24...
It's amazing what can happen in a day and a night. 24 little hours, strung one after the other, sometimes slowly, sometimes fast, sometimes so filled with beauty you could burst... or cry.
I had tears in my eyes multiple times yesterday. From the breathtaking (and dangerous) cliffside hike from Doolin to the Cliffs of Moher, where cows looked out at me from soft, sleepy eyes and horses followed my solitary lead... from chance encounters with a fellow hosteller along the 'unofficial' path through farmyards and over electric fences, jumping barbed wire together to get the visitors center at the end of a wild trek...
To evening musical bliss, a concert of three, harp and fiddle mingling with guitar and it's lispy voiced and passionate singer... all those Scottish tunes I once thought were irish, Shetland variations that run shivers up and down my spine, aires that bring tears bubbling to my closed eyes as I feel the familiarity of home and beauty, tangled up in one another, washing over me and into my pores... giddy flirtations with the swiss counter man after the show, a genuinely sweet smile and one of the only french accents (when speaking english) to tickle that can't-help-but-smile spot... talking to the harper while getting a signature one of three new (and expensive...) cds that I couldn't help but get (it's forever ringing in my ears: support local artists! even if it means another ham and cheese sandwich for dinner...)... getting motivated to try my own hand at the harp, if only to play a single aire...
To walking back to the hostel, past midnight, alone, on dark and foggy streets, as soft mist tickles my face and leads me on, past the door, along a dark side road, where all I can here is distant giggles from a camp ground... water, dripping hesitantly from a forgotten hose at a nearby construction site... the sound of my feet, echoing against the pebbled path... and the silence and weight of the air in between. Tears again. The fog wrapped around me like a comforting blanket, and standing silently facing the Atlantic, I was overjoyed to find myself happily alone.
Home again home again... to find an irish eccentric and his french ex-girlfriend sitting at tables and sipping tea in the hostel's common room... 'it's cozy in here!' i say, and am invited to join them... there's still hot water in the kettle... and we talk, about france, about america, about ireland... about people and nuances and differences... about sex and lovers and sudoku... and it's 4 am and my mind is wondering how the day, the night, have continued to be ever more amazing...
The night continues. I went to bed at perhaps 7, and slept very little. But I am up and overwhelmed by yesterday, by last night, by the unexpected, the encounters, the serendipidy upon which I let myself soar.
I have the invitation to go back to Galway tomorrow, with a free place to stay and a promised 'insider's' introduction to the city and all the fringe events going on as part of the arts week. I have someone who is now rather jealous that i have a new 'friend' coming today... and am myself wondering how this is going to work, who this guy is, how it will be...and I'm due in at the coffee shop today to browse through more cds, refrain from buying them, and practice my french while trying not to add a third peg to the messily wonderful adventure that has been this last week.
Doolin has seen me emerge from a chrysalis, for better... and maybe verging on dangerous. I have talked with many people from many places and had a nearly constant smile dancing upon my lips since I arrived.
I will never forget the time spent here.
And I will be home in less than a week...
Life. Fascinates me.
If i said i met a sort of buddha last night that offered me a path to a certain strand of enlightenment, would that sound strange?
All I know is that I don't want to crawl back into the chrysalis.
The time for life is now...
I had tears in my eyes multiple times yesterday. From the breathtaking (and dangerous) cliffside hike from Doolin to the Cliffs of Moher, where cows looked out at me from soft, sleepy eyes and horses followed my solitary lead... from chance encounters with a fellow hosteller along the 'unofficial' path through farmyards and over electric fences, jumping barbed wire together to get the visitors center at the end of a wild trek...
To evening musical bliss, a concert of three, harp and fiddle mingling with guitar and it's lispy voiced and passionate singer... all those Scottish tunes I once thought were irish, Shetland variations that run shivers up and down my spine, aires that bring tears bubbling to my closed eyes as I feel the familiarity of home and beauty, tangled up in one another, washing over me and into my pores... giddy flirtations with the swiss counter man after the show, a genuinely sweet smile and one of the only french accents (when speaking english) to tickle that can't-help-but-smile spot... talking to the harper while getting a signature one of three new (and expensive...) cds that I couldn't help but get (it's forever ringing in my ears: support local artists! even if it means another ham and cheese sandwich for dinner...)... getting motivated to try my own hand at the harp, if only to play a single aire...
To walking back to the hostel, past midnight, alone, on dark and foggy streets, as soft mist tickles my face and leads me on, past the door, along a dark side road, where all I can here is distant giggles from a camp ground... water, dripping hesitantly from a forgotten hose at a nearby construction site... the sound of my feet, echoing against the pebbled path... and the silence and weight of the air in between. Tears again. The fog wrapped around me like a comforting blanket, and standing silently facing the Atlantic, I was overjoyed to find myself happily alone.
Home again home again... to find an irish eccentric and his french ex-girlfriend sitting at tables and sipping tea in the hostel's common room... 'it's cozy in here!' i say, and am invited to join them... there's still hot water in the kettle... and we talk, about france, about america, about ireland... about people and nuances and differences... about sex and lovers and sudoku... and it's 4 am and my mind is wondering how the day, the night, have continued to be ever more amazing...
The night continues. I went to bed at perhaps 7, and slept very little. But I am up and overwhelmed by yesterday, by last night, by the unexpected, the encounters, the serendipidy upon which I let myself soar.
I have the invitation to go back to Galway tomorrow, with a free place to stay and a promised 'insider's' introduction to the city and all the fringe events going on as part of the arts week. I have someone who is now rather jealous that i have a new 'friend' coming today... and am myself wondering how this is going to work, who this guy is, how it will be...and I'm due in at the coffee shop today to browse through more cds, refrain from buying them, and practice my french while trying not to add a third peg to the messily wonderful adventure that has been this last week.
Doolin has seen me emerge from a chrysalis, for better... and maybe verging on dangerous. I have talked with many people from many places and had a nearly constant smile dancing upon my lips since I arrived.
I will never forget the time spent here.
And I will be home in less than a week...
Life. Fascinates me.
If i said i met a sort of buddha last night that offered me a path to a certain strand of enlightenment, would that sound strange?
All I know is that I don't want to crawl back into the chrysalis.
The time for life is now...
posted by Melia at 4:53 AM
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