ANTUATH

A Message From Stephen

I never planned to create this.

An Tuath wasn't an idea I formed or a plan I mapped out.
It arrived in my life at a time when everything else fell away.

Jessica — my wife, my partner, my closest friend for more than twenty years — passed away suddenly while we were together in France.
To this day, it's hard to put into words what that moment did to me.
She was the person who understood me without needing explanations.
She saw the world with extraordinary gentleness.
She brought light wherever she went.

After she died, I stayed in the south of France — a land that holds something soft, ancient, and profoundly feminine.
The mountains, the forests, the warm springs, the old stone paths…
there is a quiet strength here, a kind of presence that wraps around you when you don't know how to hold yourself.

Day after day, I walked without knowing why.
I breathed.
I listened.

The land became a refuge — a place that held my grief without judgement, a place that somehow understood.
And in that stillness, something delicate began to return.

There were moments when I could feel Jessica close — not in memory, not in imagination, but in the way the heart recognises truth instantly.
A warmth.
A guidance.
A love that hadn't ended, only changed form.

Those moments taught me something I had never understood so clearly:
that love continues.
It shifts, but it does not disappear.
It becomes something deeper, quieter, more enduring.

As I walked those paths and sat by those springs, something inside me began to rebuild — slowly, quietly, without force.
And over time, I realised that what was being rebuilt wasn't meant only for me.

It felt like a calling to create something simple and universal —
a daily moment where people everywhere can pause, breathe, and return to their own hearts.

A moment where the world gathers softly across every time zone, like a wave of light rising around the planet.

I was also reminded of Uisneach, the ancient centre of Ireland — the meeting point of the provinces, the place where fires were lit to unite people as one.
The memory of that hill felt connected to what I sensed forming inside me:
an invitation for humanity to gather again, in a simple, human way.

That is how An Tuath was born.
From silence.
From grief.
From love.
From the presence of someone who is still with me in ways I cannot explain.
From a land that mothered me when I needed it most.
From the sense that the world needs a daily moment to return to itself.

An Tuath is not mine.
It does not belong to any one person, country, or belief.
It belongs to everyone.
It speaks the language of the heart.

If this ritual helps even one person feel more grounded, more connected, or more loved, then it has already done its work.

Thank you for being here.
Thank you for bringing your heart.
Thank you for helping this signal rise.

Stephen McCormack