A Pilgrim's Day - October 21, 2009

Rain. Rain. Rain. The other pilgrims off to Dublin – a handful stay behind in ancient Glendalough. I am snug and cozy in a room beside the flowing stream. The monastic gates rest just beyond. Today’s gift: to follow the breeze of my own heart. Listening to the i-pod – a poem and thoughts form through the stream of music. God leading. Me following. Listening. Writing. Companioning.

A walk to Laragh. Braving the elements. Skipping. Dancing. Singing in the rain. Two ancestral maidens hold my hands and we are one – alive and at peace. A momentary pause to soak in the wonder of St. Kevin’s Well, we are washed clean.

Further down the path, I am drawn to the ruined church of St. Saviour. Mesmerized by this holy site. Two gates to enter. Stone steps downward. Crossing back and forth between worlds. The rain begins to pour once more. Mother Earth sprinkles me with her holy, heavenly waters.

I continue down the trail. Rain comes and goes. I dry, and just as quickly I am soaked again. Another pause – this time a rock. I almost pass it by, but Mother Earth – Goddess – calls out to me. “Stop!” I return to the spot and witness the sienna stone with one white vein splitting the middle. I pick it up and turn it over in my hand to see two identical veins on the opposite side. The babes – the maidens - have greeted me again. My heart and throat burst into laughter. Goddess is greeting me every step of the way. We are three. Maiden. Mother. Crone. My knapsack fills with treasures.

Material things hold no value for me today. The linen shop is warm and dry, but it cannot hold my attention. I return to the elements. Rain pouring – the sound from the heavens matching the rush of the stream. I retrace my footsteps and then turn upward along the marked hikers’ trail. It takes me higher than I imagine. Up. Up. Up. Until the valley spreads below me.

I walk and walk – an hour, maybe two – the Monastic City a mere speck in my viewfinder. I follow the trail and loop back out by the upper lake of St. Kevin’s Desert. Waterfalls sing to me along the way and I join them with my joy-filled chorus. Whistling while I walk.

Tired and hungry, I return to the hotel. Wet, but warm from the exertion. I satisfy my hunger with Guinness and chips. Returning to the room, my roommate gently naps. Quietly, I run a hot bath, soak my body and shampoo my hair. Clean. Tired. Sated.

I have tended much today. I have laughed and played. Danced and whistled in the rain. Greeted the elements and made time for my heart. Listening. My anam cara with me every step of the way. Blessed be and amen.

view from glendolough hotel window ©
st. kevin's well ©
st. saviour church window ©
monastic city from orange trail ©
st. kevin's desert waterfall ©

Sacred Sunday

Still. Numb. Quiet.
I absorb the light.
Shadow of hand upon paper,
Music of monks drifting through air,
greeting me from centuries past.
Am I alone, or surrounded by saints –
a cloud of witnesses to guide and protect?

Am I alone – or is every hurt of every generation
wrapped inside my body?
Yesterday. Today. Tomorrow.

The pen is heavy, but I cannot release it –
Running out of ink, I pause and pick up another –
Another sorrow? Another pen?
Trading – sorrows & shame.
Am I allowed? Are they welcomed?
Does the Cross exist?

Created in the image of Creator,
Can I write a new story – or
will it always be a continuation of the old?
There is no escaping –
the sorrows run deep,
but what of the joy?

Am I alone – or is the joy of every generation
wrapped inside my body?
Yesterday. Today. Tomorrow.

It is a massive excavation for the
spark lies deep within –
Covered with graves of sorrow and pain –
still the seed is there.
It is Eden before shame
before the covering layered on,
Layer upon heavy layer.

The mustard seed of hope is eternally there –
Waiting to take root.
Waiting for me, alone, to release it.
No one else can write this story –
Or live it –
Or tell it –
Or feel it.

Am I alone – or is every feeling of every generation
wrapped inside my body?
Yesterday. Today. Tomorrow.

glendolough celtic cross ©lucy
remembrance of soil ceremony ©lucy

Reflections from Ireland

Through days and miles, I close my eyes and see the wondrous faces of Noble Silence.

Dim lit room – candles flickering – features softened. Some weary from a day of feasting on the senses - others radiant upon reflection of the ancestors and saints gone by.

Silently – we form a circle – entering meditative prayer through reading and ritual. We bow our heads with soft-focused eyes until the words of the first bubble to the surface.

Palms together – gentle nod – the words flow. Some brief – others a longer story. They wash over me – absorbing me in the soft light – the dark of night surrounding us beyond.

A bow to finish and the silence rests upon us again.

castledermot graveyard ©lucy

On track or off?

Following my statement last night to Sunrise Sister’s post where I proclaimed myself as having thrown away my day planner, I found myself this morning in great need of a list. For the first time in weeks, I have the luxury of some much needed spaciousness in my life. For the next few days, there is little on my calendar, but LOTS in my mind that wants to happen. My head was beginning to hurt and my stomach spin with all of the possibilities before me – so much that I found myself nearly immobilized. Thus “the list.”

Armed with list nearby, I started on my merry way until nature called and I made a pit stop in the bathroom. There I picked up a book on guided meditations and explorations so I could look for an appropriate reading for next week’s Deepening Your Spirituality group I am co-facilitating at Seattle’s Recovery Café (a place I hope to share with you in the near future.) While I am not certain whether I found the reading for the group, this one jumped out of the book and said, “READ ME.”

Consequently, I have already ventured off of my list and instead of writing about Noble Silence (another topic I hope to return to soon), I am sharing this quote that came under the topic of “What was your face before you were born? He asked.”

When the heart bursts into flame
history completely disappears
and lightning strikes the ocean
in each cell.

There, before origins,
when the double helix
is struck like a tuning fork
there is a hum
on which the universe is strung.

My word for the year has been Fire and as this calendar year nears its end, I have found the theme of Water rising in my consciousness. Given those two things and the recent discussions here and elsewhere on synchronicity and thin places, I could not resist taking a moment to stop and post this. So…does this detour make me on track or off? Or does it really matter? Can you feel the hum on which the universe is strung?

P.S. Upon a little further exploration, I find that the "double helix" looks amazingly like the swirl I have worn around my neck for a few years which mimics the ancient symbols I encountered in Ireland AND looks surprisingly like the Source card I created a few days ago. I swear I didn't know what a double helix was until this verse jumped out and said, "READ ME." Oh my, I think I need some fresh air!!
"swirls" on celtic cross at castledermot 10.23.09 ireland ©lucy
"fire in water" glendolough stream 10.09 ©lucy
"entrance to new grange" 5000 year old tomb 10.09 ©lucy

Saturated

Like a sponge…

Soaking up the luscious green of Ireland
Feeling the presence of ancestors
Creating poetry with addicts and alcoholics
Holding space for compassionate listeners

Snuggling with my kitty
Listening to the thunderstorm of night
Stretching my weary body
Birthing the dreams of my soul

...I am saturated.

glendolough waterfall 10.09 © lucy