The Final Day

As we came back from Loughcrew last night, stopping off in Cavan for a visit to the street festival of music going on, the hostel was brimming with life of the day’s activity. All around us were people getting ready for the next day’s events while we were dreading the following last day. The last full day of being present in Ireland, the last full day of being with our people, and the last full day of our journey bringing with it a sense of bittersweet emotion. Monday will be a day where we visit a few places and then turn the car in at the airport awaiting for our very early flight; the good news is we’ll be home by Tuesday afternoon and sleeping in our big king size bed with our precious kittens and hopefully our daughter in her room.

How can I even begin to summarize the last 40 days of our pilgrimage back? I can state emotions from happiness, to dread, to tiredness and sorrow. I can express visually the journey from the Holy Isle to the Mellifont Abbey. I can relate tales of past troubles, ones perceived by others in our future, and yet they do not even begin to come close to what I want to say. I can say this – I will miss the many people we know, have come to know, and I can say that I will often think of them in my return to our “normal” life.

Sacred. Liminal. They are two words that really describe my feelings, as I awoke so very early this morning, while contemplating the last month and a half. Standing in the cool breeze, as I watched the sunrise and whispered a good morning to the Emerald Isle, I reflected back upon yesterday’s events as we stood inside an ancient place while drumming and singing. Our voices echoed outside as the other tourists wondered what and who it was praising the Earth and beating a heartbeat melody to our ancestors. It was very liminal and sacred to do.

Our friends put together a tent for us to sleep in, Heather and Oak, and laid down sheepskins to keep the ground chill from our bodies. On top they laid out two very comfortable and long blankets and I slept like a rock. I listened to the animals – ducks, chickens, crows, and Jack the donkey – as they sang their natural songs. Before I knew it I was fast asleep only to be awaken by the soft pattering of rain, which didn’t last long, and then as the sun began his slow trek on the morning sky I was up.

I hadn’t been up that early for most of this trip, with the exception of the first week, and yet I could not sleep any longer than that. Sacred. Liminal. These two words hold so much more meaning for me now than before. I think they will resonate with me for the rest of my life as I look for other examples in other places.

The relationships we create become sacred to us and when we are away from those it goes into a sort of liminal state, waiting for us to return, waiting for us to return home.

On Sacredness and Liminality

I came here to try and define what was sacred, along with liminal, with the intent on finding the right picture in which to portray it. I am leaving here with memories of so many of my old friends, along with new friends, and the many conversations with them on said subject. It can be said a church is sacred with the altar set before the masses and the priest standing before you uttering messages of faith, or a sacred site in which the ancient Irish once stood upon waiting for the fires of the Harvest to be lit, but what it really comes down to is the community where one lives. This I learned from many conversations with community leaders, musicians and authors.

In all the pictures I have taken there are but a few that truly portray that sacredness. I am not sure any “one” picture can correctly even catch it, except for those that reveal the work of community, or the gathering of community members. I happened to catch a few; one on the isle of Iona where a set of boats are seen gathering crab traps and the other was a festival in the community of Gleann Colm Cille. Perhaps those are the only ones that truly capture the spirit of sacredness.

But notwithstanding those churches, statues, places or locations that are deemed sacred. For they, in their rightful place, inspire vast amounts of people to undergo a pilgrimage in order to gain some unseen insight or religious experience. I myself sought out to find such places for said happenstance and was fortunate to have had my own experiences, of which I will keep to myself, finding an inner peace that I had not had for some time. I can say that it was a place, on Iona, that I had this experience and it caused me to ponder on others experiences.

It is the relationships, friendships and acquaintances I met along the way that really made this whole trip worthwhile. In the conversations with them, I began to see how others view “sacredness” or “liminality”, and gain an even deeper understanding. It has also brought an understanding to the front of my mind about a search of this type; everyone has their own idea of what they are and no one way is the right way. So then I will take what pictures I have, adding a few more along during the last few days of my journey, and I will define what Sacredness and Liminalty are from my point of view, in this I will add to the vast collection of what many communities and people have already collaborated on.

"Sacredness is that which is life and Liminality is her sister known as experience, of which I am very rich with." - P.M.Sattler

Nearly the End and New Beginnings

As we near the end of our journey, with only a week to go, I am sitting here with a sort of sadness I had felt only a year and a half ago. To know that in less than a week we shall be back on home ground is a sobering feeling and I just can’t get over how quick the time went. We had traveled to Ireland and then to Scotland in what now seems a whirlwind of adventure and revelation. I had no idea it would be so fast, then again maybe I did and that is why we came a second time.

They say you have to visit Iona at least three times and if this is true then I know we will be back at least two more times. I am not sure why they say it, but something about it seems right. The next time I plan on visiting all the Hebrides Isles and spending time at many of the local sites of Holy Wells and ruins. Something about those isles, like Iona, just calls to me and I feel strongly pulled towards them.

Iona. I still dream of her, walking her slopes and passing through her valleys seems so right to me. On the hill of Dun I, I found a peace that I had not felt since I was in my 20s, in a place known as Waldo’s Canyon near Woodland Park, Colorado; something I had searched for in many locations. What is it about these quiet places that draw me from so far away?

I could tell you stories of strange happenings in those places but then I take away the mystery and awe of them, instead leaving them open to be argued or disbelieved. Why would I arm anyone with that weapon?

I keep thinking of my future, what to do for my Masters, and I keep going back to “Soil and Soul” by Alastair MacIntosh. Perhaps the reason he resonates with me is because I believe as he does and that old communities held something far more important than profit margins or “economic potential”. They hold history in a way we can only read about, or hear about from some old soul who had been in “that” time, and I yearn for something like that to be in the here and now.

It has given me a lot to think about. To take my cultural studies background and do exactly what I have wanted and bring into it sustainable studies in an effort to preserve such special places, not just in America but anywhere in the world where such a site exists. This “past” we research is alive in ruins, stories and music, we have but to only tap into the generational well to receive it and be patient enough to learn it while preserving it. Why is this so hard to do?

I find myself answering before I even contemplate it and I do not want to seem brash or quick witted but it is usually because they sit upon, or near, some precious resource. A resource not thought of so long ago, as needs were basic, which only today has become a market commodity. It makes me think of the old sites in America, how I wish to be able to find those, and how we can help all Americans preserve them.

So where do I go from here and how do I proceed?

I have a good idea, and even better ones at how to be ecologically minded, the trick is getting there in a way that shapes a framework for others to follow. That my friends is the bigger goal!

Going from There to Here

As we entered into the Republic of Ireland we passed through the town of Cladys, a border village between the two parts of the isle, and you could see the ghostly remnants of the Troubles. The barricades and fence stood as a silent testimony of the turmoil from the past and we drove in silence taking it all in. How is one supposed to feel when they witness first-hand the apparition of the past so startling?

From there we could feel a distinct difference in the “feel” of where we were now. The tension seemed to melt away, like the icing of a cake on a hot summer day, and we breathed a sigh of relief knowing we were now back in the part we considered home. Soon we hit Donegal town and the familiar scenes played before us as if we had never left. The sky opened up and began to rain as if to wash away the trouble moments from being in Belfast and cleanse us of the tension we felt inside. It did not take long to drive up that road that would lead us down towards the Gleann.

Gleann Colm Cille, a village in the Gaeltacht, rose before our teary eyes and we both shared a moment of elated happiness. We rounded the corner, passed Biddy’s then Roarity then the Glen’s Head and straight to Ionad Siúl where we would stay for the next five nights and six days. We checked in and were shown around, placed our food in the frig and cupboards, and I walked a familiar road I had done so many times last spring towards Oideas Gael.

When I entered Liam looked at me and asked me in Gaelic how I was in which I replied “iontach”. Not a moment had passed, the genuine smile and warm greeting confirmed what I had hoped – I was home. I said hello to Siobhon and Gearadin and told them we were in town and walked back to the hostel. It was a homecoming I was looking forward to and I was glowing with a deep happiness I had not felt since we left. I had also regained what I left behind.

The first day was great as we began to meet our hostel roommates, all which were very happy and friendly people taking the language classes at Oideas Gael, and which I have since befriended on Facebook to keep in touch. The Sunday we were there though we were awoke to a fire alarm, startling us from a deep sleep, and the rest of our stay another less intense alarm would ring frequently; most likely signifying some sort of electrical short somewhere in the fuse box. That would be the only inconvenience as it became the hostel joke of where to find Charlie and just how many of us could reach him by phone.

Monday came fast, so I wanted to get a few pictures of the cistern below the old Church of Ireland, the structure built next to Turas 1 of St. Columba’s pilgrimage around town, and I went to see Liam. Now he had been battling a cold so he handed me the keys and warned me of how slick it was and that I was to take special care for insurance sake but he stayed behind and left me to do what I had to do without even worrying whether or not I would fall or leave it open for others. I truly felt as if I earned a high level of trust and within the hour I was back with the keys for Liam; the place was all locked and secure.

When I returned I showed him the pictures and one I got of the light coming down the shaft flooding the small underground area was extremely captivating. He liked it a lot and complimented me on my “fine eye”. What can I say? I was just elated I had earned his trust to be able to go into a locked area that only two people had the keys for and here I was going down into an area that was as old as the original village.

The story is that it was made to hide the special artifacts of the church in times of raids or trouble, and later food if necessary, where people would not be able to access it or find it. It is made similar in style to the old portal tombs with the overlapping slabs of stone making it damn near dry. Of course it wasn’t made like it exactly so some moisture seeps in, but for the most part it would have been a great place to hide things. I sat in the darkness for a few moments thanking the universe for this rare opportunity.

Tuesday came and it was time to leave our home and head for Peterswell, near Gort, and spend a few days with our musician friend Christopher DeLaney. Talk about a gem! This guy is the real McCoy and his hospitality stretched farther than the Liffey. He had a room made up for us and hesitated not in the least to open his home to us. Paddy Mór had given us a bunch of wine, which was very good as we would find out, and we broke it out and drank a few bottles that night; relishing in tales of our past, his past and current events. It is amazing at how similar the politics of greed are no matter where you go.

The next day we toured around Gort and just hung out with Christopher relaxing and enjoying a much needed break. Last Sunday, the fire alarm went off in the Gleann we had learned of our aunt Juana’s death, so we were both spent from the sadness that brought upon us and very much needed this. I have to say I feel inadequate, though I am not it is just the way one feels in such a situation, to lift Jill’s spirit up in such a case; but I stood by her side and let her cry while shedding my own tears.

This lady was amazing and it struck my mind, the whole reason of why I was here and taking pictures, as I had heard it time and time again. Sacred is family and the connection to the land. Sacred are the value one has in one’s self. Sacred are the communities we live in be it religious or secular, and how we relate to our neighbors. This sacredness is being taken away with modernity and the advent of “mass communication and corporations”. No longer do we have our children helping us bring in the cattle or tie up the fishing boat or tie up the seaweed, instead we place them in schools until they are so sick of it they no longer desire it and possess no self worth.

That vernacular activity is what gave so many in the past the desire to become something more than they thought they could be and it no longer exists in “civilized” nations. World powers seek to turn “undeveloped nations” into carbon copies and do away with their past and culture in hopes it will add to their resource portfolios and spur economic growth. They offer so much culture – art, music, folk tales – and instead of embracing it they seek to make them conform; But I digress, and the real point was to make clear what has changed and why.

But time moves on and we were now ready for Borrisoleigh in Tipperary. The place we would be staying is the Fairy Farm Hostel and when we arrived we had stepped out of the modern world and into the realm of the Fae. Michael greeted us and showed us to the main building where we would be staying and in the process we procured a private room for less than what we had paid in the Gleann. I must say the lore he has on the land around him is incredible and the stories he has already told us are amazing. I cannot wait to see what more we experience while we are here for the next five nights. Perhaps, we’ll even catch a glimpse of the Small Folk.

Bewildered Moments

So we ventured forth into the Belfast Museum of History and walked through the halls of Natural history into the bowels of the Troubles. I can say, as I said a year and a half ago, I was brought to tears. The vast rich history of Ireland never ceases to amaze me; the art, music and language born of a very colorful people. But the machines of empires can quickly spoil any appetite for identity.
As I finished reading several placards which detailed timelines and scenes of the Troubles I stepped outside for a smoke.

As I inhaled that calming smoke I noticed a gentleman to my right and jokingly asked if this was the smoking section. He chuckled and said he should quit and then we both shared a slight at the expense of governments and their irresponsibleness of spending the tax on other things than what they had promised; like education and so on. He then asked what we were doing in Belfast and I explained we were doing university projects and then I asked him what he did. He was a British soldier during the Troubles and the look in his eyes said it all.

I won’t say his name, out of respect for the fact he spoke with me about it, but what he told me sent a chill down my spine. It is easy to blame the other side, even easier to place that blame, but to hear the story from one on that side can be far more educational than a book or movie. I can say that he was given conflicting orders and that he did not like what he had to do, so much that after his 25 years of service he left England and moved to Belfast. By the end of the conversation we both had tears in our eyes, and as I said to him that there was nothing he could have done as he was following orders (and anyone in the service will tell you what happens to those who don’t!) and that at least he left the service.

He told us to stay in the city center for venturing outside of that zone could land us in a bad situation, and wished us a fine day. As we walked away I looked back and noted him looking at the ground. I think I felt like he did and wondered why such orders had come down to those who were just soldiers and why the brass upstairs did not have the nuts to do the murderous jobs themselves. Maybe it was because they were landed gentry?

We went back to our hostel and as I laid in bed thinking I wondered back to many of the pages of “Soil and Soul” and what Alastair McIntosh had written. I dreamt of explosions, gun fire and old men weeping into mugs of ale wondering if their wives had given birth as the fought a war that was based on 800 years of repression and internal colonization. I dreamt of my early 20s, of walking the streets late at night watching the horrible things that go on in dark alleys and even darker streets. And when I awoke I was really anxious to be out of Northern Ireland and back into the Republic.

Lughnasadh Revelations

On this day we walked to St. Columbus Bay and stood among the cairns reveling in the sea and rock. The wind was slight and the place was void of all but Jill and I. It made for quite the scene in which one could contemplate the world around them and that is exactly what we did. It also brought up decades old issues and resolutions that I had patiently worked through because I had the love of a fantastic partner in life.

When we returned to the B&B we both laid down for a brief nap. It was during this time images and scenes of my past crept into my mind reminding me of the darker place I had came from. I was not always so positive or hopeful like I am today; instead I was filled with anger, hate and discourse. I was lost in a world I thought would rather loose me, instead, as I later realized, it was always welcoming and waiting.

This revelation would not come to me at my younger years; instead it tempered me with lessons disguised in horrid experiences that would later reveal their truths through talking to a gentleman by the name of Gabriel Quincy Collymore. Sometimes one must walk in the darkness in order to gain the strength to prevent such madness to happen again.

It is not something I am proud of but in my days away from home I wandered the streets of Colorado Springs not knowing where I would end up. I saw some pretty horrible stuff, including an old man who was beaten by a group of teens simply because he walked on their “side” of the road. I idly sat by as this happened and did nothing, feeling the guilt of this action for decades, but I silently swore to God I would never do that again.

Years later I would be doing a midnight shift at a Circle K on Austin Bluffs Parkway and Oro Blanco when a group of teens attacked a customer. A friend had stopped by and as I ran past I told him not to let anyone leave. I opened the doors in time to witness this mob stomping on the customers head and drew my arm back as I charged the crowd. At that instant a county sheriff saw the group and pulled into the lot, but it was too late as the damage was done and the man lay in his own pool of blood.

They had to call the fire department to spray down the wall of all the blood and I myself who had helped the man up to keep him from drowning in his own blood had to wash my arms in bleach to prevent any sort of blood contamination. Even more years later while working at a Texaco I witnessed a man who had pulled in to get gas punch his wife in the face. I turned to my co-worker during the early morning shift and told him to call the police while I grabbed a mop and snapped off the fabric to make a club.

In the end she went inside as I held the man at bay and the cops arrived. I pressed charges but would later find out that she had dropped them and all was back to normal for the two. These senseless acts creep into my mind periodically to remind me of how life is so precious.

I lost my job at Circle K because I would not testify on behalf of the company; instead I stood with the poor man who could have been safe had my manager replaced the exterior lights weeks earlier. I lost my job at Texaco because I refused to drop the charges against the man who beat his wife and I began to develop an anger towards corporations who would rather sell out people than admit to things they could have done to better protect them and our environment.

I was angry at the world around me for not being able to recognize I could be an asset but created obstacles I had no idea how to overcome. I was angry at my family for failing to realize I did not even have a clue as to how to proceed in life with what I was born with. I was angry at the military for sending me home without ever trying me as a soldier simply because I had only one trigger finger, but what I did not realize is that the universe had different plans for me then, I just did not understand what they were.

It is incredible the kinds of people you meet along journeys around the world. Spiritual, kind and angelic beings who at the right time step into your life to reinforce the path one takes.

Interesting Bedfellows

The last few days have been very interesting but not in the sort of way one would think. You would think that coming to the Holy Isle one would find open minds and arms, but I found instead a deep divide in spiritual thought. What should have been a glorious week has been a somewhat minor disappointment. I can only chalk it up as one of those humbling times and equate it to what Saint Columba must have felt.

The Iona Hostel was indeed a technology free zone, so much that when I attempted to use my laptop on the second day to work on photographs I was reprimanded in front of other people about a “strict” policy about no computers in the kitchen or seating area. I was very much taken aback and floored. I had thought from reading their website that is was a place where internet and cable television, or television at all, we void of which I was okay.

Perhaps what truly struck me as unreasonable was the fact that nowhere was it posted, either facility or web site, of this fact and when I was told I could sit on my bunk and use it in my dorm room. I promptly packed up my laptop and Jill and I ventured into town to find a new place to stay. Unfortunately we would have to wait two days before that would happen.

We made the arrangements and went back to the hostel to inform them we would be leaving two days early and would like our money for those days. Then they told us we would have to wait until they filled the beds, as they plan a week ahead, and that if they could not fill them we would not get one. We said fine and went to our rooms and sort of sat there wondering why there were no postings and why they had to reprimand me in front of other house guests. I personally felt they had misrepresented their hostel on their website and did not feel it was right; nor did our dorm mates.

What became a hassle was ironed out, or so we thought, and we were offered a day where we could use them. Things looked brighter until the evening when Jill was painting. She had begun a project and was sitting at a much smaller table, there were two including a rather large table, and when dinner time came around was told she needed to put her project up. Again this was done in front of everyone with much the same arrogant attitude as my situation. Now it wasn’t only laptops but our projects as well, even though we were at a smaller table that sat only four.

I can understand they may have needed to use the table, and I can understand them needing to tell us, but was it necessary to do it in a manner that belittled us? I can only chalk it up as a social difference.

What I do not understand is in a place so filled with other people from all over the world why some sort of discreetness cannot be adopted. It seems so silly to have gotten upset over but when we are here for our college doing projects and work; it is simply not conducive for us to not be able to work. I am very happy we are heading over to a Bed and Breakfast tomorrow where at least I will be able to process pictures and do some of my portfolio work.

The silver lining was our bunk mates. The diverse group of people we shared a room with would include persons from Holland, Australia, the United Kingdom and Scotland. Our individual personalities meshed together in a way that was both joyful and uplifting. In the end it will be them I remember, along with the beauty of Iona, and I will walk away with a new insight to these various places and the people who live there.

So in the end I am chalking it up as a lesson of humility, being on the Holy Isle, and moving forward while noting where I will stay at in the future. I will come back to Iona, I found my spirit on Dun I, but I will not be coming back to the Iona Hostel, instead I will locate a place that is much more conducive to what my needs are.