Uncovering Yourself

This past month I have been in Ireland. By myself. On the middle Aran Island, Inishmaan. I had heard the Aran Islands are a bit mystical, a bit otherworldly, a bit steeped in the Old Ways where Irish is the primary language. I was longing for time away. Time to process grief. Time to myself. Inishmann was all of that. And more.

This small island is rocky. Miles and miles of rock walls from one seaside to the other. There is one general store. One pub. It was off season so even the pub wasn't offering food yet. Towards the end of my 3+ weeks stay, a few other guests were arriving from Italy, Germany, the US. Mostly, I was there by myself. It was chilly. Rainy. Windy. And I loved it.

The simplicity of my day: meditation. Walking (often for several hours). Writing. Figuring out what to make for dinner with limited options available.

I was On. My. Own. I didn't have my extroverted husband there to charm everyone at the pub and figure out who everyone was in the first hour. I didn't have his outward energy to find bike rides, adventures, keep moving moving. moving. I had me. My way. My gentle way of taking it all in SLOWLY. I sat in the pub the first night with a pot of tea, the smell of the peat fire warming my bones and felt the EASE and also newness of doing this month in a way that is MINE. I met a few of the women who I would later meet again. They would become walking friends, friends to meet in the sauna/sea dipping (WOW what a rush!), women who shared their own stories of life and loss. These universal stories of life and loss. Loss and rebirth. Rebirth and the surrender to the Unknown.

There are few people on Inishmaan. The least populated of the 3 islands. Everyone knew who I was as soon as I got off the ferry boat. The 40 minute walk with my back pack along the winding small roads initiated me to the stark place. The door to the AirBNB was open. My host was arriving on the later ferry that day. Isolated. Trusting. Everyone on the island linked together in a community of Knowing. Protecting their island. Honoring her as if she has a heart of Old Ways beyond the ways of the world.

Many of these stone walls were THOUSANDS of years old. As I found my way through them, along them, sometimes stepping on them, there was an energy of holiness. Of reverence. Tread lightly, Martha. Tread gently. Let the stones support, hold and tell you their tales.

These walls have held horrible wars. Power exchanges. Backbreaking hours/weeks/months of being created. Surely, the Island knows grief. Surely it has held the centuries of weathering by wind and sea, and political maneuverings. Surely this time of my own grief, this tentative time in the world is somehow part of the Whole.

And then a cow was in labor. A Big Assed Calf. Maybe it's twins. The Islanders gathered together to help with the long/hard birth. (Of course, there are no vets on the island). My host went out in the night to help. The report the next day: hard birth. The calf is HUGE, not standing, not suckling. It was cold, windy, rainy out in the field where he was born. (about a mile hike up a steep path to the top of the island). They are taking turns feeding the calf. Hoping it survives. Everyone helps. By the end of the week, he was up, sucking. My host went back to the mainland, leaving me at the AirBNB to myself.

His sister would stop in with brown bread. For a cup of tea. Sometimes with dinner. I would try to repay the kindness baking food to thank her. (The scones were like hockey pucks and the apple pie something caramalized. Oh well.)

The walk up to see the cow/calf, about 1 1/2 hour loop, soon became part of my day. Life supported. Sustained by community. Showing up when its hard. The Mystery of life surviving.

I read books by JM Synge, John O'Donahue so steeped in the Old Stories of Irish ways, Celtic wisdom interweaving with Nature/Mystery/Holiness. I found heart shaped rocks EVERYWHERE, as though the stones themselves were offering daily signs of love continuing beyond death, as though the presence of connection and relationship were not ending with death but continuing in spite of death. I wept and wept and wept with gratitude to Know this. Feel this. See this in all my senses.

This Old Island has Survived. Thrived. Continues. With signs of love and community EVERYWHERE.

Soon my time in Ireland is ending. I'm spending a few days in the lovely busy town of Ennis which acts as a bridge back to life in Vermont.

I am changed in ways I can't articulate.

I imagine the gifts of the seeds planted may need time to bear fruit.

One thing I am MOST thankful for: an unveiling of my own voice, rhythm, quiet/gentle ways that have always been here. There is a surrender to NOT knowing what is ahead. There is a trust that there is LOVE connecting the threads of our lives with Mystery and Grace.

Know that if you are in the midst of transition through a painful/tender/confusing time, you are NOT alone. This is the MOST human of things, this love/loss/grief/rebirth to LOVE process.

I am also part of it and so deeply honored to walk this path with you.

Coaching is another way of midwifing- being WITH you. In the thick of it. With the beauty and pain of labor and birth. Now it is the birth of ourselves.... the stones of the Island are with us.

with such love,

Martha

Though we need to weep your loss,

You dwell in that safe place in our hearts,

Where no storm or night or pain can reach you.

Your love was like the dawn

Brightening over our lives,

Awakening beneath the dark

A further adventure of color.

The sound of your voice

Found for us

A new music

That brightened everything.

Whatever you enfolded in your gaze

Quickened in the joy of its being,

You placed smiles like flowers

On the altar of the heart.

Your mind always sparkled

With wonder at things.

Though your days here were brief,

Your spirit was alive, awake, complete.

We look toward each other no longer

From the old distance of our names;

Now you dwell inside the rhythm of breath,

As close to us as we are to ourselves.

Though we cannot see you with outward

eyes,

We know our soul's gaze is upon your face,

Smiling back at us from within everything

To which we bring our best refinement.

Let us not look for you only in memory,

Where we would grow lonely without you.

You would want us to find you in presence,

Besides us when beauty brightens,

When kindness glows

And music echoes eternal tones.

When orchids brighten the earth,

Darkest winter has turned to spring;

May this dark grief flower with hope

In every heart that loves you.

May you continue to inspire us:

To enter each day with a generous heart.

To serve the call of courage and love

Until we see your beautiful face again

In that land where there is no more

separation,

Where all tears will be wiped from our mind,

And where we will never lose you again.

By John O’Donohue

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