Ireland-The Wild Goose

Wild Goose Wanderings; Photo by Paul Wood.

On the coast north of Dublin you will find one of the largest collection of wild geese. They come during the winter and have evoked centuries of song and poetry. The goose symbolises the Holy Spirit for many Celtic saints, and Brendan supposedly followed their trail when he set off in his coracle. The complete opposite of the religiosity that has plaqued Ireland for many centuries it once again begs the question has Ireland lost touch with its wonderful heritage of wild, untamed, passionate Christianity?

This therefore is our second poem from Ireland during our feature on this nation on the margins of Europe. The writer lives in Dublin as is called Tiffy Allen

WINTER VISITORS

November blows the final shreds of summer

Relentlessly to a shrouded dampened earth

Autumnal glory fleeting, forgetful

As mists and evening darkness catch our homeward path

And the lights of frantic hope glitter garish

Through a dirty train window.

Gusts of sharpness from the north

Propelling us into winter apparel

But the ground not yet ready to die

Frost seen only on the blue map

Of Balkan states spilling out their youth

Into our hungry economy.

The seductive draw of golden sand

The wonder of shiny blue rock pool

Forgotten in the all pervasive grey.

Still, we wander along those seaside paths

Freed a little from the lush mad growth of summer

Neglected blackberries tasteless

From lack of sun.

Suddenly we spot them; we are not alone in this place

Our friends the geese,

Visitors from the ice caps

Safely arrived in their second home

For a winter of mild warmth and gentle breeze.

Their untold tales of buffetings, landless storms,

Lost companions and rocky north atlantic crops

Forgotten in their winter haven, our back door.

Welcome back, cries my soul

Come to us in all your thousands

Come and brighten our winter

Stretch our huddled blurry vision

Draw your skyfilled arrow patterns

Across the desert of my soul

And speak to me once more

Of pilgrimage, risk

Wildness and destiny.

Round Ireland on foot

Memories that haunt-Andy Crump

If anyone has read anything about the horrendous potato famine of the nineteenth century, the 1 million people who starved to death and the 1.5 million people who emigrated to America, you will know something of the huge levels of pain that found its way into the dna of this beautiful island on the edge of Europe. Sinead O’Connor amongst other Irish musicians have captured a taste of this in her haunting lyrics that touch on the seedbed of unresolved anger that is often found to feed the habits of addiction that are a plague for this nation. The appalling treatment of Catholics during the last four centuries compound the sense of injustice that lies dormant in the land.

Yet with remarkable humour and incredible hospitality the Irish rise above this legacy. Indeed the fueling of the tiger economy over recent years has led to a wave of prosperity that is good medicine for all ills. Or is it? Is everything really ok with this land or does the damage of years gone by still haunt its pychic?

Over the next few days as a handful of us begin our walk round this nation, we shall be blogging our take on the journey. As well as having huge amounts of fun we shall be asking what was it that gave birth to such an incredible counter culture movement as the monastic movement of the 6th and 7th centuries? How did they travel with such abandon, literally getting in their coracles and going wherever the tide took them? Founders of the communities of Iona  and Lindisfarne, is the time now right for a new contemporary expression of monasticism to emerge? One that points the way to a better way of living, at a time when the living standards and lifestyle of the west has never been more under threat?

Over the next few days we shall be featuring short articles that hopefully add insight to the journey that we are on. Hope you enjoy them!

Walking round the World-Loire Valley and Lyon

Walking down the Loire valley was some of the most wonderful walking I have done. Working hard on the road we headed south, with a number of early starts. One early morning session will stay with me for the rest of my life. I will let my good friend Dave describe these moments.

Side by side we ate up the kilometres and sang and shouted at the open fields, impassive woodlands and the curious sunrise. Nature needed to respond and there at one side, thirty metres into the riverside scrubland, appeared a wild boar…then two, three, a dozen, twenty, or more! All rampaging through the bush in startled abandon with four or five little squeakers scurrying behind. I glanced back, then turned to the road with awakening thoughts of coffee and croissants.

What were a couple of lads like us from Northern England doing, walking through the wilds of France? It was as if a doorway had suddenly opened up in our lives. We walked through with total abandon, our own reality TV unfolding before us.

The next stage was up over the Central Massif and down into Lyon, a city with monastic foundations, be they unrecognisable now in the sophisticated city we encountered. Yet for all our sophistication in the West the desire to know and be known by us all is huge. Such was the experience of five men who took part not in a Big Brother equivalent, but actually time in a Benedictine monastery for the BBC. There, without all the comforts of normal life they had to face themselves, look in a mirror and make some decisions with what they discovered. This for us was that sort of journey, a journey of self discovery as well as an incredible adventure. We were, and are, totally wrecked for anything else!

What’s your story?

So what’s your story? What’s your journey or adventure at this moment? If you can put it into less than 350 words then I will post it on the blog. It might be a journey in friendship, love, adventure, through sickness, betrayal or fear. It might be about your town, city or nation. Have a go at writing and email it to me at stephenlowton@googlemail.com

Journeys, people and place. Cities and towns finding a voice, rather than waiting for the latest mish mash of words to come from tomorrows G8 summit gathering in Japan. Who is going to be first?