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.

Quiet Conversations

Today I awoke to a cold cloudy morning, the wind knocking at our windows and the pull of something spiritual tugging at my soul; I needed to head back to the Hill of Slane. I had originally planned on taking more pictures of working people in Ireland but overslept by 2 hours and missed my opportunity at the dairy farm, so instead of taking the day off I went in search of my new friend Oak to see if he would give me a lift to the hill. He agreed and within an hour we were off.

I shut the door and waved goodbye as I looked up the path towards those ancient ruins. The wind welcomed me and the ruins seemed inviting. Very few people were there so it was a great opportunity to take pictures of a place that has resonated within me since Saturday, so I took out my Nikon and I prepared my memory cards for the slew of pictures I would take. It is interesting when you give in to the voices of the “place” and let them guide you on your mission. They did not do me wrong.

I only spent an hour there but that was long enough to rip off over four hundred shots. I was on a roll and even did some silhouettes, manual focus (which has eluded me since my vision was so bad!) and walked away with some very incredible shots. But as I was taking them I took a moment and sat on the field and silently prayed. Now I am not religious, at least not in the church going sense, but today I felt it was time to commune with Universe.

Vulnerability is not my best suit, hasn’t been since I was younger and had to be tough against the bullies, but as I communed the tears flowed and a sense of release came from it. This is what I so badly wanted my first trip – a moment of magic and healing. But it was not a trip for that the first time around; it was a trip of learning to go beyond my comfort zone in order to prep me for this one. It worked.

After my release I went back to shooting, feeling the arm of whatever guidance there was instructing me to go here or there. I was moving, sitting, and leaning to get all kinds of angles. My hands became the camera, my eyes the lens, and my soul was the instrument by which I would listen. All the while I had a quiet conversation with the saint who had at one time claimed this land. What it must have been like to see the fire early from the Hill of Tara.

What would the druids have thought? Other than giving King Laoghaire a strong warning, what else were they thinking? I wondered if they were afraid and if they knew (of course they did!) that their time was at an end. Perhaps they even knew it long before then, since their brothers and sisters on the continent had already fallen, and they were grasping straws to keep the waves of change at bay. No one can be sure as history is left to interpretation.

I thanked the Universe, thanked the land Ireland, and began my long walk back to the hostel in order to process both the pictures and thoughts. How does one process what they experience but cannot really explain? I feel transformed somehow and yet the same – a very liminal feeling. Yet I cannot help but feel that this will forever be another of those life changing events, like our last trip, and am very much looking forward to the next few weeks we spend in Scotland and the Isle of Iona. I have already made new friends, seen so much, and now I want to see more and experience that as well.

As I walked home I passed by a Catholic church and felt compelled, yes compelled, to step in and give a silent thanks to God. The beautiful stained glass windows and ornate altar reminded me of those years so long ago when I did go to church. With it came the hurt I had felt for having been made to feel guilty over the fact that no matter how much I believed Jesus would not heal my hands. It was then, as I closed my eyes and whispered an apology to God for the insanity of humans, that I heard a voice say, “How can I heal something that does not need healing, but just needs love?”

What does one do with that? I breathed deeply and let the tears flow. I had found my inner peace at last and with that I walked back standing straight and taller than before. My soul is recharged and my mind is full of possibilities. I truly cannot wait to see what we experience next…