The Longest Road

I often tell myself the story of Ogma to remind myself of what I experienced during my migrations—first, as a teenager moving to Canada and later, as a young man to Japan. Each time, I carried the excitement of new possibilities and the strange sense that some of me hadn't quite arrived. Each move stretched, stained and changed me - in a way I will never know, for in becoming one, we shall never know what other possibilities we may have been. Indeed, we often focus so much on the leaving (at least I have) that we neglect that which was left behind or, more profoundly, those who remained.

Sometimes, as several of my friends have shared with me, we wrestle with what others made us become, never realising that we can also choose to tell our story and live it as we would best—to be who we had wanted to become long before we were " shifted" into who we are now. We still have a choice. We can all grow and I believe return should our sould call for such a song to finally be sung.

Many who have moved to new lands(lands here is a metaphor) might understand this feeling: the body settles, but the spirit lingers between the past and the present.

So, although this story is long, I write it for my friends and family, for it is in the telling that it lives. Many of my closest friends and family are now of an age where they have begun a journey home and face the fear of letting go and ‘becoming’: following a road for which there is no map — self.

The Tale of Ogma and the Spirit of the People
Long ago, when the veil between the mortal world and the realm of spirits was thin, Ogma, the great warrior-poet of the Tuatha Dé Danann, led his people on a bold journey. They had left their homeland, fleeing a place that no longer nurtured their spirits in search of a new land where they could thrive and grow.

Ogma, wise and strong, was skilled in battle, language, and knowledge. He devised the Ogham script, a secret language of lines and symbols connecting people to their past. But now, he led them into the unknown, a place filled with new possibilities.

The people were filled with urgency as they journeyed across mountains and plains, crossing rivers and deep forests. Their eagerness to reach their destination, to claim this new land and make it their home, was palpable. With Ogma at the front, they moved swiftly, boldly, and determinedly.

At last, they arrived at the edge of a fertile valley, a land blessed with the beauty of the earth and sky. The people were ready to settle, their hands eager to build, their minds filled with dreams of the future. Yet, as they began their work, they noticed something strange.

Though their bodies were here in this new land, their hearts felt heavy, and their spirits were distant, as though left behind on the journey. They grew restless and anxious. No matter how much they laboured, something was missing—an emptiness that hard work could not fill.

At first, they dismissed the feeling as simple fatigue. But as the days stretched on, this weariness did not fade. Instead, it deepened. Their movements became sluggish, their eyes dulled, and a strange stupor settled over them. They moved, but without the vitality they once had.

It was as though their bodies had arrived, but their souls had not yet followed.

Ogma, with his sharp eyes and keen understanding of the deeper currents of life, saw the truth. The people had moved too quickly, driven by their eagerness to escape the hardships of their old home and claim this new land. In their haste, they had outrun their souls, leaving their spirits behind in the whirlwind of their journey.

Ogma stood before the people, watching them as they worked in this state of confusion. He could see it clearly—the dullness in their eyes, the slow, mechanical movements of their bodies, the way they seemed to move without purpose or joy. The land, though rich and full of promise, could not nourish them because their spirits had not yet arrived to receive its blessings.

He now understood that the people were lost, not in the sense of geography, but in a more profound, spiritual way. They had rushed forward, driven by ambition and the need to survive, but in doing so, they had lost touch with the rhythm of their inner selves. Their hearts were heavy with a grief they did not yet understand—a grief born not of sorrow but of the absence of their spirit. Ogma's understanding of their plight was deep and empathetic.

Ogma knew that hard work alone would not heal this rift. The people were trying to fill a void that mere labour could not satisfy. It was as if they had built a house without a foundation—the structure stood, but it lacked the strength to endure. Their spirits, left far behind in their haste, needed time to catch up and fully arrive in this new place.

Seeing this, Ogma called the people together. "We have moved too fast," he said, echoing across the valley. "We have left our spirits behind in the rush to reach this land. Though our bodies are here, our souls are not yet with us, and without them, we cannot truly live."

The people looked at him in confusion. How could their spirits be left behind? They had all arrived together, hadn't they? But as they listened to Ogma's words, a dawning realisation settled. They felt the truth of what he was saying, as though his words had peeled back a veil they had not even known was there. Ogma's words had a profound impact on their understanding of their situation.

Ogma continued, "We have rushed forward, thinking only of our destination, and in our haste, we have forgotten the importance of balance. The body may move swiftly, but the spirit must move at its own pace, in harmony with the earth and the sky. We must give our souls time to find and rejoin us, or we will never feel whole in this new land."

He likened their journey to a river that had swelled and overflowed its banks, rushing forward in a torrent. In its eagerness, the water had flooded the land, but now, it needed to calm, return to its natural course, and find its rhythm again. Only then could the land be nourished by its gentle flow rather than devastated by its flood.

"We must pause," Ogma said, "and allow the river of our spirits to return to its path. Only then can we truly settle here, whole and at peace."

So, at Ogma's urging, the people stopped their work.

They sat. And "were".

They ceased their frantic efforts and allowed themselves to rest, not just in body but in soul. They gathered around Ogma, listening to his words, and slowly, the fog of their stupor began to lift.

Ogma led them in meditation and ritual, invoking the forces of the earth and sky, calling upon their ancestors, and reminding the people of the deeper rhythms of life. They sat in silence, feeling the weight of the land beneath them, the pull of the sky above, and the pulse of their hearts as their spirits slowly but surely caught up with them.

As the days passed, the people began to feel lighter, as though a significant burden had been lifted. Once heavy, their hearts felt whole again, and their spirits, having completed their journey, finally rejoined their bodies. The emptiness that had plagued them was gone, replaced by a sense of peace and connection, not just to the land but to themselves.

Only then did Ogma speak again. "Now," he said, "we are ready. Our bodies and spirits are one, and we can begin anew, not in haste, but in harmony."

And so, the people of the Tuatha Dé Danann, guided by Ogma's wisdom, began their new lives in the land with a deeper understanding of the balance between action and spirit. They knew now that to move too quickly was to risk leaving behind the essence of who they were. From that day forward, they honoured the slow, steady pace of the soul, knowing that actual progress comes not from rushing but from moving in harmony with the spirit's natural rhythm.

Postscript
When I reflect on my experiences emigrating to different lands, I realise that, like Ogma's people, I, too, had moments when my spirit needed time to catch up with my body. Likewise, as I have rushed through my life, I have missed too many stories, especially those my children's told and made—indeed, I am unsure if I even ever told them this story, for it would resonate with them, too. We all need to pause.

In those moments of pause, remember that sometimes the longest road is the one home.
​
Japanese Language Version
私はよくオグマの物語を自分自身に語りかけ、二度の移住経験を振り返ります。初めては十代の頃にカナダへ、そして次に若者として日本に移った時のことです。それぞれの移住で、新しい可能性に胸を躍らせる一方で、自分の一部がまだ到着していないような不思議な感覚を抱きました。どちらの移住も私を引き延ばし、時には痛みを伴い、変えていきました。その変化は、私自身が完全に理解することのないものです。なぜなら、私たちは一つの存在になる中で、他に何が可能だったのかを知ることはできないからです。
私たちはしばしば、特に私自身がそうであったように、去ることに集中しすぎて、残してきたものや、さらに深い意味では、そこに残った人々を忘れてしまいがちです。
また、いくつかの友人が私に語ってくれたように、他人によって自分がどう形作られたかに苦しむことがあります。しかし、実際には私たちは自分の物語を自ら語り、望んだ自分になるための選択肢が常にあることに気づかないことが多いのです。私たちは今の自分に「変わる」前から、ずっとなりたかった自分をまだ選ぶことができるのです。この個人的な意志と自己反省の重要性は、成長と変化の可能性を持つことを人々に思い出させ、励ますことができます。
新しい土地に移った多くの人々は、この感覚を理解できるかもしれません。身体は落ち着いているのに、心は過去と現在の間をさまよっているように感じるのです。
だからこそ、この物語は長いものの、私は友人や家族のために書きました。物語が語られることで、それは生き続けます。私の最も親しい友人たちは今、家へと帰る旅を始め、その道がどこに続くのかという不安と向き合っています。地図のない道を辿るようなもの、それが「家」へ帰ることです。

Citation: ​The visuals provided are generated by DALL·E, based on the descriptions you gave for the story of Ogma and the Triquetra symbol. These images are original and were created through the AI tool, not based on existing works or sources requiring citation.

---