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.
After breakfast I went for a ramble. Surrendered to the direction that called, I let it guide my feet.
Up the lane, around the high road, past an Irish Cob and her filly, around the bend, down the hill and to an intersection. One of many historic markers was posted so I followed it down a rocky path.
Clochán na Carraige, the sign said. So I followed it and several smaller arrows through fields, over stone walls through stiles, across a bog and finally to a beehive hut.
As I reached the hut, far up on the hill behind a maze of stone walls, was a beautiful white horse. Her mane was streaming in the wind and I said to her, “I want to meet you!” But the reality was there was no way to figure out how to navigate the network of walls.
I explored the stone hut, a remnant of green martyrdom of Celtic monks who tried to prove their love of Christ by living a life of extreme penance. It was in great condition considering it was built in perhaps the 8th century and is regularly visited by farm animals as well as humans.
By the time I finished walking around it and climbed through the stile in the stone fence, the white horse disappeared.
After lunch our small group gathered and met with Dara Ó Maoildhia, a Celtic priest who lived as a modern-day hermit in 1985 on Árainn. He now works as a guide to the historic and sacred sites of the island.
Our first stop? The Beehive Hut–Clochán na Carraige.
After we wandered down the hill and through the stiles and across mucky pastures and the bog, we climbed up to the hut and there, waiting for us, was the white horse.
I stopped and stared in disbelief and then said the words…”I don’t believe this!”
Fiona, my name for her, stole the show from Dara. She greeted everyone in our group, some with great gusto. She made faces at us, frisked a few, nibbled a few ears and nuzzled necks and then rolled in cow poo, jumped up and went through her comedy routine once more.
When I first saw her on the hill I was taken with her beauty and thought she was symbolic of the evolving Divine Feminine within me. It made no small impression on me that she was waiting, reminding me of the strength and beauty growing within my life.
After a long day I felt the ‘call’ to walk up to the hill fort–long after darkness descended. Kilmurvey Village, where I was staying, is at the base of the historic ruins so it wasn’t a hardship to get there. Layers, a hat and my trusty, waterproof flashlight was all I needed to make the journey up the winding stair, as Yeats so eloquently wrote.
Wind whipped me as I stepped outside at Kilmurvey House. The sky was cloudy with no visible light from the moon.
The narrow lane leading to the base of the path that winds upwards is lined by an old stone wall on the left, overlooking a green pasture and a row of tall hedges on the right. I walked through dark shadows cast by the hedge.
As I passed through the open gate leading to the trail, I felt a shift in my mind as it calmed and focused on the task. I was guided to keep my flashlight beam pointed down, away from the pastures and sleeping cows as a show of respect for them and other wild creatures that might be enjoying the cover of darkness.
So on I moved, up the narrow beam of light as if on a causeway of narrow land surrounded by black water. I could hear the booming sea in the distance which enhanced the sense of walking surrounded by water.
My mind wandered back to the simple ritual we did earlier that evening in our Celtic Spirituality workshop….burn something we wish to release–I wrote on a strip of paper: Fear that keeps me small. Followed by igniting something we wish to create or birth: Deepening and expanding my work with nature, bridging communication with all creatures and humans.
As I climbed in the dark I thought of releasing fear that keeps me small… letting go of the seeds of fear that can be deeply rooted.
The path steepened as I climbed and went from a smooth, graveled surface to a rocky, slippery one. Seemed a perfect reflection of life. The closer we get to our true nature, the more care we must use when navigating the journey….stay calm and focused, slow down and choose wisely where footsteps are placed for the broken battlement of past inner wars can trip us unless we are mindful.
Entry into the fort is through a small opening in the rock fortification and as I passed through it another dimension unfolded.
Wind was strong so I opted to stay in the lower, larger circle and found a place in the center to sit. I extinguished the flashlight and sat facing the sea. An occasional off-shore light blinked far away at the horizon. The distant lights of Connemara twinkled and overhead the clouds parted briefly to reveal a few stars hanging so close.
A strong presence was felt as I listened to the Spirit of the place. I felt perfectly safe as I sat in darkness. It was as if the physical darkness illuminated the inner light found within all life. And after a time of quietness I said aloud:
I rise with the strength of Heaven.
Light of the sun, radiance of the moon, splendor of the stars.
Swiftness of Air
Power of Flame
Depth of Sea
Stability of Earth
I rise with a Mighty Strength
Because I know the Oneness of All Creation
The dedication I have done daily for over a year resounded off of rock walls and into the winds. There was a pause, as if the energies around me received not only the words but the intention behind them. Then the wind swirled and carried my dedication to the directions.
After expressing gratitude for the place and experience, I passed back through the threshold and carefully walked down, down, down past sleeping cows and active snails and slugs traversing the path.
I passed the well as it gurgled at the base of the path and found the lane to be much less shadowy as I returned to the guest house. For this lovely, refreshing and powerful experience I am grateful.
Oíche ag Dún Aonghusa….Night at Dún Aonghusa
——
Dún Aonghusa is a prehistoric circular fortification built in 1500BC. It sits atop a 300 foot sheer cliff on the Atlantic Ocean on the island of Árainn or Inis Mor. The Celts built on sacred sites such at this.
I climbed the pathway to Dún Aonghusa. The thunderous roar of the sea meeting earth spoke to me….again the Voice. It reverberated throughout my heart as a drum and I felt it open wide and clear in Oneness.
As I walked up the steep hill to the ancient fortication, all of my walls crumbled and I became an open channel for Spirit to move through…a flute for the Winds of Heaven to play and bring forth beautiful music.
The place, perched atop a 300 foot cliff, invited contemplation. It invited me to move deeply into the tides of my inner life and become the observer of the ebb and flow, the inner cycles.
The rocks, so perfectly stacked against intruders, created patterns and textures that delighted my eyes. Soft, fine grass growing against hard, course rock gave stark contrast that reflected the contradictions that are so common with life.
I stopped to view the Chevaux de Frise–large stones placed at awkward angles in the ground to prevent enemy soldiers and their horses getting through. Due to the delicate balance of the ancient stone placements, a modern metal gate had been erected. The sections were down; however, and the metal pipes that held them upright stood in the strong wind. Holes were drilled in them and beautiful, otherworldly harmonies sang out. With the booming bass of the sea and the higher flute-like melodies played by the wind, it created a natural concert of the sweetest music.
If a metal pipe can be an instrument, cannot I be one?
The window from my room at the bed & breakfast overlooked the ruin. Michael, the trap and horse driver, recommended a visit there and gave directions. So I left Tigh Fitz and crossed the road, heading south to the first road. I turned right and after a short distance came upon a narrow pathway that led up through pastures where fuzzy cows laid chewing their cud.
It was nearing sunset so I moved steadily upward, the rich light calling me with urgency. Over stiles I climbed, through rock fences and briars that hugged the footpath, using flat rocks to stay free of black mud.
The little church of St Benan was probably built in the 11th century* and was possibly used by a hermit associated with a nearby monastery. According to Dara Ó Maoildhia, in ancient times travelers visited Árainn, or Inis Mor. Irish monks, at one time, would take pilgrimages to the island that were as important as those to Jerusalem and Rome.
But the history wasn’t what I was focused on. As I crested the top of the steep, grassy hill I felt it–the thundering voice of the sea meeting craggy, dark rock face of the Irish shoreline. It reverberated loudly through flat rocks that covered the landscape. I climbed thinking I would visit Teampall Bheanáin, ruins of a small chapel, but it was the sea that truly called me.
As I climbed beyond Teampall Bheanáin, layers of cracked and broken karst crisscrossing in mind-blowing patterns lead to the crashing sea. Distant walls of stacked stone created even more patterns for my eyes to feast upon.
I paused to take a couple of photographs but quickly walked through an expanse of rocky grassland to the Voice calling me. It wasn’t as if the edge of a cliff was nearby and the huge waves blew spray on me…it was a quarter mile away and the roar of the sea meeting shore created an underlying boom that I felt through my bones. The sound reverberated upwards through my body and anchored me fully in the present moment.
After several moments of feeling awestruck, I moved forward. There was such sweet communion and bliss between the deep bass of the sea and me. And while I cannot share the depth of experience because that is beyond description by words, I can say that when a Voice with such strength and presence speaks, the only option is to give It undivided attention.
The vibration of the thundering Voice opened a doorway within me, a Threshold appeared and I felt steady and ready to walk through it.
Thus began my journey on Árainn. Safe passage through the week I was there and back over Galway Bay to the mainland of Ireland have come about but echoes of the Voice reverberate still through the corridors of my being days after my first encounter with It.
Do Ghrá Árainn…..For the love of Árainn
*Dara Ó Maoildhia wrote a wonderful little guide for all seekers traveling to Árainn. It is filled with great information about the island, especially for those intending a pilgrimage. It is called A Pocket Guide to Árainn: Legends in the Landscape and can be purchased on the island or you can email Dara and get a copy before you travel there….it helped me to learn as much as possible before going.
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.
