"Come to the edge", he said.
They said, "We are afraid".
"Come to the edge", he said.
They came.
He pushed them ...
and they flew.
-Guilluame Apollinaire
"Who we are from conception to death isn't the whole story, our life in the universe isn't the whole story, and the universe itself isn't the whole story...and a day will come when we all of us will have stars at elbow and foot."
-John Moriarty, in an interview with RTE
Posts Tagged ‘earth’
Innisfallen in the Making…
I hadn’t expected it and maybe it was the change from the slate blue lake to the closeness of the green of the island, but once I set foot upon Innisfallen, I knew it was a special place. I wonder if, as I suspect, it is inherently spiritual or if the centuries of learning, contemplative practice and service make it a place more spiritual than most.
I wonder if that is possible, that any one place can be more alive than others. I doubt it.
I suspect very strongly that Innisfallen is inherently spiritual, but I also suspect very strongly that the years of work that happened there make that spirituality more available to the dull senses of the all-too-common and limited human.
At any rate, as soon as I set foot upon the island, I knew. It was like seeing a lovers face after a long absence, but it was also the thrill of new love; the excitement of seeing new life and knowing that that life is surfacing from somewhere deep within the cosmos, emerging here for whatever reason. I knew it, and I was thankful for knowing it.
Posted in Three Dwellings of Wisdom | 
Tags: becoming, doorways, earth, home, innisfallen, ireland, island | 
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the journey to the harp
Imagine the Dagda and Lugh and Ogma journeying across Ireland to find the oak of two blossoms. To regain their sovereignty. The harp. The music of the land.
They had no insurance. There was no store. They could not just make a new one. They had to regain their sovereignty. The music of the land.
High stakes. Life or death.
We are on that same journey.
Journeying through time. Through our souls, we are journeying to recapture the harp, the music of the land from the Fomorians. We are journeying to recapture our sovereignty from ourselves.
High stakes.
Life or death.
Up to you.
Sometimes, in my mind, the gift of voice and word of Ogma are still powerful. Sometimes, he tells me the story:
the sound of sacred places (what art is silence II)
But imagine if Amhairgin had gone through the nine waves instead of over them. Even more, imagine this:
Fintan, in the shape of Amhairgin, coming ashore through the nine waves.
What would that homecoming be like? Amhairgin coming ashore, reciting his “I am’s”, and meaning it?
Even more, imagine this:
Fintan, coming through the nine waves, coming ashore through each of us as we recite our “I am’s,” as we recite our “we are’s.”
What would that homecoming be like?
i tend our hearth
She came ashore,
still glistening and wet
from the sea, shared her drink
and showed me symbols
of mysterious things
and stones and shells, she laughed
and I laughed
with her.
Not wanting her to leave,
I took her to my hearth.
She spoke, I could not understand,
when I spoke, she smiled,
but made no reply.
She drew lines in the earth
to show me her home,
from whence she came, across the sea,
she held her heart
open for me.
We sat together deep into the night,
but weary from her journey,
her songs faded, and now
in a cloud of stars
she sleeps,
and while she sleeps,
I tend our hearth.