Ireland, with its rolling green hills and ancient stones, suddenly felt alive with purpose. The ley lines, those mystical alignments of hill forts, monasteries, and mythic centers, suggested a deeper energy—a pulse that tied the island’s past to its present. And for me, it felt personal. The line stretching from the rugged cliffs of Malin Head in the far north, where the land meets the wild Atlantic, down through the heart of Uisneach to Declan’s Stone, where I once stood with a broken heart, seemed to call to me.
My story with this island began with a proposal at Declan’s Stone, a place steeped in healing lore. It ended in heartbreak, a chapter I’m grateful to have closed. But the map revealed a new thread. In June 2024, in a moment of despair, I found myself drawn—almost pushed—northward to Malin Head. The journey wasn’t planned; it felt instinctive, as if the land itself was guiding me. Standing on that northernmost edge, with the wind howling and the sea stretching endlessly, I felt a shift. It wasn’t just escape—it was arrival. The ley line that connected my past to this remote point whispered of purpose, of a magical force weaving my path into Ireland’s ancient tapestry.
Since finding that image a year ago, I’ve come to see Malin Head as more than a destination. It’s a threshold, a place where the island’s wild spirit meets the unknown. The strangeness I felt in September 2024 has grown into a quiet awe. I’m drawn to explore more, to follow these invisible threads, and to wonder if I’m here—on this far side of Ireland—for a reason I’m only beginning to understand. This magical reality isn’t just in the land; it’s in me now, pulling me toward whatever lies ahead.
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