Letter to a Friend: Musings on Ireland

In response to an e-mail from a friend in India, the following flowed from my fingertips as I sat here, melancholy, body still on the Irish time warp; restless sleep with dreams I cannot remember.  Even now, some three hours later, all I’ve been able to do is unpack my suitcase, and with some reluctance – as though thinking, if I don’t unpack then I can pull an Irish roundabout…and go right roundabout back home to Ireland.  But, there is wishing and dreaming, and there is reality – the need to labour for a living.

Now this that I just wrote has me thinking – this business about us human kind having to labour for a living.  Wages in this country are exponentially high in comparison with most countries; ergo why so many people from all over the world live in Canada, and notably in my city Toronto.  Toronto a population of 5 plus million folks….just under the 6 million and a bit total population of Ireland. Now you’ll be able to understand why I call this place the corporate concrete jungle.  Anyway, back to the business of labouring for a living.  So, tell me folks (and I am speaking to self now…it is my spirit speaking to me), you know, you folks with the big income, the fancy apartments and fine cars…are ye living or are ye just labouring?  I think I, we, forgot the 2nd half of man’s journey on earth – the journey that began after Adam and Eve blew it and we were commanded by the Almighty to earn a living by the sweat of our brow.

I liken life in Toronto to that of being a guinea pig in a cage; going round and round (geez…there’s them Irish roundabouts again!) on the wheel – the wheel put there for your entertainment, but you’re so busy chasing after…self, stuff…you forgot to get off the wheel, stop and sit and enjoy what is spread out all around you.  We really do need to take the time to smell the roses…heck, just to even see the roses!

I suppose the life I experienced (short though it was) in Ireland is no different to that here in Canada.  I found the city life exactly the same as the city life here in Canada.  People hurrying and scurrying about; rushing for this or to do that, not seeing, barely taking time to lift their heads up and look about.  I guess the thing that happened to me was simply an affirmation of what my spirit and soul already knew – and that is that no matter the country I am living in, it’s the environment in which I choose to settle.  I am settled in a city – and that just plain old is not for me, not me; it is soul crushing and spirit defeating.

So, I’ll share this e-mail letter to my friend with you…perhaps you can relate.

Today is Easter Sunday….and the city below is quiet; I live in a PH apartment on the 29th floor of the building; facing east so get beautiful sunrises, and just to my right and south is the lake, across which I can see the United States border…when the pollution has lifted for a bit.  Driving back into the city last evening was amazed with the denisty of the population; 5 million people and Ireland has a total population of just over 6 million people.  Towers of concrete jungle apartments block any kind of view you might have from street level; stacks upon stacks of people “living on top of one another” and they don’t even know nor recognize one another’s existence.  This a far cry from the friendliness and openness of the countryside of Ireland, and for that matter, some of the countryside in my own country Canada – for instance where I was born – Cape Breton Island….which I now know to be true, is but a wee replica of Ireland; now I understand my grandfather’s musings about Ireland and why he chose to settle on the shores of Cape Breton Island…the thread that binds.  He was a fisherman and I can well imagine as he set out in the wee hours of the morning on his fishing jaunt…that perhaps he thought, “I can keep going straight ahead…and visit me fadda in Ireland…” but then shaking his head with a “No, can’t do that; what about Dot.”  Dot being my grandmother, his wife…both of ‘em barely teenagers when they set sail in the coffin ships from Ireland to Boston.

It is 7:45 a.m. and I am still lounging around the house…feeling at a loss; feeling a need to write, to explore; feeling like I’ve been given a gift to take away with me, that I might draw upon it any time any where…to return to the healing mists of Ireland on the craggy mountain tops…arms lifted praising the Great and Mighty Creator…who sustains all life; despite the hardships…we are given the power and strength to more than exist, but to be co-creators and harmonizers with him.

The hills are indeed alive with the sounds of music (and wouldn’t ya know it, I referred to the movie, The Sounds of Music in one of my blogs from Ireland…and the Lord being faithful…well, didn’t it come on t.v. two evenings later…now how’s that for coincidence…), the sounds of the songs of joy and sorrow and hardship and laughter…for the generations that have gone before me.  This is the song I will forever carry in my heart, in my soul; I hear the cries of the wee babies during the great famine; the moaning of the mother who can’t provide for her child; the salt tears streaming down her face…wondering.  I hear the celebrations of the feasts for a small victory…like the birth of a new born baby, as the wagon carts creak by with the bodies of those gone to rest, way too soon…and for what?

As you can tell, am indeed feeling melancholy and feeling so blessed…I have been given a gift and it needs to be expressed…or surely I will explode.  The Lord will provide, will guide, and will speak….

Blessings to you and yours..