I work as the faith-and-peace fieldworker for the Irish Peace Centres. It is a joint project between the Corrymeela Community, Co-operation Ireland, and the Glencree Centre for Peace and Reconciliation. We build relationships across tradi­tional, social, and psychological divides.

Some of my colleagues focus par­ticularly on areas where there are real or invisible walls that divide neighbourhoods. Others build net­works of peace practitioners — representing the police, politicians, community workers, youth workers, people who were formerly involved in combatant roles in the conflict here.
 

I work with faith communities and find out who they would like to meet, but are a bit unsure about — and then work to build their capacity, and curiosity, to meet others. We do this primarily through using the sacred text that is im­portant to that group, looking at the diversity of relationships within that text, and then applying that in our own circumstances today. It’s lovely work — I get to meet great people.
 

The Corrymeela Community has been a joy to be associated with over the past eight years. We have a new leader, the Revd Dr Inderjit Bhogal.
 

I watched the coverage of Queen Elizabeth II’s visit with great emo­tion. I think the cost was estimated at €30,000,000, which was a large amount of money to invest in a short few days, especially for a country in such financial difficulties; but the gestures of those few days were in­credibly memorable.
 

In the lead-up to the visit, I won­dered whether she’d use a “cúpla focail” — a phrase used to denote “a few words of Irish”. Barack Obama used a cúpla focail last week when he visited, and, while that was delight­ful, there wasn’t the weight of history in his usage.
 

For the Queen to begin an address at a state banquet with “A Uach­taráin agus a chaired” (“President and friends”) was immense. I saw the President breathe the word “Wow!” silently. It was a gesture that was deeply resonant with respect for Irish identity, nationality, culture, custom, and tongue.
 

She also laid a wreath at the garden of remembrance in Dublin, where the women and men who gave their lives for Irish independence are re­membered. This, too, was a gesture, and one that both Queen Elizabeth and the Irish President, Mary Mac­Aleese, carried out in silence.
 

I think this currently could only happen south of the border. With such deep divides north of the border about whether the Union flag is a flag of celebration of national identity, or an unwelcome flag, such a wide, and cross-community wel­come would not have been possible as things stand now.
 

I’ve lived in the north for eight years now. Ordinary, peaceful people have vastly different ideas about what it means to live in this north-east part of the island of Ireland. We were colonised: that had an impact on our governance, land, economics, and language.
 

My current view on the Irish ques­tion is that too much has happened here to think that a simple solution will solve anything. There will always be some people who are unhappy. So, for me, the question is — how do we live well with each other? There is an Irish saying “Ar scáth a chéile a mhaireas na daoine” — it means “it is in the shelter of each other that the people live.” That phrase gives me hope.
 

Life in Belfast is much like any city: it depends on where you are. I live on the Crumlin Road, in between the Shankill and Ardoyne neighbour­hoods. Here, people are hoping for more jobs, better provision for re­creation for their children, and a lessening of drug problems.
 

Most weeks there are stories about suspected bombs, which often turn out to be hoaxes. So there is a level of threat which is being perpetrated by a small number of people.
 

You can tell a lot from jokes, and young people often make jokes about Taigs or Prods — this can be a normalising of division which can lead to unhelpful stereotypes that are hard to break. There are few shared celebrations, and much unshared language.
 

I started writing poetry when I was about 20, and was broke, and couldn’t afford birthday presents. But then, as time went on, I got in­volved in storytelling groups of people who wished to meet others from across a divide, to tell stories of the conflict here — stories that were full of pain, sometimes hatred, oftentimes full of curiosity. I would listen and craft poetry based on the peoples’ stories. I started doing poetry at Greenbelt from 2004.
 

I loved Greenbelt from the first time I went. It’s a small taste of a huge goodness. I go back every year — if I wasn’t speaking, I’d go anyway. This year, I’m doing two sessions, one called “Our Lady of Greenbelt”, taking a narrative approach to Gospel stories about that strong and fas­cinating woman, Mary, and an­other session of poetry from my work here.
 

Ordinary things inspire me. I once wrote a collection of poems called Supermarket Prayers — I walked around supermarkets for weeks just looking for ordinary moments that said something about what it means to be human. There was a man who was buying only single portions of food, there was a woman counting pennies to buy a cake, but then she put the cake back on the shelf. . .
 

Language also inspires me. I’m from Cork, and grew up in a family where the Irish language was very important. A friend from Dingle, in West Kerry, told me that, in the dialect spoken in that region, instead of saying “muinín thú” for “I trust you,” the dialect there uses the phrase “mo sheasamh ort, lá na choise tinne”: “You are the place of my standing, on the day when my feet are sore.” I remember writing a poem on the back of a torn envelope after that conversation.
 

My favourite book is A Suitable Boy by Vikram Seth. It’s a massive historical-fictional homage to the political, romantic, and human interweavings of four families in the years following Indian independence. I’ve read it five times.
 

I come from a family of six chil­dren. Four are in Cork, where my parents still live, and I’m here. I don’t see them as much as I’d like. We have lovely times of gathering when we are all home, however.
 

I wanted to be an acrobat in a circus, and then I wanted to be a priest, and then a doctor. The mixture of performance poetry, writing, peace work, discussions on texts, and providing safe and relaxing places for reflection on retreats manages to weave those three child­hood ambitions together.
 

I do regret not getting dreadlocks when I was 20.
 

I’d like to be remembered for good curries, good conversations, and good friendship.
 

James Alison preaches about the man on the Gerasene side of the lake in Mark 5 in Faith Beyond Resentment. The chapter is called “Clothed and in his right mind”. The insight from him on this point is a moment where I measure my life before and my life after.
 

I’m happiest with my partner, friends, family, and people I love, around a table, with food, laughter, love, story, and sharing.
 

My favourite story in the Gospels is prob­ably the last part of John, where Jesus cooks breakfast on the shore and en­counters Peter. Every­thing is present in that en­counter.
 

Favourite sound? Laughter. Not just general laughter, but the kind of laughter that comes from the gut, that joins people together. Or per­haps the sound of a string quartet holding a beautiful and slowly changing chord to­gether.
 

I love the last part of the Gospel of John, when Jesus appears in the upper room and says “peace be with you” — or “hello” — to the disciples. My most regular prayer is to say hello to the places of my own fear, or to the things that most worry me — to greet anxiety with “inanxiety”, to make calm a place of discord.
 

My old neighbour Sadie used to come to my door to bring presents for my housemate Emma. Sadie hadn’t much money, but she always gave a little gift. There is an in­extinguishable goodness in people — and that gives me great hope.
 

I’d like to get locked in a church with my partner, Paul. He makes great conversation, and, when I’m tired, he’s a great pillow. If Paul wasn’t available for such inlocking, my friend Dani — she has the ability to turn anything into a delight and a memorable experience.
 

Pádraig Ó Tuama was talking to Terence Handley MacMath.

www.irishpeacecentres.org