When the creative spark hits a neurodivergent mind, it doesn’t care if you don’t have a notebook. It doesn’t care that you are sitting on a loud, drafty railway platform in Port Laoise after a long day of travel, trying to process the transition from a quiet pilgrimage back to the modern world.
It demands to be written now.
Here is a poem that forced its way out of me on St Columba’s Day, scrawled hastily over the only thing I had in my pocket—an old Maundy Thursday service sheet. It’s about Clonmacnoise, but it was born in transit.
Clonmacnoise on St Columba’s Day
The ancient road runs high and dry
By river and by bog.
The wind and rain and sun burst forth
Amidst the Irish fog.
Our Celtic saints once taught and prayed
Among these stones in light.
Reflected in the puddles wet
They shimmer, water bright.
And we today shelter from rain
In buildings they once knew
The Church of God we take abroad
And tell the world as new.
NeuroDivine 
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