113. Final Thoughts

I found the above artwork in a Dingle gallery. The local artist used silk batik method to create a layered effect much like water colors. I immediately knew this represented for me the Irish landscape. A patchwork of green fields separated by hedge rows and stone walls. Dotted with black faced sheep. It's called “Dew Point,” a beautiful expression. Ireland is on the threshold between water and earth. It lives in a continual mist, sometimes rain, that connects the sky with the land. A veil is pulled over the senses. At what “point” does blue condense into green?

In Dingle I also ventured into the unknown, namely the Puca Cafe. Pucas were those mischievous nature spirits in the Great Blasket folklore that were ever ready to kidnap a boy child. I’m 75, so no longer a target. Into their den I go and find a wonderful breakfast sandwich awaiting me. I could even sit here and write, further teasing the Pucas with my long ago youth.

My second night in Kerry I slept above the Dingle Pub. Down below I had shepherds pie while two local musicians entertained foreigners from Australia to America. David, the pub manager was a five time World Champion Irish Dancer. Impressive. He was still lean, but an accident suspended his career. Now he weaves through the crowd with a smile, still engaging. And waiting for his surgery to put him back on stage.

From Dublin to Kinsale, from Kerry to Dingle, Clare County to Galway I made my own “ring” back to the Pale. But for the record, I never had the intention to go to Ireland. My initial reason for this trip was not to visit all the places I've written about. My purpose was to go to a meditation retreat on the southwestern Beara Peninsula with a small intimate group of kindred spirits. I did this in the middle of my trip for five days and nights. That was my intended goal. Once that was decided, I reasoned I should sandwich the retreat with several weeks of travel, before and after. 

Although I have not written about my time on Beara, suffice it to say that it was of more importance and personal value than all the traveling before and after. I would trade all my travel blog experiences in a heartbeat for the time spent in the retreat. It was that significant. While there I had time to hike through the landscape, a balance of nature outside to the time spent within.

Anyone who's been to Ireland will say how beautiful it is. How friendly the Irish people are. As an island detached from Europe it has been spared some of the mainland's turbulent history. It escaped the Roman Empire. It became more Christian than the Mediterranean. It resisted the Roman Catholic Church. Like the third child in fairy tales, it was the late bloomer, the dreamer. The innocent one. Until it was subdued by the Roman Catholic Church. Then occupied by Britain. Long suffering it has endured civil strife and partition. Just as India separated into India and Pakistan/Bangladesh in order to survive, Ireland split into the Irish Republic of the south and Northern Ireland of the United Kingdom.

I had no desire to go to Belfast and the North. To me the spirit of Ireland lies in the South. And on this trip specifically, Ireland was the southwest. Beyond the Pale of the East.

I earlier said that my intended goal was a personal retreat on the Beara, and not to visit the country of Ireland. Three and half weeks later I can now imagine never leaving Ireland. I could stay here. I could live here.

I cannot imagine my life without having experienced Ireland. A true home for the Spirit.

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P.S. As always, a thoughtful "Thank You" to all who had an interest in following and sharing my travels with me. You gave my descriptions added purpose. There's an Irish phrase, "Go raibh mile maith agat" meaning "May you have a thousand good things." May it be so!

P.P.S. Believe it or not, I actually have returned to Ireland. On a Wednesday my United Airlines flight left Dublin and flew 1 1/2 hours west out over the Atlantic. At that point the captain came over the intercom to tell us that a "check engine light" had come on. We would all be safe, but out of "an abundance of caution" (you gotta love that phrase) he would make a U-turn over the Atlantic and return to Dublin. Which we did. United put us up at a hotel in the country. Fed us. And the next morning we flew out again. For me this was a welcome respite to have more time to write, reflect and write some more. My first return to Ireland. Very nourishing.