breathe again, the wind fills my lungs
cast away to isle native tongue
silence speaks only to my ears
following steps my feet carry without fear
into a field of stone & thistle flowers
away my day, the sun, the hours
my body sinks with the sun to the earth
awake my eyes, night sky to birth
blankets my soul with every dream to light
safely tucked into the shadows of night
awake my soul! the sun kisses the sky!
and warms the grass where my body did lie
strength of my anchor pulls me home again
our eyes, our hands as ropes intertwine
a safe harbor from this storm
greets our parallel bodies’ form
I have shipwrecked myself on this island-how the winds have changed…setting others off in tangential directions from this center, yet polarizing, I am kept still in this harbor-as time revealed another truth: a wandering heart that could not match mine…but an anchor to give me a home.
They call someone like me a “blow-in”…where the winds have taken us to land here in County Clare to build a home. No longer just a passing squall, variable as the tides, yet never to be a native to this coast. They all say “wait until Winter” as if the changing weather could ever alter my steadfast heart. Yet with all things uncertain, some times I am not so sure that I can do this alone.
Seeking space, I craved anonymity & set off on a whim to the Aran Islands. I set off self-sufficiently with nothing but a picnic & sleeping bag, & graciously accepted the gifts presented to this tired body. For days, an awareness called to my taught muscles, only revealed by stunted movement…a tightness in my chest, my cheeks, as slowing down to breathe had come second to the constant moments from sunrise to sunset…here in the sunroom, I find room to breathe, in the welcome cool air as the light equally bakes golden warmth…a welcome company that I find so true.
It is a strange position to be in life:so secure & gifted by all of the generosity presented-as somehow in just being present-are needs met…yet I equally find myself anxious for survival, as I meticulously calculate each day’s stock & challenge to meet. I shared the story of my great grandma Opie & Helen’s Barn, how that same stubborn independence & moxie flowed through this lineage, branching out into my own veins…the thought came to me that perhaps we were always cursed to lose great loves…as so many before have departed…leaving us to fend for ourselves…perhaps a pattern too familiar.
For years, I kept running away, my blood poisoned by this truth, desperate to start anew & find secure footing… as with each step, feet sliding down the pebbled sand of steep cliffs…& into the unknown, i often fell…free…until landing broken.
But here I have found an anchor. A strong rope to grasp, hands clasped, to pull me out of the dark abyss, & into the light of day…out of the suffocating heavy swell that holds me down, & into the breath of air that in turn elevates my soul. My anchor is a part of every part of me…within & surrounding…sharing…with this awareness, it can be seen, felt, heard & touched…I see it in the faces every time that a gift is shared…they light up at the unexpected bestowing, providing even more in return than one could ever give away…I feel it in the emerald centers of his eyes, striking embers of the earth that soften me…I hear it in the pull & release of the tides, as the stones gently rock against each other & under my feet…I can touch it shared between sweet, genuine embraces of warmth between friends.
It’s an amazing new way of creating one’s own livelihood…one that many fear…in letting go of control or that which is “guaranteed”…but is it ever? Some put all of their day’s energy into a paper currency, & in return it burns away to pay for the things that their own energy could create…my body needs food, so I grow it…my spirit needs freedom, so I nourish it…my soul needs love, so I give it…
The winds in my face as the ferry took me across the swept sea, I could feel my lungs filling up again to their apices. Lightened by the freedom of the heavy load on my back, I paced past the foreign noises blaring in my ears. I walked & walked & walked, finding refuge sitting atop of grey-stoned wall, as the sun took the hours from me, I needed a place to rest. For hours I had not seen another, until a passing farmer on his tractor slowed to cease. Striking up conversation, he looked at me curiously as I asked for permission to sleep on his land. Not too many other blonde American women alone would likely have conjured up this idea in Inisheer! Granted, as he pointed towards his gate, I walked into a beautiful garden & orchard full of fallen apples & rows of those very same vegetables that I give care to. Left alone, & seeking to follow the sun into setting in, I found a sheltered space from the tender rain, amongst the purple thistle & lush fern, to make a bed. Sunken into the earth, it greeted the shape of my body’s curves, as the only energy I expended was to breathe & to raise my head above the line of foliage, periodically checking into the state of the sky as it changed from a golden glow to soft greyed pink to twilight’s blue…asleep now…my eyes only open to the brightest blanket of lucent stars, unblurred & my company to dreams.
With the rise of the sun, I carried on, extending the island in pace, until I found the tranquility of a lake to extend my own body…giving thanks for this place of respite… & to feel the pull of my anchor calling me home.
The Gratitude Leap 