ache
For chronic illness, embodiment, and the quiet violence of pain.
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Gone Home Alfred
The Quiet Legacy of a Scouter Today, we honor Alfred Reoch MBE. To those who knew him, Alfred was the embodiment of what it means to serve. In a world that often demands self-promotion, he chose a different path: the slow, faithful work of being present. Living in Gibraltar, you realize that Scouting is a… Continue reading
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The Empty Chair: A Liturgy of Absence.
Christy’s absence in the dialysis ward creates a profound sense of loss, highlighting the bond with caregivers and shared memories. Continue reading
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Divinity in Difference: The Window That Says What We’ve Been Trying to Say
Every now and then, an image comes along that says in colour and light what pages of writing have been circling for years. This stained-glass window feels like that. It gathers the heart of NeuroDivine—the essays, the fiction, the hymns, the poetry—and holds them up to the light with one steady claim: Difference is not… Continue reading
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Arrival
Arrival is a poem about coming home—not only to a place, but to a moment, a body, a ward, a riverbank, a sky clearing after rain. Set along the familiar paths of Monasterevin and Ballybrittas, the poem moves through train platforms, hospital rooms, shared umbrellas, and sudden shafts of light. What might appear ordinary becomes… Continue reading
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Waiting
In much of Christian spirituality, waiting is treated as a virtue—Advent waiting, prayerful waiting, hopeful waiting. But that language can sometimes feel abstract, almost decorative. It does not always account for the body. For the nervous system. For the long fluorescent hours in hospital wards. For the way time stretches, distorts, or presses against the… Continue reading
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The rainbow on my wrist.
From Monasterevin’s quiet stopThe morning train rolls west;Past cattle grazing by the line,And rooks that guard each nest.We cross the Barrow’s silver span,The viaduct below;A hare breaks cover in the reedsAnd watches as we go.In Port Laoise-bound and drifting thoughtsI catch a sudden grin—A stranger nods as though they knowSome secret held within.In town, the… Continue reading
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Terrace. Neighbours. Gloom.
This poem is a quiet meditation on belonging. Set against the soft pulse of a sleeping terrace, it listens closely to the unnoticed life of the night — cats threading the dark, a fox passing unseen, an owl offering its steady call. In that chorus of small, living presences, the speaker finds not isolation but… Continue reading
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Memory. Mission. Transformation.
This hymn was written for NeuroDivine as a song of Eucharistic continuity and hope. It situates the community within the great communion of saints of the Celtic world—Patrick’s fire, Hilda’s shore, Columba’s pilgrimage, Cuthbert’s solitude, Bede’s scholarship—bearing witness that Christ has fed his people in every age and in every kind of mind. At its… Continue reading
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A Sunday kept in Love
A Sunday Kept in Love began as a reflection on an ordinary Sunday shaped by absence, devotion, and small, faithful rituals. The poem gathers simple domestic details—the batter left waiting, the organ lifting prayer at eleven, a familiar café table with one chair open, two cats keeping watch at home—and discovers in them a love… Continue reading
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Word. Refuge. Faith.
“Write Your Word Upon Our Hearts” is a hymn rooted in Deuteronomy 11, Psalm 31, Romans 1 and 3, and Matthew 7, the readings for today (Proper 4) in the Church of Ireland. It prays that God’s Word would be inscribed not only on stone, but within our lives—shaping faith, grounding us in Christ’s righteousness,… Continue reading
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Rescued. Renewed. Rejoicing.
There are moments in life when strength runs thin—when the body falters, when the mind grows tired, when the soul feels hemmed in by shadows. Psalm 116 begins in exactly that place: “I love the Lord, for He heard my voice; He heard my cry for mercy.” This Sunday at NeuroDivine, we sit with a… Continue reading
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Rule. Dawn. Praise.
This hymn and stained-glass image are inspired by Chapter 13 of the Rule of Our Holy Father Saint Benedict, in which he sets forth the reverent ordering of the Divine Office at Lauds on ordinary days. Rooted in the rhythm of psalmody, canticle, Gospel praise, and litany, the work reflects Saint Benedict’s vision of a… Continue reading
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Richard. Window. Watch.
In the deep hush of night, wrapped in turquoise warmth, I sit and breathe while Richard keeps his faithful vigil beside me. I sit upright in Andrew’s chair,The window open wide;My coughing stirs the early air,Yet Richard stays beside.Wrapped in a soft Sherpa’s hold,A teddy‑bear‑like hug,I brace against the night‑time coldWithin its gentle snug.Across the… Continue reading
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Holy. Queer. Desire.
For many queer people—especially those of us who are neurodivergent—the search for connection has often unfolded in the margins: in late-night conversations, in coded glances, in apps that both liberate and exhaust us. Our longing has been shaped by secrecy, by rejection, by comparison, and by the fierce hope of finally being seen. This hymn… Continue reading
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Front room fire
The fire within the front-room glows,A quiet, tender light;The kitchen stove would warm the house,But needs more wood tonight.I know I should step out and fetchA bundle from the yard;Yet here the flames breathe soft and low,And rising feels too hard.But Andrew, steady, kind, and sure,Will bring the firewood in;He’ll light the stove and stir… Continue reading
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Stubborn Grace
For months I’ve reached the platform wellBefore the train draws near;Ten minutes early, every day,A quiet, steady year.But this one morning, thinking sureI’d make it just in time,I let that margin slip away—A single, harmless crime.Yet frost lay sharp along the rails,The timetable turned sly;It came a minute swift and strange,And left before my eye.I… Continue reading
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Healing. Prayer. Hope.
This hymn was written for World Day of the Sick, a day when many pilgrims gather in Lourdes seeking healing, prayer, and hope. While crowds pray at the grotto and walk in candlelight procession, many of us keep the day in quieter places—hospital wards, dialysis units, and our own homes. For me, it is shaped… Continue reading
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Incense. Whisper. Hope.
This hymn is inspired by Psalm 141, the Church’s ancient evening prayer: “Let my prayer rise before you like incense.” Set in the landscape of Clonmacnoise, it joins the psalmist’s cry to the Shannon’s air and the long vigil of those who prayed on these stones before us. As night gathers, it asks Christ to… Continue reading
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The Gentle Way
He steadies me when storms arise,He keeps my heart at peace;He makes sure meals are never missed,And anxious thoughts release.He watches that my tablets comeAt times they’re meant to be;His quiet care, his gentle ways,Bring daily strength to me.Though beds may stand in separate roomsFor breath and rest to stay,Our love still holds through every… Continue reading
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Night Watch
On nights when my husband is not well, our cats call me to keep watch. This image and poem honour NeuroDivine care—where animals serve as sentinels, attention becomes prayer, and love stands vigil in quiet hours. Night Watch The house lies still in shadowed hush,yet soft paws stir the air;the cats come whispering through the… Continue reading
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