Tag: OCEAN

An Lá Foirfe, II

An Lá Foirfe, II

All day…at every turn….the vision I cultivated during the week manifested over and over again in real time. It took sincere effort to be open to receive such splendor and beauty….a real inner stretch was involved.

I stood up to leave Dún Dubhchathair and offered sincere gratitude before I walked back across the fields of karst. And I might have asked for guidance on the way back as there was no trail….just acres of rocks with small patches of grass interspersed among the gray limestone and I had to walk over a kilometer back to the exit point…a stile in a rock wall surrounded by rocks and rock walls.

I made it out of the field of crazy rocks and down the hill to my bike. The pack carrying my camera was quite heavy so I opted to return it to the B & B and take a cycling route I knew from walking the long distance from Kilmurvey House on the other end of the island.

The coastal road provided a nice opportunity to stretch my legs and trust the rickety, rented bicycle wouldn’t fall apart on the downhills. I wore my helmet and bright green cycling jacket. And the cycling nerd in me also packed my headlight and taillight. One of the funniest moments of the trip happened on that ride.

I turned around near Kilmurvey Beach and was enjoying a quiet ride back to Killeany. In the distance I saw three farmers and one of their wives standing in a pasture chatting. All four heads turned and watched me….lights flashing, green jacket, helmet…as I approached and followed me as I passed. No one said a word but I laughed at their facial expressions. You see, a lot of bicycles are rented by tourists and in the week I was on the island I saw only three or four helmets…which is really scary considering the narrow roads, rocks and wide tour vans. I’m still wondering what those four islanders said after I passed….She’s probably seen the drivers here….She must be American… This isn’t the Tour de France. 

By the time I arrived back at Joe Watty’s pub, the final ferry had taken the tourist crowds away so I parked my bike and had a seat at the community table. The local elders were enjoying the evening. It was a Saturday night, after all. There was laughter, a bit of drinking and merriment of the nicest sort. I felt so happy to witness such friendly banter while enjoying a delicious meal and dessert. The raspberry and rhubarb crumble is the best dessert I have ever eaten….anywhere. And it wasn’t just because I had skipped lunch.

After cycling back to the B & B, I decided to end the day by walking up to Teampall Bheanáin–where my pilgrimage began a week ago. But this time I left the big camera and walked lightly. And I didn’t stop at the chapel. I walked all the way to the ocean.

And another surprise unfolded with yet another magnificent view of high cliffs and sea and rocks. I sat on the rocks and began my goodbyes. The weather was turning the next day and the winds were due to pick up the following afternoon so I had changed my shuttle ride and ferry to the morning, instead of later in the day.

It was difficult to start my goodbyes. I sang to the sea. Thank-yous poured from my heart. There was great sadness yet a feeling of incredible support to return back home and continue my work.

As I came down the steep hill from the chapel I felt immense energy coming with me. I felt taller and felt the support of the Ancestors…like Silver Lights. It was a tremendous energetic presence. And it stayed with me as I walked down the street, into the B & B and all the way home. It was like I left something hidden on Árainn long, long ago knowing I would find it when the time was right.

Drifting off to sleep that night I felt the white horse against my face, her warmth and sweet, horse smell made me smile. The energetic presence that had followed me down the hill surrounded me as I journeyed into the dreamtime.

With the strength of the Ancestors I walked with courage into a chaotic world as I left Árainn. Rocks grounded me to Mother Earth. The sea carried me on waves of power. Wind lifted me to heights I could scarcely imagine. Fire of the sun lit the way.

I don’t know what I most miss of Árainn. Sweet bird song among thickets of tightly woven shrubs; craggy, sheer cliffs dropping into the sea; prehistoric stone structures constructed 3500 years ago; green, thick, lush grass; wind that whips and flattens everything in its path; rain that falls in sheets as it moves across the island; soft sand that feels like powdered sugar under bare feet; the sea….the land…the Spirits.

It was a foggy ferry ride back to the mainland of Ireland the next morning. It felt appropriate to hide Árainn in the mist, in the magical mist.

It’s not about changing the world. It’s about opening more to the wisdom found in Nature….its cycles, seasons and persistence speak to me.

Go raibh maith agat, Árainn…..Thank you, Árainn.

An Lá Foirfe….The Perfect Day.

An Lá Foirfe, I

An Lá Foirfe, I

The first day of my solo adventure was the absolute perfect weather day. Skies were beautiful blue with white, puffy clouds and the temperature was warm. It was quite a shift from the blustery wind and rain from the previous night.

The only plan I had was to rent a bicycle and take my camera along on a ride. The intention was to see what wild places called my spirit and follow.

I felt drawn to the end of the island I had not yet explored so pedaled until the road terminated and leaned the bike against a rock fence. The stile in the fence led to a nice path leading through a rabbit-filled meadow. I had no idea where it went but it looked inviting so I unpacked my camera from the pack and set off on foot toward the sea.

The grasses along the hills were lush and heavy. A part of me wanted to lay in them and rest in their softness but the path called to my adventuresome spirit.

Before too long the flat rocks known as Glasson Rocks appeared. I remember reading about the tragedy that occurred there in 1852. It is the place where 15 men were swept into the sea by a small tidal wave while they were fishing.

While researching my route later, I discovered the little valley near the rocks is known as Gleann na nDeor, the Vale of Tears. It’s where people used to watch ships leave filled with Irish people leaving for America. I can only imagine the sadness the land must still carry from the tears shed there.

The path followed the intersection of land and sea and the gentle slope of the land as it grew in height. Not far from Glasson Rocks there was access to rocks that were underwater at high tide. I carefully watched the sea before entering the tidal zone and found myself asking permission to enter. The power of the place was palpable.

I slowly moved below the cliff through wet rocks keeping my awareness on the sea and the height of waves. I experienced feelings of awe at the beauty mingled with respect for the sea and a slight tingle of healthy fear of rogue waves. I didn’t linger there as my intuitive voice was urging me to find a safer location to appreciate wild nature.

There might have been a heavy sigh of relief from my guardian angel after I found higher ground. The grassy path felt like an old friend and I settled into the task of climbing through the rocks as the incline took a turn toward steep. But the scramble up through the karst and grass was worth it.

The 300 foot drop into the sea was breathtaking. All week I longed for a vista such as this. I had seen similar views but only from a great distance. I felt such joy that this magnificent place called me to it. I simply had to surrender, listen, and follow the call to find it.

My camera was busy documenting the place while my spirit was absorbing beauty so absolute I found myself shouting thank you to the rocks and sea. I felt the rhythms of sea and tides and waves in my bones as joy cascaded through me like water on the rocks below cascaded back to the sea.

When it felt like I had taken-in as much beauty as possible, I turned back to the trail and began the descent. But more beauty awaited as I passed places that looked completely different from the ascending point of view.

At one point I stopped to photograph the angle of cliff and sea, the turquoise ocean contrasted beautifully with the dark rocks. As I was looking through the viewfinder on my camera and pressing the shutter, a  rogue wave leaped at least 20 feet over my head. I had seen no waves that high on the way up nor while I was observing from the top. It was a strange feeling to realize that the location of the wave was where I had walked below and experienced such uneasy feelings.

I’m not sure how I wasn’t completely soaked but not one drop of water touched me….or more importantly, my camera gear. And even more importantly, I wasn’t in that dangerous place beneath the cliff when the unexpected wave crashed onto shore. But I understood why my internal warning alarms were loudly screaming at me while I was down there.

After a few moments of jitters, I continued my walk down and around the point of Árainn. Back through the rabbit meadow I went, through the stile in the rock wall, to my waiting bicycle.

I cycled back to the B & B to shed layers as the day was warming rapidly and I was very much overdressed. The plan was to go to the pub to eat lunch but as I cycled toward Killeany, I saw a historical sign that read, Dún Dubhchathair–The Black Fort. It felt like a magnet pulling me so I quickly turned left onto the little lane and pedaled. Lunch could wait.

The ratty mountain bike I rented wasn’t the best bicycle but it did okay on rocky, unpaved road as I left pavement and continued pedaling. Eventually I had to abandon the bicycle along the rock fence and hike up the remaining incline.

When I reached the top, the historical marker was pointing…but what direction? The entire landscape was a field of karst with grass growing between the gray rocks. Hiking was challenging with close attention having to be given. There was no path. Just a general direction and no fort in sight.

Again, I followed the pull of the sea and eventually found the remains of the fort; however, it wasn’t the fort that was so spectacular–it was the fields of karst and the sheer drop into the Atlantic Ocean. Once more, the yearned-for spot called me to it. I was nearly ecstatic. It was difficult containing the emotions that wanted expression…. gratitude…. joy…. excitement… happiness… peace… exhilaration… appreciation… wonder… awe.

I reflected on my desire to find these places of wild, spectacular beauty all week. I wanted to photograph them. And for me the process of photographing places offers a deeper connection to them as I open myself to more than the seen and invite the unseen essence and energy of a place to speak to me, whisper its secrets.

It was challenging to comprehend the magnificent gift that was unfolding with every step of the journey on that perfect day. As I sat in solitude and stillness at Dún Dubhchathair, I pondered the process of manifestation. With an open heart I visualized exactly what I wanted all week. I had no attachment to it yet felt the longing build–I want to be where the sea and rocks meet…I want to see it…feel it…photograph it. It was a physical experience of longing, like wanting to reconnect with a long-lost lover. So why was I so surprised that what my heart most longed for came to pass? All day…at every turn….the vision I cultivated manifested over and over again.

An Lá Foirfe…The Perfect Day–Part I

 

 

Oilithreacht

Oilithreacht

The structure of the five day Celtic Spirituality retreat allowed gracious time to explore solo. Our group spent quality time together but many hours were spent on my own where I connected deeply with the land, sea and sky as well as the elemental energies of the special island of Árainn or Inis Mor, Ireland.

When the retreat was over most everyone of our group of twelve left the island on the 5pm ferry with the exception of one couple and me. I moved to a bed and breakfast near Killeany. After settling in I walked the 1.63 miles into the small town to meet them at the pub for dinner.

I left Joe Watty’s pub filled with good food and memories of companionship but ready to be by myself. Rain…cold rain…and wind caused me to pull the hood of my rain jacket close. For a moment I felt lost and lonely after several days of delightful connections. On that walk in the darkening night in the cold rain I felt like a Pilgrim beginning a new journey, happy to have the freedom but small, cold and alone.

But those feelings lasted only a few moments and lifted just as the rain stopped. I walked on with appreciation for new beginnings and anxious to spend the next two days exploring that end of the island.

One of the closing rituals we did in the workshop was to write a blessing for ourself, for the journey of our life. I share it as a blessing for all who walk the path of the Pilgrim, ever seeking deeper connection with the Divine….within and without.

May I allow the wind to guide me as I release the fears that keep me small.

May I embrace the beauty of my heart and know the home it creates for me.

May I dance with wild abandon in celebration of my Spirit.

May I leap upon the Sacred White Horse and journey with Her through star-filled skies, able to see into the darkness and call forth the dawn.

May I share freely of beauty through word, song and images as Nature calls me deeper into Her embrace.

May I honor the strength and courage within me and accept the help of others, both seen and unseen, in the fulfillment of my promise to Mother Earth.

May I dive into depths of the sea and listen with an open heart to the Voice of the Sea and Her creatures and share the message that longs for expression.

May I become intoxicated on the fragrance of the Rose that blooms within my heart and stagger in delirious dance ever-toward the Spirit that calls my name.

Oilithreacht….Pilgrimage

Beannachtaí

Beannachtaí

The pilgrimage to Árainn or Inis Mor, Ireland brought such deep contemplation and expansion for me. The stories I could share are many.

Like the old man who stumbled and whispered his life story to me and apologized for it in a small cafe. He taught me how the story we tell and re-tell weaves the life we experience. We come to believe a personal myth that too easily becomes a permanent judgment we settle upon ourselves.

Or the story of walking up to the fort again at night under the half-moon. Stars were brilliant, wind soft and distant waves crashing kept me singing to that bass drum as I climbed. The moon glade on the sea was moving with ripples like a golden sea serpent and I sat in the highest section of the fort viewing the Milky Way as the sea sang 300 feet beneath me.

Those stories might appear later in expansion. But today, I want to share a blessing I wrote while on retreat.

May the beauty of your own heart rise above the filter of your mind to infuse your thoughts with peace, kindness and love.

May the strength of your heart give you courage to love openly and without requirement.

May the dreams held within your heart be given wings to transport them beyond doubt and fear.

May your heart open like petals of the most beautiful flower and may you drink deeply from the sweet nectar and become drunk on the fragrance.

May your heart know the precious gift of love given freely, expecting nothing in return.

May the life that longs to live through you be born through your magnificent heart.

Beannachtaí…Blessings

An Fharraige

An Fharraige

Before breakfast I walked to the Sea. It was just out the guesthouse and down the hill past the cemetery and the pasture full of cows and lush, green grass. The rock wall opening had a slanted walkway that led to the sand.

Grass and flowers, then large strands and piles of kelp lay between me and the gently lapping waves. The tides on Árainn or Inis Mor, Ireland are 18 feet daily so there are great spans of beach covered every day with the clear, cold Atlantic Ocean.

I took off my boots and socks and rolled up my pants. I wanted nothing separating my toes and the sea. It was shocking how cold the water was but admittedly, it felt amazing on feet that rarely are confined by shoes and had been in boots for days. But 57 degree water for a tropical gal? Someone saw people swimming the day before but to be clear, it wasn’t me.

The soft texture of the sand–like flour–and the cold water was such a contrast. The sensory differences made my body rejoice. Laughter and song erupted as I played along the shore.

The colors of softest gray to creamy white were mixed in large ripples in the sand and their intertwining dance was so lovely it brought tears. Muted, mixed well yet distinctly different colors.

Perhaps our relationship with Spirit is like that. So much the same….One…yet the colors of our distinct beingness give way to patterns of such beauty.

When I feel lonely I will recall those sands and know that God and all of creation form such a lovely mosaic of creative amazement. Individually unique yet part of the same matter that is stars, sand and brown eyes through which I behold the beauty.

An Fharraige….The Sea.