Nuair a cailltear teanga, déantar réab san aigne náisiúnta. Cailltear eolas an timpealleacht is eolas charntha ár sinsir romhainn. Gan cruinneas ar ár stair, ní fhéadfaimís an aimsir láithreach a thuiscint i gceart. Mar sin de tá leigheas ag teastáil uainn.
Creidimíd go bhfuil beocht agus fuinneamh sa teanga, agus chun í a dhúísiú ná chun an fuinneamh sin a scaoileadh. Is é an bheocht inti ná cuimhní na sinsir agus an nádúr fiáin ag dhuisiú, ár ndúchas ag teacht chun cinn ionainn.
Is chuige sin a cothóimid an spás agus na gníomhaí, chun deis a thabhairt duit dul i dteagmháíl leis an fuinneamh agus fiántas lasmuigh agus laistigh.
When a language is lost it creates a rupture in the national psyche. To lose a language is to lose the knowledge of the environment and the accumulated wisdom of our ancestors, for without knowing our history, we cannot understand our present. We are in need of a cure.
We believe that by awakening the language within, we awaken ancestral memories and the wild nature that is our heritage.
To that end, we create a space and the activities for a person to connect with the wildness within and without.
Diarmuid Lyng's became known for his love of language and country following the RTE broadcast of Gizzy: The Geansaí. In it, he talked of how aversion tranformed to grá after a three day immersion in the West Kerry Gaeltacht in his twenties. Diarmuid since moved to that Gaeltacht and now teaches aireachas 'mindfulness' to visiting students. He worked as a facilitator with the SAOR foundation helping young people discover their worth and potential. He is a former captain of the Wexford hurling team and works as a sports analyst for TG4, Newstalk and other media. He gives hurling Master Classes ó am go chéile, preferring the beach to the pitch. He is an outspoken critic of the co-opting of culture by technology and founder of the initiative facebook free february. He is also one of the founders of GAA activist group Gaelic Voices for Change, fundraising and lobbying for the homeless.
Siobhán de Paor
Siobhán de Paor is an artist, wordsmith and mother. She works as a creative tutor of poetry and theatre and expressive arts. She is a celebrant of the Celtic Wheel rituals. Organizer of a local spiritual community, the Light Collective and hosts full moon women's circles. Although originally from the Ring Gaeltacht in Waterford, it wasn't until she landed in the West Kerry Gaeltacht six years ago that she began to use Irish as a creative medium. She has performed spoken word as Gaeilge in festivals and venues in Cork, Kerry, Clare, Dublin and Galway. She was a newspaper journalist in Ireland and Australia until taking a trip to Nepal in 2014 for a series investigating women's issues. There she stayed learning of meditation, yoga, auryvedia and other alternative philosophies for three years.
Cearbhuil Ní Fhionnghusa
Cearbhuil Ni Fhionnghusa is wild food forager, cook, trench digger and home schooler. She forages wild food and makes herbal cosmetics from her small holding in the Burren. Her workshops over the past 10 years have inspired hundreds of people to integrate wild food and time in the wild into their daily lives. Her work was featured on RTE's Garraí Glas.
Her latest undertaking is the Burren Wilderness Project; a vision for 3 and a half acres of the unique limestone plateau which includes foraging and plant medicine workshops as Gaeilge. She lived with indigenous minorities in Bolivia and Colombia for five years where she learned of local medicines. She also lived and worked as a teacher and gardener in the Kerry and Connemara Gaeltachts. She has a degree in Irish from the University of Limerick and listens to RnG everyday! She is mad for trad and plays tin whistle.
Our Mother Tongue
le Siobhán de Paor
See her there, our mother tongue
cut out, bleeding, her orphaned young
mewling blind to what was done
fed on worms they should have shun
Would you save her, if you could
Would you stave her mortal wound
to change the lines and make the effort
to shake the mime and break the tether
One by one, her places fell
to foreign forces, an English hell
six hundred years to the furthest reaches
beaten back to the western beaches
But look she stirs, the mother tongue
Inside my mouth, inside the young
In times like these the dead will walk
in ways like this the dead can talk