Posts Tagged ‘ireland’

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.

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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?

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Crossing the short bridge, I hadn’t expected it,
mainland to island,
so

to those who remain:
this is my prayer, at last.
I dare not intrude.

Yes,
rain was expected, clouds blackening, rolling
on whispering prayers in the hearth warmed room,
filled with the scent of peat and whiskey,
songs and tears. Rusting boats quiver
below red hills of Achill,
What fitting weather

for grief.

Had it been expected? Had death’s cloud rolled in
over grey waters? Had they suddenly appeared?
Sideways rain outside, taking thoughts away from grief,
what fitting weather

for a wake.

Wind, grieving brother,
the sideways rain, all the tears
of a widow’s grief,

and I, intruding.

Driving slowly through the storm, driving slowly
through the grief in my naked visitorship,
Driving slowly past the rocking boats
and spraying surf, driving slowly
past the family and friends huddled
against themselves, making their way
to the fire’s glow.

And then,
a bit farther up the road, farther
into the storm smudged hills, we stopped
dangerously close to true lands end,
where the sudden green of the cliff stood fast
against sky and water.

We stopped at that lands end but,
not driven by love, not pursued
by grief or society, we stayed in the car,

and wept:
Three years later, I will say a prayer
for those that remain.
I will say a prayer to keep me
from intruding.

After a while, wanting to be away from the awe
of natures cycles, the storm left,
moving inland. Or was it merely
I was now moving outland, leaving
storms behind?

To those who remain:
this is my prayer, at last.
I dare not intrude.