Time of Exile

I awoke this morning with a deep sense of sadness. My heart wanting to stay in this small perfect world and my soul wanting more of what we have experienced here thus far; it was quite the experience. It isn’t everyday you come across people who resonate on the same level with you, or that accept you for who you really are, we found that here with the great people we have met at the Slane Farm Hostel. Not only did we do our pilgrimage to the Hill of Slane, but to Newgrange, the Hill of Tara, and now we are headed off across the sea.

We are now going into exile, a Green Martyrdom if you will, where we will now journey to the Isle of Iona in hopes to follow St. Columba’s steps. What we hope to find there is both personal and public; personal for spiritual reasons and public for the beauty and wonders of what this tiny island holds. Having just walked two of St. Patrick’s paths we are now ready to begin the journey. I feel energized and ready.

On our last night we spent it singing and dancing with friends we met in Slane. Their voices rose as the drums beat and the tambourines jingled. It was so fantastic to share with these people some of the songs we learned from the previous year, when we studied Ireland, and to participate in their songs. The highlight was when the owners of the hostel came in and spotted me with their bodhran and playing it with a wooden spoon. They laughed and noted how they had never seen it and remarked how well I could play – even without the proper tipper.

As the sun set and the music faded out, I lay in bed thinking of the past week. The healing, the conversations, and the photographs I had taken. So many memories but it was time to start thinking of what lay ahead.

Scotland. It will be our first trip there and we probably could have avoided the whole thing but then it would not be what it needed to be. A pilgrimage. I cannot express the fear of the unknown and yet the deep excitement it stirs up in me.

As we began to stir this morning we sat in silence as we ate our breakfast and both of us held tears in our eyes. These wonderful people, who for a moment in time had become our family on so many levels, would soon go about their lives, just as we would our own. But they will not be forgotten. They will not remain a memory for now we have to figure out how to get back to see them.

A few days ago we toggled our journey around in order to be able to spend one of our final days near so that we would get at least one more night of craic with them. It was deliberate and we are happy to do so as we will also hit a few other sites of the area we did not get this time around.

I took many photographs. So many I had to recharge my camera batteries a few times. I even sold a bunch to the hostel we were at and updated their website. Funny how things we used to do serve us so many different times throughout our lives. It is beginning to make sense why trades and apprenticeships were so important in the days of old.

Exile. What does that mean? Does it mean a physical separation from the world around you, or could it be one of a mental nature? Perhaps, to me, it could be both. When I was younger I once threw myself into exile. Separating myself from my family, friends, and the world around me. It was such a dark time that only now I am beginning to see just how much it had changed me. But I can say I am glad I am no longer that way.

It is funny how much something affects you when you walk the old paths that so many others had passed along. Druids, Christians, and peasant alike. When one sees the ruins one can only wonder at how we ever got by in America without them. They seem to beckon me with lessons of the past of how badly humans can treat each other, and how great they could also be. A deep historical tie of the modern world to the ancient one.

Am I any different today than I was a week, month, or year ago?

Very much so.