I awake in the same
position I fell asleep in.
The alarm clock buzzes
for about a minute
before I realize
where I am.
My excitement
and my exhaustion
do battle for a moment
until my excitement
wins out and I rise.
I feel like Lazarus
stepping out of the tomb,
still covered in heavy
burial wrappings
and barely able to move.
I pray that
the hot water here
is abundant
as I stumble down the hall
to the shower.
-------
I’m not fully awake
until the lady of the house
sets a steaming plate
on the table before me.
I quickly devour
the fried eggs,
sausages, toast,
and rashes.
These rashes
are real bacon, not
just a strip of greasy fat.
The best part, though,
comes when I lean back
and sip on the hot tea.
How deprived I’ve been
to grow up in the South.
I’ve never even seen
anyone drink tea hot.
I wonder if there
is anything
more soothing
to a tired body
than the warmth
of this delicious tea?
I doubt I’ll ever
drink iced-tea again.
My ecstasy
is interrupted
by a young couple
who are obviously
Americans.
We exchange hellos
and travel tips
before I mention
that I’m going to Inisheer.
They offer me a ride
to the ferry.
Thank you Jesus.
I eagerly accept,
then return to my room
to pack and rest
while they finish breakfast.
-------
We continue our conversation
until we board the ferry,
then I leave them to
enjoy their time together.
How nice it must be
to have someone
to share
these beautiful sights with.
How much easier
might it have been
to bear the weariness
of yesterday if I
had someone
to bear it with me.
Of course,
there were several friends
who wanted to join me.
I was the one
who chose to do this
alone,
so I am the only one
to blame
if I get lonely.
I wanted the freedom
to go wherever I want
whenever it suits me.
I thought it would
be easiest to travel
alone.
So far, it is.
I couldn’t have hitched
any of those rides
if there had been
another with me.
Somehow that doesn’t
console me, though.
It’s easy to feel
alone.
I know that
I’m not completely
alone, though.
I know the Lord
walks every step
with me.
Because we humans
are physical beings,
though, we often
need more than just
a spiritual presence.
We need
a physical presence
as well.
Forgive me, Lord,
if that’s not
putting enough faith
in You,
but it’s You
Who made us this way.
Help me feel
Your presence.
I look up from the waters
to see Inisheer
a few hundred yards ahead.
The fabled Isles at last!
The ruined keep
at the top of the hill
grabs my attention
and won’t let go.
My first destination
is chosen.
As I step onto the dock,
I see a buggy-ride
tour of the island
about to set out.
I decide to pass.
I didn’t come here
to be a tourist,
I came here
to discover
who I am
and where I belong.
I take a quick glance
at the several roads
that branch from here
and let my instincts
lead me to the
top of the island.
I walk between
old houses
with small yards
and pass a farmer
who’s loading a cart
with sacks full of
I know not what.
I tip my hat and nod.
He waves hello
with a warm
and welcoming smile.
-------
A little further up,
the road straightens
and I can see
where it crests the hill.
What a powerful image.
It is a perfect symbol
for my journey,
but even more so
for life.
I can only see
a short distance ahead.
Beyond that point,
all is mystery.
Where will I end?
What will I see?
As I reach the
top of the island,
I look into the past.
The Atlantic side
of the island
is uninhabited.
There are no houses,
only green grass
sectioned off
like a giant honeycomb
by the many
grey stone walls.
I literally feel as if
I’ve been transported
into medieval times.
With the ruined castle keep
to my right
and the primitive fences
all around me,
it is so easy to forget
that behind me
there are houses, pubs,
ferries, and electricity.
I look closely at
the stone wall to my left.
Nothing holds it together
but gravity and
the shapes of the rocks.
If I were to kick it,
part of it would cave in
and tomorrow some farmer
would put the stones
back in place where
they’d rest undisturbed
for perhaps several hundred
more years before
some other curious traveler
tried the same experiment.
How long must it take
to gather and stack
these many stones
into the four-foot tall fences
that cover the island?
It is mind-boggling
to consider the hours
of work it has taken
to assemble these walls
over the years.
I begin my downhill trek
to the Atlantic coast.
With each step,
I feel as if
I am traveling further
into the past,
a past that is so much
further back
than my own past,
into a time
when things were
perhaps more difficult,
but also much simpler.
When I reach the coast,
I drop my pack
on the rocky shore
to give respite to
my sore and stinging back.
I sit down
and take in the sound
of the crashing surf
as I examine
a piece of kelp.
I spot a curragh
North of the island.
It has to be
a hard life
fishing in this sea.
I now understand
what is meant
by the description
“a terrible beauty.”
The natural beauty
of this land
almost hides its
stubborn refusal
to be mastered by man.
On this island especially,
nature is still
very much in charge.
No wonder the Irish
have often
been called stubborn.
They must inherit it
from their land.
-------
After a short while
of soaking in
the sheer solitude,
I continue my journey
around the island
to the pub
for a candy bar
and soft drink,
then out to the dock
to inquire of the ferry
to Galway.