Does Your Soul Love Water

If your soul loves water, Galway City is a place that could do you some good! I have never been in a place where water takes so many forms. There is the quiet water of the lochs (lakes) which reflect the mountains like giant mirrors. There is the rhythm of the ocean with the tides sneaking in and out. And then there is the Corrib River and all its streams.

They claim that the Corrib is the shortest and most powerful river in Europe. Galway is built around and on the river, and I mean literally on the river. Many buildings are constructed so that the river flows under them. Mustard’s is one of our favorite restaurants. We love to sit at the table next to the window where we can watch a branch of the river actually flowing under us. The water was once used to drive the water wheel of a mill, which still turns about 10 feet from our table.

But you can’t get the full effect of the rushing water here without hearing it. All up and down the river walkway the sound of the falling water is ever present. Unlike my native Ohio, it is crystal clear and shiny in the sun. That’s why I have included a video instead my customary photos in this blog.

And, of course, no blog from Ireland with sound would be complete with someone playing the Irish tin whistle. This young man is playing on Shop Street which always has a variety of musicians performing with their open instrument cases serving double duty as collection plates.

The Kings Head Pub and a Stray Tenor

To the right is a photo of the King's Head. If you look closely you'll notice that it was established in 1649. It's not just the original midieval fireplaces and windows that are the attraction, but the history itself. It seems that when the opposition in England wanted King Charles I removed from the throne, they couldn't find a man in all of England to do the job. But they did find one in Galway City, Ireland. In January, 1649 a single swing of the sword separated the head of the
King from the rest of the King leaving him unfit to rule.




As a reward for his dark deed, the masked executioner was given a piece of property near the center of Galway City. The name of the pub is self-explanatory.

From a practical standpoint, there is always a peat fire glowing in the front fireplace which is a welcome find on the cold February days. We generally hike the mile and a half from Salthill to City Centre every day and by the time we arrive we are ready to have a seat in the two chairs, almost always empty, beside the fireplace. Peat is an interesting fuel source. It produces no sparks and is relatively safe for what it provides.

We also like the pub because you can always get a great bowl of soup and a knot of brown bread for just over four euros. It's not only tasty, it's healthy.

Now on Shop Street, you can always count on seeing and hearing these two minstrels on the left. On this particular day we passed them gutting out the Johnny Cash song I hear the train a comin.... But on the way back we noticed a different sound. A bow-tied tenor had joined them, clearly a performer at a different level of the musical food chain. There they were, the three of them, different ages, different styles, different attires belting out some shared tune that I have now forgotten. We could hear them for several blocks as we started our long walk back to Salthill warmed on the outside by a soothing peat fire and warmed on the inside by mushroom soup and the magic of music.

Children's Cemetery

I want to share with you tonight a sight from our Connemara tour last Saturday. It was a children's cemetery. The bus did not stop for us to take a picture. I checked the Internet and found no photographs there. I wrote the tour company and came up empty with them as well. "It is a sad place," the owner wrote back. "No one generally wants a photograph of it."

So here it is. You drive up the side of one of the rocky Connemara mountains built on the ancient granite with a layer of peat blanketing the landscape. The road is barely wide enough for the bus; if we meet a car going the opposite direction, somewhat is going to have to back a long way to find a wide spot. Two thirds up the mountain, twenty feet to the left of the road and a bit higher you see a fenced area, roughly square with grass a little taller than the rest of the countryside because the sheep don't keep it trimmed. In most Irish cemetaries the ground is covered with gravestones. But the children's cemetery has only a single Celtic Cross standing watch over one corner, keeping its faitherful vigil over this holy ground.

But that, of course, is the debate. Because these are the bodies of the unbaptized children who died during the potato famine in 1847 and were refused burial in the holy ground of a church cemetery.

And here is my question: to whom do I ask forgiveness?

Great Mysteries of Ireland

There are three great, unsolved mysteries in Ireland: the meaning of the Glebe Stone Circle, the existence of Irish meteorologists, and the Galway bus system. Perhaps the easiest would be the Glebe stones, the Irish equivalent of Britain's Stonehenge with the addition of a circle of trees (see photo to the right or above) to which wedded and pregnant women tie bows for good luck. But no one knows who or when the stones were set in place or why the trees were planted.

Which brings us to the mystery of Irish meteorologists. There is more reason to doubt their existence than let's say, lepricons. Today,

for example, there were no less than three forecasts ranging from partly cloudy/partly sunny, foggy, and snow turning into rain. I say it is most likely that these were generated by a monkey jumping on a keyboard. Anyway, as the photo to the right demonstrates, a spider discovered the truth when she found that her spider web had been iced. But beautiful, yes?

As far as the bus system in Galway goes, residents have given up trying to explain it. When you say to one of them, "I am trying to find out how the Galway bus system works," they simply shake their heads and say, "Don't. It's Ireland." So there you go.

To the right is the Kylemore Abbey, one of the most beautiful sights in Ireland. It was built by a man for the wife he adored. Unfortunately, she died prematurely leaving him with the children she had borne him. He had her interred in a

masoleum, also on the grounds. But the death of one of his children exceeded his ability to cope with the memories associated with the property. He sold it to a wandering group of Benedictine nuns from Austria, who turned it into an exclusive boarding school. With no one to replenish their ranks, all the nuns are now elderly, and the school is on the verge of closing.

If you look carefully on this photo, you will see a white dot half way up the mountainside. It is a statue of Jesus. I decided I should take that hike. Now in the process I came across no fewer than three signs saying, DANGER! DO NOT ENTER! I don't normally ignore such signs. But this time, I did. And I discovered there was no actual danger...just people trying to make you afraid. And here is what I saw.

What beauty does fear intend to keep you from experiencing. Worth considering, yes?

Love to all.

Life by the Sea

In my 59 years, I've never really lived by water before and I find myself caught up in this thalassic infatuation. In the evening just before the sun is setting, I have to run out and take a quick walk along the water. And I am putting way to many pictures of Galway Bay into this blog! But here is one more. It was taken about 4:30 pm, maybe 45 mintues before sunset. It was a cool, sunny day and the wind calm, so the sea was asleep in its bed and sending little ripple breaths across the bay.

I am also in wonder of the tides. How is it that such a force can be in operation that millions of tons of water are snuck in and out of this bay every day and I am totally unaware of it. How many such forces are at work all around me to which I have no sensitivity? Which leads me to one of my favorite poems:

I am the bird that flutters against your window in the morning,
and your closest friend, whom you can never know,
blossoms that light up for the blind.

I am the glacier shining over the woods, so pale,
and heavy voices from the cathedral tower.
The thought that suddenly hits you in the middle of the day
and makes you feel so fantastically happy.

I am the one you have loved for many years.
I walk beside you all day and look intently at you
and put my mouth against your heart
though you're not aware of it.

I am your third arm, and your second
shadow, the white one,
whom you cannot accept,
and who can never forget you.

Guardian Angel
Rolf Jacobsen

Perhaps your guardian angel is part of a spiritual tide moving things in and out of your way. But all you see is the face of your friend.

Journey through Connemara

I awoke this morning to a dense fog out my bedroom window. The weatherman had gotten this much right in the forecast I read on Wednesday, but ended up about 15 degrees off on the high temperature for the day. Anyway, I had decided that I didn't want to ride 45 mintues to the Cliffs of Moher just to stare into the fog. So I chose Connemara thinking that it might clear to the north of us.

My faith was tested as I walked the mile along the Bay to City Centre to get the bus. As you can see from the photo, the sun was struggling to get a ray in edgwise. But by the time we traveled 45 minutes north, the fog had rapidly burned off to reveal a clear blue sky and a day so still that the lakes appeared like glass. Our guide said that there are probably two days in the entire year that are as spectacularly beautiful as today.

Connemara is on the western coast of Ireland and sits geologically on a slab of granite. It is poorly drained, rocky, and nearly impossible to farm. So in 1840 when the British despot Oliver Cromwell landed in Dublin and gave the Irish the option of death or moving west, he assumed that these were actually one. Surely they would starve to death in Connemara. And they probably would have were it not for the fact that shortly after that, the Spanish brought the newly discovered potato from the Andes region of South America. The Irish found that they could grow potatoes. During that time, Ireland grew to about 9 million people, almost all of them in the country side growing potatoes. Well we all know what happened after that. The potato crop failed in the 1840's and two million of the Irish starved to death. A million more left Ireland for other countries including the United States. Thus, my wife, Shawn Kelly!

The land is covered with crystal clear lakes hemmed in by mountains, tumbling rivers, old monastaries, and ancient castles. In addition, there are people who have a deep experience of a faith that profoundly connects the natural world with the sacred. John O'Donohue was one of those for me. He lived in Connemara where he died an early death at 55 years of age. I asked the tour guide about him and he told me that in the last few months of his life, he had been interviewed in Ireland and had spoken openly of his impending death and his faith that death was not the end. He then obliged me with a John O'Donohue story which was a wonderful gift.

Nothing in my day spoke more profroundly of the connection between the natural world and the spiritual world than the spider web glistening in the sunlight across a window of a 13th century monastary. Christ holds all things together, even spider webs!

By the time the bus had returned to Galway, the fog had closed in again. Perhaps Galway had been foggy all day. But for a few hours we had the gift of an indescribably beautiful day.

Thrown Out of a Pub for not Drinking Enough

One of the challenges of living in a different land is rewiring all those cultural reflexes that guide us to make appropriate choices almost effotlessly. I am thinking now about crossing the street. I have been crossing the street for about 59 years now and my unconcious pattern is to look left, then right, then left, then right one more time, then cross. It has worked well enough to keep me alive.

In Ireland, this process has to be reversed in order to keep from stepping in front of a car barreling down the left lane from the right. They jokingly say that in Ireland, a man on the streets is run over every 10 mintues...and boy is he getting tired of it! Well I am not that man, but I have been surprised how much mental effort it takes for me to adjust this mental pattern in order to accomodate the cultural reality of folks driving on the left side of the street.

We were thrown out of a pub yesterday, my first. We were not actually thrown out, but refused service. The waiter demanded that we unplug our computers and leave immediately. We discovered that even though we bought our lunch there every day and afternoon drinks to boot, it was not enough to justify our use of their "free" WIFI. I suppose that if we were drinking a little more guinness we could have stayed. Only in Ireland do you get thrown out of a pub for not drinking enough!

So we have faced the cultural reality that it is not the United States where we sat leisurely for hours sipping tea on working on our laptops. The apartment will have to serve as our offices as well as our living quarters. Another lesson in culture!

On a more serious note, it is now clear that Shawn's dad is dying and is likely to pass in the next several days. Tomorrow I put her on a plane for North Carolina. In our living and in our dying, be near us, O Lord.