yes, Bob, I would love info on An Shrone :)

WHY IRELAND?

I've made visits to Ireland in April of 1999, June and July of 2000, April of 2001, February of 2002, April of 2003, June of 2004, 2005 and most recently, in April of 2006. Friends and family ask me why we keep going back. Why not go somewhere else? Why keep going to the same place, over and over? Why go to Ireland, at all?

Experiences flash in and out of memory, the images from each trip flicker brightly and then fade, growing dim in my mind’s eye. They blur and run together, until I am no longer certain which memory – which image – is unique to which journey. I tell myself that each trip is meant to further my research, with specific goals and objectives, unique to each Spoke in the current segment of the Wheel. That is what I tell everyone. It is what I tell myself. But, I’m not certain whether that is the truth, anymore. Being in Ireland has robbed me of all objectivity. I only know that something calls me back periodically, as if to refresh some cherished, childhood memory, like the nurturing scent of freshly baked bread.

There is something about Ireland that resonates in my soul. Being there is like savoring that first taste of coffee in the morning. After that instant in time, the sensation is never again repeated. It can never, ever, taste that good again, until the next morning comes back around. Sensations diminish with time, until they becomes little more than faded memories. Once that happens, I must return to the well, once again and be renewed.

When I stand upon the mountaintop of Mushera, at Knocknakilla, or traverse the narrow boreen that meanders past Castle Donovan, enroute to Coomleigh, I am at peace with the world and with my place, within it. More importantly, I am at peace with myself.

I stand at the base of the Rock of Cashel, enraptured and remark to Patricia that there is more history, in just that one limestone scalp, then exists anywhere within our entire country. I find that realization comforting. Oddly, such moments trivialize my own insignificance, for if my homeland’s legacy pales in comparison to one rocky dome in the midst of the Golden Vale, how then can my own failings matter? I walk away refreshed, knowing that they do not. Ireland grants me absolution.

So, Ireland holds my demons at bay, for a while, at least. She has that power and I embrace her generous Mercy.

Timelessness drips from the hills, the bogs and the sky. Great, gray, mossy woolen clouds hang low, over hills of glistening emerald. Tendrils of gauzy, linen opaqueness trail silken traces of soft, buttery dampness that yields a gentle moistness, to caress the skin with a tender touch of satin. These are the fabrics and textures of Ireland. They form a cloak that envelops the body and nurtures the soul.


Given that, WHY NOT, Ireland?

Bob

Incredibly poetic, Bob, and it made my eyes tear up, thinking of my own 'Irish mornings' and first impressions.

Thank you for those visions, brought to life through your prose. Also, thanks for the info on An Shrone and environs!

The last bit was actually a "throw away" that was excised from the introduction to the second volume of my three part family history, because my wife insisted that it didn't belong there.

I actually wrote it while waiting at the gate, for our return flight from Dublin, in June of 2004.

Hated to see it go to waste, and it DID seem to fit.

Waste not, want not...

Bob

Bob,

That is brilliant, as they say in Ireland. If you are not quoted in the next Fodor's book on Ireland they are crazy! They should start the book with that. I love Ireland too and repeatedly visit but most people just don't understand. You have really summed it up beautifully.

Simply Bravo!