Father is a Faerie King -

Mother is a Mermaid Queen July 2022

from the 5th of July 2022

the sort of struggles that go on in life,

in families, conflicts and survival traumas,

coping mechanisms and failures

scraping through the rock botton of the barrel.

I've been delving into lost child memories each morning lately.

Writing what i could not remember before, couldn't expect a friend to indulge in listening to, couldn't even imagine paying a councillor to listen to.

Buried bullying and how my precociousness was redirected into fear of being praised when I'd shine "too bright" - cursed with the guilty projection that i was "too intelligent" and so, would "end up schizophrenic, like my mother's brother Paddy Valentine", born on 14th February , from whom i inherited my middle name, Patrick, after his dad, my grand father Packie Woods "The Bog Man", a legend from the auld-times, before modernity took over, who had the hereditary ability of "The Cure" for all kinds of ailments.

Paddy died 11 days ago, after 50 years of being in and out of psychiatric wards, having had a leg amputated, after a failed suicide attempt when he leaped in front of a tube train in the Lonon Underground.

That "cry for help" did at least get him out of exile in london and returned to his homeland in county Monaghan, where I've been staying in the Van, near my grand parents house.

On the very morning that he kidnapped my mom from her home in Tipperary and took her to his place in County Sligo, 4 hour's drive away, Martin Byrne sent mom a text message, calling me a "snivelling coward" because Mom, me and my daughters weren't at home, when he came to seize her.

We were on our way to the local Garda (police) station to try and draw some State support for mom to stay in her own home, to say the Power of Attorney was being used to legitimise destroying my mom's Dignity and rob her inheritance as well as her self-agency and will power through gaslighting, to drive her demented as easy prey.

We went there to report my brothers' bullying phone-calls and letters, which came daily from the day she'd written her own letter to them and the solicitor, to "revoke" the Power of Attorney that she had signed, 1 month after dad died, the very day she inherited his whole Estate, and became the sole "Head of the Family".

Instead of looking at the evidence, the cops threatened me with "reporting" me to TUSLA, the state-body, who take children from their parents.

My brothers had already arranged with the local Garda station, that they were taking our Mother from her home, to Sligo, to "get her away from the youngest son, who is a manipulative bastard, a sick bi-polar schizophrenic, manipulative elder-abuser, who is only trying to move in to get the inheritance as he is a good for nothing waster" or words to that effect, "2 ends of a bollox, as his father would say".

And so, the cops collaborated with the solicitor and the HSE {NHS} and the Power of Attorney, threatened me about my kids being homeschooled, about my British-registration car legality, about my driving licence and insurance, instead of listening to what my mother had come there to say.

They told us to leave, that my brothers, waiting by the Station door, had made an appointment and i had "wasted enough of their time".

As my daughters and I were leaving they cautioned my Mother to stay in the garda station, while my smiling brothers came in, and half an hour later, my mom left with Martin, led like a lamb, told she was going to be brought to visit Paddy in the "mental hospital" but not told that she'd never be let go back to her own home.

Meanwhile, as mom was led away to the car, the cop told me i couldn't even call out "goodbye mom" and again threatened my children with social services, saying he'd be "out to the house this evening, to check that they have homeschooling materials at your mother's house"

And that's that last time i saw my mom until her brother Paddy's funeral, 3 months later.

That funeral, almost 2 weeks ago, was the first chance that moms sisters and brother's got to see her since dad died, to see and hear for themselves that she is deeply disturbed and desperate to get back to her own home, away from the disgusting situation that she has been forced to live in, cut off from everyone she knows, in an upstairs bedroom, without even her mobile phone, her landline or even her address book, her lifeline to call any family or friends, or even any addresses to post letters.

Today, 2 of her sisters are travelling, quite a long way to bring her for a meal and have a chance to talk with Rosie again, to see how they can help to get her free, if she is capable of speaking up for her wishes, able to stand up for herself.

I'm starting to remember the childhood i was unable to recall til now, forced to face by the events unravelling since dad died on the full moon eclipse 19 November 2021, heart attack, likely brought on by my brothers trying to force dad to agree to their plan to place mom in a nursing home - "her worst nightmare" as Martin called it - yet preferable than letting mom's ideal dream come true, her wish that I could return from exile in Britain to take care of her, in her own home and to live out her remaining years, in the company of a loving family reuniting, with her young granddaughters filling the house with joy.

A neighbour fb-friended me a few days ago, and let me know that my mom's house has been gutted, completely emptied and re-painted inside, and it's said locally that even though the house is up for sale any day now, no-one locally will buy it...

Every one can see that this has been done too hurriedly, with no show of grief or natural process.

All this orc-castrated by my annihilator-brother Paul Byrne, who has made his profits from buying and selling properties...

Whose wife is a solicitor and best friend an auctioneer.

So, i can see that Paul will have a friend buy our family home, with all dad's sheds and workshop, and sell for a huge profit as soon as is legal, thereby staving off bankruptcy from his having been financially over-stretched by over-leveraging of his greedy grabbing dodgy deals up til now.

Hence the rushed and heartless haste in stealing mom's heart from her hopes and leveraging her heartfelt fears of being dumped in a "nursing home" - truly her worst nightmare, hence why she had to accept being kept in Sligo this last 3 months +

Being deceived with false promises and outright lies.

Poor Martin has been a "useful idiot" while i have been dubbed a use-less eater, whom they hoped they could drive to either suicidal despair, prison or a "psychiatric ward"

So, there you have it, some detail of why I've felt desperate enough to push passed fears of pushing too far passed "diplomacy" - afraid to "go public" and risk further isolation and accusations of manipulation and jealousy, from my brother's ongoing trickling gaslighting of our whole extended family, both on my dad's side as well as, more recently my mom's side, since I've been up here in the Motherlands, trying to raise awareness-for-support before it gets far too late.

I've been keeping all this quiet while attempting to get "signed-on" with social welfare, to have some way to have money coming in after 6 months in Ireland with none of my usual self-employment of wilke-picking work, manual labour or even faerietale book sales, busking with bodhran or poetry gigs to sustain me.

After 7 weeks waiting for a decision, the Social Welfare finally sent me a letter, which uncle Tommy delivered to my van mere minutes after i received the utter heart wrenching shock news that my mom's house is completely gutted, and as a cousin told me me that even the photo's have been burned in a bonfire in the field out the back, along with the beds and furniture.

Fate accomplished.

So, the "Social Welfare" letter says I've been refused any status or monies, as i have somehow not "satisfied that the Habitual Residence Conditions"

Reasons are as follows:

"No access to Public funds (?)

Requirement to be self - supporting

Employment/self employment not established

No apparent means of financial support"

I'm so used to staying away from The System, that i didn't even have a clue of how to "play-the-system" in Ireland, like an honest fool, i filled in their forms, told them the truth of why I'm here, of how I'm trying to challenge a travesty in my Mother's plight and mount sime srt of legal challenge, and soon, hopefully transfer to Tipperary to live with mom and be her official "carer" as soon as the Power of Attorney" can be over-turned.

Honesty is not the best Policy to ensure support in a heart-less State of modern Ireland, where our fight for independence has been turned into a complacent "Society of propriety" as the legally landed "gentry" stuff their vaccinated faces in restaurants and foreign holidays, while the streets of towns and cities are "littered" with the tents and cardboard box-homes for the homeless.

So that's why i asked for some help with funds for fuel, why the rage finally equalled the FEAR (false evidence appearing real)

and why i also put up the short video to show I am calm and clear about expressing this frustration on so-called "social media"

I did get sent some money by paypal, enough to breathe some sighs of relief and truly feel some real-world support, from some people whom mostly I've never even met, so I'm sincerely grateful to them, and to all the comments n messages and video/voice calls that have kept me from drowning in sorrows over this past 6 months.

Despite my dystopian awareness of the powerful sway and mind-numbing emptiness of most of "social media's influence" - I'm also faithfully aware that the "social" really is a lot of Real People at the other side of the screen inter-face, that not all virtue is mere "signalling" - that pure honesty and intelligent commentary IS appreciated, and that, when i can overcome my insecurities and self-critical-childhood-programs, I can more easily accept these compliments and praise as truly sincere.

I've struggled terribly with difficulty in accepting any acclaim, triggered to expect to get hit immediately afterwards for being stupid and gullible.

If you hadn't guessed by now, our father was a very harsh and repressive presence for my siblings and I, and though I've always respected and Loved him dearly, blaming myself and my childhood Character for all my faults, believing i somehow deserve to be scapegoated, deserve to be made an example of, for being a "black sheep of the family" - it's only now, finally this passed 2 weeks since the following full moon eclipse that mirrors the eclipse that was the Day he Died, that I've truly begun to remember why it was that as a 15 year old, i wasn't destined to become "the Prodical Son" - I was pushed out, pre-programmed with all the guilt, fear, blame and hatred that the rest of my family beat into me.

At 48 years old, with 6 children sprung from my loins, with so many books-written-but unpublished, because my inner-critic screams rejection instantly if ever i dare think that my writings are worthy of recognition of financial support.

I worked my arse off as a child, did every job my father and mother asked of me, throughout my life and never asked for or received anything for it, except to be tolerated while i worked in exchange for room and board, tolerated by a jealous father, welcomed and appreciated by a delighted mum, so glad to have some some gentle company, some empathy and support and love.

Even with all this heartless attack from my siblings, I've so far been unable to "fight-back" believing in compassion, yet struggling with myself because they don't deserve my empathy, yet i refused to be forced to lower my Love into Hatred.

Search youtube for a song, sung by Sinead o Connor - "Lord, make me an instrument of Thy Peace" from the Late Late Show, RTE...

And then also search for her downfall moment "Sinead O'Connor ripping Pope picture - Fight the real enemy"

When she made that live-protest against institutionalised child-sexual-abuse, the American-Irish and the “Oirish-at-home” destroyed her, destroyed her career and destroyed her mental health, and they never forgave her.

But she was the greatest spark that eventually burned that Church to the Ground, the toughest pebble that started that avalanche of rising awareness, the great-bravery to say "fuck the Pope" out LOUD and to suffer the consequences ever since...

Even now, such people bring tears to the wellspring of Heart feeling the need to speak-out bravely and say what is really happening, rather than say "aw, isn't it awful and then change the subject to football, or Johnny Debt or whatever other "socially" acceptable compliance with evil.

Today, I've finally found a root cause of my failure to stand-up for my self, for my own inner-child, hidden in repression, who gave up hope of ever being understood and accepted, who is so heavily programmed instead, to expect to be stood-on and rejected.

I'm sorry for asking for donations to help me fuel my van, to help Mother, truly I should merely ask what is simple-sense, donations in recognition, if you find you've read this post this far, and find it resonates with in, to keep this writer writing, to keep this spirit flowing down to Earth, like a river to the Ocean, like a father who will not let this children down.

It's my eldest daughter Sophia Bee-Luv's 11th birthday on Wednesday and I am on my way back to Scotland, to be there in time.

Bee and her sisters have been devouring the Harry Potter books this past 7 months, a very real-world for my magical daughters, and Tara and i have been happy to indulge their fantastic imaginations to the full.

After all, their Father is a Faerie King, their Mother is a Mermaid Queen and they are utterly Magical Souls incarnate to bring healing into this weird world where most don't truly Feel The Love...

This is how my daughters, my wife and my self have survived this world with Faith in tact and patient perseverance, to bring more Love in Life and Joy in Living <3

If you wanna share, like, care, heart, laugh - feel free

If you like what i write,

And wanna send me courage and healing prayers - feel free

If you wanna donate cashless digits, feel free too... Paypal welcome...

wiselands23@gmail.com

If you wanna send email, if these writings trigger response, feel free

If you're a more recent friend on fb, there's loads on writing on here from before i went quiet, after dad died, click on my "Photo's" cos that's how I've outsmarted Face-fuxks "newsfeed" add dictions,

Writings are saved with the photos, with my website address attached, though somewhat ad-hoc and dysfunctionally hard-to-find.

It's

https://wiselands.webador.co.uk/

if you wanna search the web

Bless sings all a round <3

Thanks for reading, scuse any silly smart phone spelling mistakes that i didn't fix yet

The photo is my uncle Paddy, long long before he passed over

With Uncle Tommy, and neighbour Gene, and me too