Tag: intuition

Ballad of Mallard

Posted on by Tom Kelly

Ballad of Mallard > Listen on BandCamp

The ride from the airport was short but heavy with the weight of travel, lighter chatting with new friends. Home (Ballinamallard), our bags clattered onto the hallway floor, and before the jet lag could settle deeper, Brad and Craig nudged us gently toward the back door and back outside. The house itself was charming, but it was the backyard that opened its arms to us.

Late afternoon light poured in from the west, unusually warm for Ireland. The painted yellow walls of the garden glowed like they had been dipped in honey. The garden stretched long and neat, framed by waist-high stone walls, with flowers bending toward the sun and vegetables reaching upward as if in celebration. Their pup Winston is playing around our feet.

The garden seemed to lean closer, fruit trees flickering in the warm light, the shed in the corner humming faintly as if it were listening in.

A table was set under the awning, the smell of lamb stew curling through the air, mingled with roasted vegetables and potatoes crisping on the barbecue.

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Hill of Tara

Posted on by Tom Kelly

The Hill of Tara > Audio on Patreon

It was the first day in Ireland, the kind of day that blurs after a long flight and little sleep. Our friends were driving us north to their home from Dublin. Somewhere along the highway, they pulled off and said, “Let’s stop here, there’s food, coffee, and there’s an old historical site, maybe something interesting to see.“

At first glance, there was a cute country store and restaurant on a medium-sized hill, with a narrow parking lot and washrooms. I was glad to stretch my legs and let the first sights and scents of Ireland touch me. The tiredness I felt eased as I studied the landscape. The valley stretched out below, and I marveled at the cows grazing free, Holsteins. I commented that back home in Canada, cows are locked away in barns. It made my heart happy seeing them at peace on the land.  Already, Ireland was showing me something different, something freer.

Inside, the café was slow, friendly, buzzing with tourists and locals. We were seated and ordered our lunch. While waiting, I wandered into the gift shop up front. Still dazed, I noticed that everywhere I turned, one word followed me: Tara. Shirts, mugs, magnets, books. Tara. There were even containers of crystals, sage, and feathers. This was my kind of shop! I hurried back into the restaurant and asked, “Are we at the Hill of Tara?” My friends laughed. “Yes, Tom. We thought you might find it interesting.“

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Rock of Cashel

Posted on by Tom Kelly

Rock of Cashel > Audio on Patreon

From the moment I arrived at the Rock, I felt its presence. Large, unyielding, a stone giant rising from Ireland’s green heart, the Rock of Cashel stands as a sentinel over the ages. Its walls, rough and cold, are patched with lichen, gray-green and ancient, like the earth’s own memory.

A gentle wind whispers through, brushing along the stones, soft and unnoticed, yet alive, a breath that seems to carry the clearing, the shifting energy of this sacred place.

Outside, the graveyard sprawls, Celtic crosses standing tall or leaning crooked, their carved circles weathered by many years without new burials. These stones mark Ireland’s storied dead, chieftains, poets, souls who shaped this land, their presence woven into the wind’s quiet song.

At the Rock’s heart is a grand hall, not a chapel, but a magnificent ruin that once buzzed with life. Its floor is lined with stone slabs, tombs, raised just enough to mark the graves beneath. You can feel the faint emboss of these graves underfoot. Through tall, glassless windows, remnants of soaring arches, golden white sunlight cascades in, long, rhythmic beams. From east to south to west, the light shifts, painting the slabs with a warm, protective glow, almost godlike, transforming the cold stone.

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Sing

Posted on by Tom Kelly

Sing > Listen on BandCamp

The gym was its usual self that afternoon, metal clinks and grunts, the thump of bass-heavy tunes, the faint hum of treadmills like an endless tide. And then, without warning, something split the air.

At first, I thought it was tucked into the overhead speakers, some chorus layered behind the beat. But no, this sound floated above the noise. A voice, clear and shimmering, cut through the stale fluorescent air with impossible purity. It didn’t fit, not at all. It rose much brighter, like sunlight breaking into a windowless hall.

I froze, half-turned on my machine, ears straining. No one else seemed to notice. Around me, people kept lifting, scrolling, laughing, and checking mirrors. I was the only one stilled by it. That aloneness made it feel even more otherworldly, like a gift dropped into my hands, meant only for me.

It wasn’t an everyday voice. Not casual but high, lilting, yet rooted with undertones that spoke of training, sweet and angelic, as if trembling on the edge of heaven itself. Whoever sang wasn’t fooling around. This was a voice born for song.

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Cliffs of Moher

Posted on by Tom Kelly

The Cliffs of Moher > Audio on Patreon

I step onto the path at the Cliffs of Mohr, early morning, wrapping me in a fine, misty rain that clings to my face like a soft veil. The sky stretches wide, a pale white-gray glow, not dark or heavy, but pulsing with quiet life.

The cliffs loom before me, their massive forms draped in light mist, their vastness spilling along the coastline, unhidden, eternal. My boots press into solid rock, a granite mass that feels old like it’s anchored the earth forever, a thin skim of soil barely covering its ancient heart.

Tiny plants, some no taller than my thumb, curl inland, bowing to years of relentless breath from the Atlantic, their delicate arcs telling stories of endurance. Shrubs and stunted trees lean away from the sea, sculpted into gentle curves, as if sculpted by an unseen hand.

Below, the Atlantic surges with a deep, steady, and hungry thud, pounding the cliffs with unyielding force, announcing its might. Swirls of foam and whiteheads dance in its retreat, carving eddies in the dark water.

The wind, the soul of this place, roars across the cliff tops, tugging my coat, lifting and spinning my bag, daring me to stay upright. It carries that misty rain, stinging my face, sweeping over the land like a cleansing breath, not just nourishing the stubborn lichens or the grazing cattle on the nearby hill, but lifting centuries of Ireland’s grief, its struggles etched into this harsh, unyielding terrain.

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Loughcrew

Posted on by Tom Kelly

Loughcrew > Audio on Patreon

The last steps to the summit leave the heart full and strong, breath rising in steady waves. I pause, turning to see the hill fall away, the valleys stretched wide in muted greens and grays, their edges softened by drifting cloud. The land feels endless, and for a moment I stand between earth and sky, the climb behind me, the cairn before me.

The summit opens slowly, as if unveiling itself. The great mound waits at the center, its stones dark with age, the three outlying cairns keeping watch at the edges, and the rings of upright slabs, each gap like a threshold for the unseen. Their presence is not silent; it hums, low and deep, just at the edge of hearing.

I step apart from the others scattered lightly across the dome. Their voices fade into the wind as I walk among the stones. My hand comes to rest on one, and the surface is cool, coarse, alive. It exhales into my palm, and the breath of the stone moves into me. It is not simply contact, it is a merging. The longer I remain, the more the boundary thins, until I feel the stone leaning back, meeting me.

Around me, the air stirs with its own rhythm. It does not come and go but circles, climbs, folds back on itself, weaving with the shape of the hill. A brush of coolness across my cheek carries with it the taste of mineral, as though the rock itself has risen into the air. My mouth waters, unexpected, as if drinking from some hidden spring. The breath of the cairn becomes my own, and within it, a memory flickers, of hands that placed these stones, of voices that once rose in chant, of firelit faces lifted to the sky.

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The 3i Atlas Comet Teachings

Posted on by Tom Kelly

A compiled record of Tom’s dialogue with his spiritual team and guides

SECTION 1: Opening Inquiry

Tom: I want to know whether the 3i Atlas comet is of good origin or nefarious origin.
Card Pulled: Knight of Pentacles Reversed

Team Response:

  • The comet is not purely benevolent, nor is it a weapon of darkness.
  • It is neutral in origin, but disruptive in effect.
  • It stirs emotions, uncertainty, and projections — fear for some, hope for others.
  • Message: “Do not fear it, and do not exalt it. Let it pass.”

SECTION 2: Tom’s Role

Tom: What is my role with this comet?
Card Pulled: Lovers Reversed

Team Response:

  • Do not unite your energy with the collective hysteria around the comet.
  • Be aware, but unattached. Observe without feeding fear or fantasy.
  • You are to hold steady, sovereign, and balanced while others project extremes.
  • Message: “The comet does not deserve your union. Nod respectfully, but do not entwine.”

SECTION 3: Emotional Ripple and Purpose

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The Sounds of Music

Posted on by Tom Kelly

This little adventure started while driving and listening to music. It was a beautiful, sunny afternoon when this song came on.

“Betcha by Golly, Wow” by the Stylistics.

Within 30 seconds, I was carried away, and after listening to the song once, I replayed it. I yelled “wow” out loud and then asked myself these questions.

How could a voice be so beautiful? How could it be so true and innocent and pure? How was it possible for a human to do this, to be so magical, to speak every emotion all at once?

I felt everything that came through and knew this wasn’t superhuman but a gift.

When I got home, I looked up this song and found Russell Tompkins Jr to be the singer.

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Talking Yourself to Sleep

Posted on by Tom Kelly

It is so interesting how our busy minds can show up when our heads hit the pillow. Sometimes, it’s about nothing important, or even stressful, just an interesting thought or idea that keeps us awake.

I’m most creative in the evening so bedtime can often still be rich with ideas. Usually, I can take a few deep breaths, close my eyes, and quickly fall asleep. Other times it’s not so easy.

I’ve learned a process (very much by accident) that has helped me fall asleep and would like to share it with you.

Below is what I do.

I was lying in bed ready for sleep and drew my attention to a workplace I knew in my teens and early 20s. I had a part-time job in a school as a cleaner which through high school and college paid a lot of bills. I enjoyed this job and got to know this school as well as anyone could.

At this moment in bed, my mind intuitively opened the front door and I started walking through the main hallway exploring all the features, looking at trophy cabinets, walls, doors, floors, etc. The next thing I know it’s morning and I’m getting up after a great night’s sleep!

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The Illusion

Posted on by Tom Kelly

For many years I’ve wondered how the universe presents itself to us and me.

We hear about many things such as our collective experience and our personal experience within the collective. We hear about backdrop or background people as though our experience can be filled in with people to satisfy our reality.

My curiosity tries to understand and resolve how reality is created, yet in the end, I simply allow simplicity to breathe for the universe. Does it matter how it all works?

Recently, I spent a week in Orlando Florida with family. On this trip, many things were exposed and more clearly defined. I became aware of old energy being purged. Much of this exhale came through strong and present-moment experiences. What was significant was that others close to me saw and felt this too. This allowed me to witness a collective and personal healing like I had never experienced before, as we were all shedding and being unburdened together. Watching us cling to the old even when it didn’t make sense was fascinating, and then finally allowing release.

Healing and alignment were just part of the package.

I normally experience visions in a meditative or dream state with a smaller percentage occurring while fully awake. Personally, I like visions while awake because they can be better understood and of course trippy.

While in Orlando, I was shown many visions (stories) in my daily awake time.

I was advised that we are now in a new time energetically where we will understand and discern information live and in the moment. This was not new to me, but what was new was the level of information being provided in this live format.

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