Tag: conscious change
Brigid’s Cross

Brigid’s Cross

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This summary of the recent journey to Ireland has been avoided because it brings the experience to another level of finality. I want the travels to remain open and fresh and ever-expanding in my heart and mind. Alas, it is time to reflect and accept the many gifts and let them rest peacefully.

There were many powerful moments; perhaps the most meaningful experience of the trip was at a small convenience store where a post office clerk gifted me with a freshly made Brigid’s cross.

I planned the trip so arrival would be on Brigid’s Day or Imbolc, a cross-quarter day between Winter Solstice and Spring Equinox. Imbolc celebrates the first-stirrings of spring and was originally a festival associated with the goddess Brigid and fertility. It was later Christianized into the festival of St. Brigid…who was based on the Gaelic goddess.

Tradition calls for reeds to be gathered every Imbolc and woven into a cross. The cross is usually placed on the hearth as a reminder to honor the home and family. The next year it is burned and a new cross woven and placed.

When I saw the cross, I asked the clerk if she made it. She said her sister did and asked if I would like to have it. It was such an act of generosity and kindness. I politely thanked her but said I couldn’t take her cross. She said, “I can get another one, please take it.”

Tears filled my eyes and my voice cracked as I tried to thank her. Finally, I was able to speak a proper thank-you.

The cross sat on the dash of the car as I drove through the Burren. It waited patiently as I visited the Poulnabrone dolmen burial chamber and had an otherworldly experience with my Celtic whistle and spirits of the land and sky.

The green cross sat on the window sill in the bedroom of the cottage I stayed at in Doolin. It was there watching the two horse neighbors, the sacred hill where the moon set every morning and the Atlantic Ocean in the distance.

It was there as I drifted off to blissful sleep after traditional Irish music that sent my soul soaring. It was there when I dreamed of finding a harp and learned the saying, “It is now strung and shall be heard,” Ireland’s call to arise from persecution and claim their right to freedom.

Brigid’s Cross traveled to the Maumturk Mountains and heard my anxious words as snow fell and temperatures dropped as I drove toward Killary Fjord and the village of Leenane. It heard the first, tentative notes of the new whistles I adopted from traditional music stores….adventures in their own right.

It heard the story of the hilarious attempt at candle-lighting at the small, Gothic cathedral at Kylemore Abbey; it witnessed the wild attempt to hike the upper reaches of Diamond Hill in Connemara National Park.

The many beautiful moments at the Cliffs of Moher, beaches, rocky grasslands, steep-mountainous roads, villages….are all stored in the reeds of the cross. As well, feelings of gratitude, love, excitement, wonder, awe, bliss, grief, courage and ‘home’ fill the spiral design.

After months of singing to Brigid every morning as a daily dedication and intentionally planning my travels to coincide with Her day, the simple cross created and gifted with love is the symbol that ignites my memories of a land for which I am profoundly grateful.

On arrival to Ireland–after landing, picking up the rental car and beginning the drive from Dublin towards Doolin–I randomly chose an exit on the motorway to find food. Nothing was close to the highway so I took a turn and ended up passing Brigid’s Well in Kildare. I felt Her welcoming spirit so strongly. It is difficult to believe I didn’t stop and visit this holy well. What was I thinking? 

The only other regret I have from those 10 days is not returning to the Doolin Hotel for music the Monday before leaving for northern Connemara. The music there was transformational to my soul…(sigh).

I could return and spend a month in Doolin wandering the countryside and enjoying the serenity of the land and immense strength of the Atlantic Ocean. The music could carry me to other dimensions as I once again found myself in my spiritual home.

What is a spiritual home? A place that supports and nurtures us to be the fullest expression of higher self. For me, the wild, west coast of Ireland has twice awakened me to freedom to be myself–connected to land, sea and sky in complete surrender. The relationship I share with the land there is profound and deep, ever-evolving into greater understanding of what it means to consciously walk upon this sacred planet.



 
What If

What If

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The journey to Ireland has been a wonderful one. Staying in cottages or apartments has gone well until last night. The house was okay but the heating system didn’t work so well. But after wandering around outside I understood more of the issue that created unease.

It snowed last night so this morning I walked down the gravel driveway to a beautiful river lined with old trees and their moss-covered limbs. I played one of my new whistles for the creatures of the woodland.

As the music flowed, I sensed an appreciation for the tune from the spirits of nature. It felt as if they had been shoved aside from the small development of homes that destroyed part of the woodlands around the site. The music seemed to soothe and feed the beautiful elemental energies that had been forgotten.

All along the way I have been playing my Irish whistles, speaking words of gratitude, walking as softly as possible and doing my best to capture the essence of these places through photography and writing. Today I felt moved to write about the ones that are ignored when contemplating building, developing or altering a natural environment.

What if we took the time to tell the Earth, Thank you! every day. What if we played music to nurture the Earth. Or read poetry to Her. What if we made a conscious connection to Earth and Her many creatures and beings that reside here. What if we saw the Earth as a conscious being–different from our consciousness–but conscious still….

What if?
The Magic of Ireland

The Magic of Ireland

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Back in September I spent ten days in Ireland, mostly on the island of Inis Mor. The pull was strong to return to the land where I felt most free, most able to be myself.

So four months later I find myself sitting in a cottage on a hill in Doolin looking at stars twinkle through the window before me while the lights of the village twinkle down the hill. Beyond that, the mighty Atlantic Ocean.

Yesterday the Cliffs of Moher called to my spirit as I hiked the muddy path perched high upon the edge. Even with the multitudes of humanoids that visit during the summer season, the power of the land and sea remains steady and enormous.

By way of recommendation of a shop owner, my friend and I traveled to Ennis and I purchased a new Irish whistle to add to my collection of Irish instruments, the intention being to purchase it on the visit and play it in various locations. I wanted to infuse the sweet sounds of it with the magic of Ireland.

Today found us on a beach during low tide. Rivulets of sea water reflecting the sky reminded me of the sea running through my veins and I felt at one with the land and ocean…perhaps more so than ever before.

The Poulnabrone Dolmen has called to me from the first time I saw photographs of it so it was on the list of places to visit. When we arrived heavy clouds were moving in and after being at the portal tomb for only a few minutes, it began to rain and sleet. Everyone left but me…and the spirits of the place.

I kept my camera out and removed the whistle from my pack and sat down. The wind made playing very difficult but I managed to produce a few sweet notes. As a played I sent love and thoughts for a peaceful rest and afterlife for those thirty-three individuals that had been laid to rest there perhaps 5000 years ago.

From my heart I played and then stopped, closed my eyes and dropped into stillness. The rain stopped. The clouds parted and within minutes the only clouds in the sky overhead were feathery wisps that seemed to decorate the top stone.

Tonight at a local pub, Irish music filled my heart and brought tears of joy. The magic of Ireland is helping rekindle the magic within me. And for that I am ever so grateful.

Keepers of the Light

Keepers of the Light

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People who tended lighthouses were referred to as keepers of light. They maintained lights that kept ships from crashing onto the shore before there was LORAN, GPS, sonar, and automated lights along coastlines. They were vital to survival of crews and cargo.

During winter seasonal celebrations happening around the Solstice, we are reminded of light so keenly because we experience the shortening of days. Nights lengthen, darkness grows and we are directed inward…to our homes and hearths….to ourselves.

Light of fires, candles, Christmas trees and other decorations kindle our since of wonder and appreciation for that which illuminates the darkness. Yet we sometimes forget that we carry within us the essence of light that can be the most beautiful of lights.

May humans awaken to the light within and become keepers of that sacred light. May we help each other navigate these times of darkness. May we be beacons of hope, love and compassion…of Light.