Feeling the Beauty

Today I went to the Cliffs of Moher for the second time. Since my friend Dani, who I know from dance, is here on her Spring Break, we've been exploring quite a bit.

On Monday, we went to Connemara to see Kylemore Abbey. It was amazing! We got on the wrong bus, because nothing seems to go quite as planned, but we still made it to the Abbey, and its picturesque beauty was well worth the three hour ride in the back of a van. Yes, a van. We were supposed to go with Galway Tour Company because I had a student discount card, but in our frantic haste to get on a bus on time, we just agreed to go with the First Lady holding a sign that said "Connemara." So, we bumped along in the back of the Healy van - at one point, the road was so bad, we were actually flying with every divet - until we finally rounded a corner and caught a glimpse of the dream. Growing up as a little girl who often referred to herself as Princess Ali (who are we kidding, i still do) I can honestly say that Kylemore Abbey is what I pictured as my dream home. In fact, Kylemore Abbey may be more breathtaking than my imagination's idea of a proper castle.

The story of the Abbey is an equally beautiful and heartbreaking tale of a man's love for his wife. In 1867 Mitchell Henry built a castle for his wife of 32 years, the mother of their 9 children. It was a grand estate, fit for a hundred people, resting at the base if the Connemara mountains. Sadly, only four years after its completion, mrs. Henry died. Distraught over his wife's death, Henry moved his family away, and the estate was eventually sold to a group of Benedictine nuns. It is still owned by the nuns, who now, rather than using the facilities as a girls' school, display it for tourists like me.

After Mrs. Henry died, her husband had a gothic church built on the property in her memory. Even in it's small stature, the church was just as incredible as the castle. It has all the flying buttresses and intricate piping details of your average gothic cathedral, but it's personal size. If this church were a pizza, it would be a personal sized shitaki mushroom and red onions - earthy ingredients with an element of class placed atop a mini-pie. The whole experience was great.

Then on Tuesday, I had a productive day, going to class and working on my looming psych paper, while Dani explored the Aran Islands. And today, we went to the Cliffs.

In my last post about the Cliffs of Moher, I talked about how infinite they seemed, how full of possibilities I felt they were. Today, was a totally different experience. Again, I felt the vastness of the infinite, but today, on a perfectly clear, sunny day, I couldn't help but feel the presence of God. When I see things like this, in their indescribable, natural beauty, I can't help but feel the love of God. How could I doubt the awesomeness of God (awesome of course in the original sense of the word, the awe inspiring witness of the sublime) while I'm sitting with my feet dangling over the edge of a 15 mile drop, looking out at the ocean that connects us with the US? How could I not feel the beauty of a God who loves me unconditionally as I look out at a bright blue ocean, resting under cliffs of immeasurable green? Of course I've seen beautiful things, but I swear I could feel the beauty of Ireland.

Like a Rose

Last night, I had a heart to heart with my roommate, who opened up about being sad about leaving Ireland. She's recently come to the realization that after she returns from her trip around Europe? Which she leaves for on Friday, we'll only have three weeks together. As she lives on the other side of the country (and both of us are pretty adamant about our coated pride) it is fairly safe to say that we will never again live together.

As we talked about our impending separation, I couldn't help but think about the idea, which a friend of mine shared about this time last year: people come into your life when they're meant to, for as long as they're meant to. Everyone you meet has a significance. Of course there are some people who I hope are meant to be in my life for a long, long time, but I do believe that - as hard as it may be - relationships end. With every end, there is hope for growth. It's like a rose, when you prune back a branch, it grows back healthier. While I hope that my roommate and I do stay in contact, which I really think we will, I know that because she has come into my life at all, I have grown.

Like losing my dad. Of course I wish it hadn't happened, but it did. And because it happened, when it happened, I have grown. I have grown into a person who seeks happiness, a person who pushes for adventure, a person who holds onto love.

Passion Sunday

One of the really nice things about belonging to the universal church is that, as a Catholic it's generally pretty easy to find a local Sunday service. Coming to Ireland, I must admit that I had this dream of meeting a kind, Irish priest, who would take me under his wing and reignite my connection to the church. So far, no such luck. In fact, the few masses I have been to, I really haven't liked. Of course the churches are beautiful, and the history is rich, but the masses themselves are cold.
Last night I went to a Palm Sunday Service, and I was wildly disappointed. You have to understand, I love Palm Sunday. Sure, it's the longest mass of the year, but it's worth it. The children in the church excitedly playing with their palms, the dramatic affect of participating in the gospel, and the overall feeling that someone loves you so unconditionally they are willing to die for you. Sunday night, I didn't feel the love, the joy, the celebration. Sunday night, I felt cold.

I went to St. Augustine's Church just around the corner from my apartment. I'd never been there before, so it was quite a shock when I walked in the main doors and saw that the Alter was in the middle of the aisle, and all of the seats faced the middle if the church rather than the crucifix. Speaking of the crucifix, it was this weird, silver modern adaptation. It was really beautiful on its own, but in a church that looks to have been designed hundreds of years ago, something was wrong. I suppose it looks much like I felt - simply out of place.

Anyway, the mass began with little warning, as the priest walked up to the lectern and said, "We will now begin our celebration of the Passion Sunday mass. This day marks the beginning of the holiest week in Christianity." After rushing through the opening prayer, a young woman took her place behind a second lectern, which was facing the first. She read the first reading, then led us through a spoken hymn, and finally through the second reading. It was rushed and impersonal, but I thought maybe she was told to speed through because we would be focusing on the Passion. Nope. We sped through the Passion too, sometimes the congregation slurred so quickly through the audience participation sections that I couldn't even catch up. And then, the priest didn't give a homily!

You may be thinking, why would I be upset that the longest mass of the year was only 45 minutes? The answer is that I love Passion Sunday. It makes me feel loved, it makes me feel impassioned about my faith, and this mass was just cold. The stark white walls of the church, the monotone Asland voice of the priest, and the coat-necessary temperature made for a not-so-life-affirming experience. Let's hope that Easter at Galway Cathedral is better than last week.

What Life is About

Yet again, I've let myself go two weeks without posting anything new. A lot has happened in the past two weeks, so this may take a couple posts, but for now, I'll start with my trip to the Cliffs of Moher.

On Monday, March 4th, I woke up bright and early to board a bus and begin an adventure ending at the famous Cliffs of Moher. I've had several friends go on this trip before, and it came with rave reviews, so I can easily say that I was excited to see Ireland's most breathtaking natural landmark. And let me tell you, they were not kidding. Standing at the Cliff of Moher (aka the cliff of insanity for any fellow Princess Bride fans), looking out at the ocean, I couldn't help but feel little. Here I was, one person out of the hundred there, looking at the end of the world. It was really incredible. I'm not sure if the fog was preferable to a clear day, but it added to the endlessness of the cliffs. Hidden under a bank of clouds, the end of the rock formation seemed completely intangible. I imagine that it would be like standing at the bottom of the Grand Canyon, surrounded by the endlessness nature created. To some this may seem intimidating, terrifying even, but for me, on that Monday afternoon, it felt like an opportunity. Like infinite possibilities.

Maybe I felt that way because our bus driver had prepped us with such an optimistic personality. Before we even left Galway, I could tell it was going to be an interesting adventure because our bus driver was so excited to share Irish history, political tensions, and even personal anecdotes. When we first set off, he instructed the bus that we must "think positively to move these clouds." As I said, it was a pretty foggy day, so throughout the entire bus ride, our driver kept telling us that we had to stop thinking about water - "best not to say the r-word" - and start thinking of sunshine. He continued sharing this optimism by saying things like, "You think it's cold? Nah, it's just fresh. It's a nice, fresh morning." What struck me the most, I think, was that throughout the journey, he had to have said, "That's what life's about: enjoying yourself," at least six times.

What a novelty. Life is about enjoying yourself. That's such an Irish mentality. "Sure," he continued, "Irish is in a pretty bad place financially, but I think it'll get better and Ireland will come out of this in the next year or two better than ever before." It seems to me that in the US, people use the recession as an excuse. He's fallen on hard times since the recession. He used to be a very hard worker, but since the recession there just isn't work. We are the 99%. Don't get me wrong, as a college student, facing tens of thousands of dollars of student loans, I know the feeling of being the little guy. I know the feeling of bitterness at the fat cats on wall street getting bailouts, while I am faced with a future of financial struggle. But I think that the difference between the US and Ireland is that here in Ireland, kids work. Everyone works. Maybe our bus driver used to have a career in marketing, and now has to drive a bus. But you know what, he drives that bus like it's his favorite thing in the world.

Of course I'm worried about what I will do to bring in an actual pay check, but at the end of the day, I know that I will work. If I have to be a waitress or a barista or a nanny for a while, at least I'll be working. Because life is about enjoying yourself. So I won't stress myself into an early grave by worrying about that which I cannot control. I will do what I need to do to be successful in my own eyes. I feel confident saying that I will figure out a way to support myself, so that I can enjoy myself. I'd say I've done a pretty good job of that up to this point. I mean, I figured out how to get to Ireland. I've budgeted my money here so I can afford a trip to Spain, Morocco, France, Amsterdam, Poland, Germany, Switzerland, and Italy. (Yes, this is actually happening!!!!!!)

Right now, I am happy saying that I am simply enjoying myself.