Airports

On my last trip I spent a lot of time in Airports. Vancouver, San Francisco, Frankfurt, Dublin, Newark, Montreal. I slept in Vancouver airport Christmas eve, on my return, because I got in so late I didn't want to wake anyone up. I found a nice little dark bench by the fountain, made a nice little bed for myself, and had a good sleep. Woke up, and it was still dark out, I felt rested and figured it must be six am, and I packed my stuff to go get the sky train and bus to the ferry so I could drive home. After packing everything I looked at my cell - it was 2am. I'd slept for 2 hours. Sigh.

A friend drove me from Kilkenny to the Dublin airport the morning before, to get there for 7:40 for my 9:40 flight. Flight was delayed, so I had a final Guinness and wrote in my journal. Meditated and slept on the planes, was pretty tired, no-one seemed to wanna talk. On my way to Europe had an hour and fifteen minute stop in Frankfurt. But my flight was late getting in, so it was more like 50 minutes to get through security and to my next take-off. A very helpful little older lady with a thick African accent (who worked there) instructed me to open the gate, jump the que, and run. I did, it was kinda fun to sprint through an airport, I felt like I was in a movie! And it was the only moment in the whole trip when I was glad I had worn running sneakers, otherwise I felt like a hick.

Newark airport was cool - everyone had New York accents, and was friendly and gruff. No bullshit there. As close as I've come to being in New York City. One day, one day..

Life is about airports, a series of airports. Heaven may smell like the airport. Although I may never get that proven...

Everything that begins, ends. Our lives and every association, project, dream, we ever have. We get on a plane and leave it one day, and that plane lands somewhere else. Somewhere previously unknown to us.

Dublin was my favourite - it's small and simple and smells a bit funny, like airports used to be, instead of the huge corporate well-oiled machine they are now, where we are smoothly and seamlessly herded from one destination to another, and sold lots of stuff on the way. Vancouver isn't bad. I had an awesome smoked meat sandwich in Montreal airport though - a high point in that day and a half of flat-out travel.

Come. Go. Life is a series of airports. I love them because I love the change they represent - leaving things behind, and embracing new things; the unknown.

Connemara

If you should ask then maybe they'd
Tell you what I would say
True colors fly in blue and black
Blue silken sky and burning flag

Connemara.

Is an area of Ireland, in the west. It is "a district in the west of Ireland of which the boundaries are not well defined." It is mostly seen as being north of Galway. We were south of Galway. It was a beautiful area. So - not sure if I was really in 'Connemara' or not.. 
We drove in at night, stayed in a little B&B. Sat and drank tea in the sitting room that evening, and pondered the great spinning void of fate, under our minds, and our feet, as we chatted about life and love. After going to Spiddal that day, to see my Mom's grave by the sea. 

We awoke to swirling mist, little birds outside the window at breakfast. It was Dec 21, 2012 - the end of the World.

The boys of the NYPD choir
Were singing "Galway Bay"

Meditating tonight, lying in the dark - I stepped into that golden zone where; I could hear my neighbours in the room below, talking, my room-mate come in and talk to the dog, close the door, and the silence, under and through it all - they weren't at odds, instead all part of one song. I thought, 'Connemara' is a good name for that.. phenomenon. When you're there - there is a river of life, the music in a pub in Galway, the wind across the scattered fractured rocks of the Burren, the bird songs, the people's jibes and laughing eyes, even through sorrow - the music a mystery under it all, the mystery a music. What ended, with the World, and what began?..

On the way back from Spiddal we stopped at a restaurant/hotel called Twelve, in Barna, just north of Galway. Great food, great service, awesome vibe. A shelf of books on Irish history and other rebelliousness. When an errand knight needs a break from his mid-evil wanderings, Twelve is a great spot to have a pint, maybe take a lady out. I was lucky to do so. Well, she took me out, I think. It was a great time in a magical few days.

I've again renewed my commitment to follow my path, wherever it may lead me. Will go back to school. When this trip came up I had a weird moment of being afraid, and I later defined it as; "wanting to stay in my hidey-hole." I live in a really great place, truly great, but - no hidey-holes. I have an errand to do.

The fortunate
      Is he whose earnest purpose never swerves,
      Whose slightest action or inaction serves
The one great aim.

The Irish know how to live. In more ways than one. Enjoy your life, laugh, love, laugh some more. But be free at any cost. 

I brought home a bottle of Connemara Irish Whiskey, and the poem I mentioned in the last entry, that my travelling companion (I'll call her "Diana", after the huntress) and I couldn't find - is called Connemara. 

In the west of Ireland I was reminded to enjoy life..

... and of the One Great Aim.

There's something sleeping in my breast

That wakes only in the west;
There's something in the core of me
That needs the West to set it free.

Kent (let's talk)

This blog is largely about my brother, although he may not be mentioned in it again.

I went to school in England in 2006 for a bit, finishing my degree. It was at a castle. Which is kind of like a cathedral, to a blind man.

Castles were military and social structures - mundane, about survival. Those architects, who learned those skills, spiritualized them - and hence - Cathedrals.

In England in those days, I was going thought a lot, marriage breakdown, health problems; 'a crisis of faith'. And yet - I recalled you.

"And then there was another way home"

lemme out

I had a dream when I got back, and people always said you should follow your dreams, that there was a place for me. I sniffed it on the wind, when I was there.

In Ireland I sniffed it again, and this time - it had a name. And an angel came and opened the door in my head.

Castles architects spiritualized their skills, and made tributes to the human spirit. Can we do the same?

The answer my, friend, is blowin' in the wind