Monday, August 06, 2012

Muckross to Black Valley

Muckross to Black Valley 8.5.12 A primeval portrait of Ireland can surely be experienced by walking the first leg of the Kerry Way. The Killarney National Park has preserved the pristine lands where humans lived 4,000 years ago. Ice age glacial lakes formed 10,000 years past shimmer reflections of the earth’s grandeur. Long narrow lakes of black glass are pocked with mini-islands overgrown with lush trees home only to the birds. I wondered if man had ever walked on that virgin ground. Here, Irelands highest mountains stand like gods reigning over their kingdom. Clouds of black, purple, silver, and holy white adore the majestic hills like crowns. Stone formations that were thrust out of the mountains into prominence by ancient ice sheers, now are monuments brought alive by a blanket of countless hues of green. Colors fan across the landscape from a royal black green to a translucent glisten. The divine oaks stretch out as cathedrals in God’s creation. Cypress spin and shine like belly dancers before the king. Ferns twirl like flirting eyes luring the heart into a peaceful rest. Spots of reds, browns, rusts, and florals of yellows, purples, and the odd blues dot the canvass as if the artist Spirit flicked her brush for accent across the masterpiece of multiple millennia. Could the Vatican’s St. Peter’s be so decorated with such a holy glory. The journey was like centering prayer, contemplative and timeless. The walk was over before I could have imagined. Today was walking in the God’s holy Church of creation. A few scenes would have inspired fantastical filmmakers. Hundred ton stones fifteen foot high are mounted by fifty-year oaks who have wrapped their roots around the monolith seeking the black earth for nourishment, both encased in a carpet of velvety moss. These trees could offer ancient tales of those who have rested under their umbrella of life. Little has been disturbed since early man hunted the red deer and fished for trout in order to survive against the elements of southern Ireland. The Atlantic is close enough you can almost smell the salty air. I am in awe of the Creator’s holy sanctuary. This must surely be the thin place, the veil between this world and the realm of the unseen. Voices of the communion of saints whisper sweet words of loving bliss for those who will breathe in Earth’s natural silence. To live, and move, and have one’s being in this place is to be in a perpetual state of the Holy One’s Presence. I am humbled and feel a deep sense of privilege and gratitude to have walked this way at least once in my lifetime. This day has been a gift from the Eternal Earth Maker.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Gil you are a wordsmith the equal of any Celtic Bard. It sounds majestic and very evocative of the thinness of places.