Writing and Contemplative Photography...

   For me, writing and contemplative photography are inseparable.  It isn't so for everyone of course.  I think of my images as prompts in a way.  They open up thoughts and ideas that I wouldn't necessarily think of.

   That's why I love working in SoulCollage® for as Carl Jung admonishes, 

The Soul speaks to us through images.

   On my last two days in Dublin, I decided to focus on the written word.  I wanted to complete the circle in a manner of speaking.  I had visited Iona, where the famous Book of Kells had been written.  The monks fled Iona in about 806 AD when the Vikings invaded and slaughtered 68 monks.  They sought sanctuary in Kells, County Meath, Ireland, hence the name of the book.  The manuscript came to Trinity College in Dublin around 1653 to protect it from the rampages of the Cromwellian period when  the fervor of the Protestant reformation destroyed so many monasteries and religious objects.  Now I wanted to see what the monks risked their lives to preserve.

   For Columba and the Irish monks of his time, writing was very much a spiritual practice.  It was far more than merely copying words...recording thoughts for prosperity.  The physical act of writing in itself was sacred.

   The Book of Kells is a masterpiece of Celtic illumination.  The pages shimmer and dance with images and gold.  One has to ask, why?  If it were only a case of copying out the four gospels, there was really no need for all this painstaking decorative illumination. But it wasn't merely a copy of ancient texts, the Book of Kells was an act of love and a meditation in paint and ink by the monks who created it.

   You might find last weeks offering on Sounds True "illuminating"...
  

Writing As A Spiritual Practice

Julia Cameron
author of The Artist's Way

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Footnote:

    After visiting Trinity College library in the morning, I went to the Chester Beatty Library at Dublin Castle. It is, perhaps, the worlds greatest collection of the written word.  Illuminated manuscripts from all religious traditions are housed in this fascinating collection. I spend several hours marveling at the beauty of the these ancient texts.

    So sad to consider how unappreciated the act of writing is in today's world.  Oh yes, you can type out the words on your computer, as I'm doing now as I write this post, but the actual act of putting pen to paper is something worth doing.

    As long as I pursue photography as a contemplative practice, writing, the physical act itself, will be a vital part of the process for me. It may not be the most efficient way to record ones thoughts but writing slows me down and allows my thoughts to catch up with the words and anything that slows me down is a good thing.  Here is a past post about why I write.

My Good Crop from Ireland and Scotland...

   Trying to narrow down all the images I received while on my pilgrimage to the sacred sites of Ireland and Scotland to just twelve…my “good crop” as Ansel Adams called his twelve favorite images from a year’s work…was daunting.  Yet, it allowed me to really plumb the depths of this journey and what I want to remember as the essence of the experience.  

   I chose each for very different reasons.  Some were sublime moments of sheer rapture as in my walk through the bluebells, on my 65^th birthday, on the isle of Inchmahome in Scotland.  Others were an attempt, as poor as it might have been, to reveal the mystical atmosphere I discovered in the thin places I visited...the atmosphere of luminous light, like I found on Iona.  Then there was the wonderful delight of seeing the seal pups, watched over by a solitary cormorant, on my way to Staffa.  Each image in the twelve is intensely personal...each an icon of the experience.

   I offer them to you to look at and enjoy as you wish and perhaps as an encouragement to take your own journey this summer, up close or far away, and then choose your own “good crop” of images from the experience.  I believe it will be a worthwhile enterprise.

Ireland & Scotland, 2014 

 My Good Crop

A Maze and a Labyrinth...

    On my last full day in Glendalough, I visited the Russborough House in Blessington to walk their hedge maze.  I hadn’t walked one in over 25 years but the moment I stepped into it the anxiety flooded back.  

(This is not my photograph but I wanted you to see the layout.)

You cannot see where you are going and every turn could be a dead end.  A maze is meant to confuse and, in my mind, torment you.  Some people get hopelessly lost and have to be rescued. They recommended you bring a cell phone to call for help.  I didn't have one so it was even more stressful. 

   The nice lady at reception had given me a map but I didn’t want to use it.  I wanted to feel the confusion and anxiety.  Life is often like that; we never know if we are on the right path or not and we often reach dead ends and have to backtrack.

   I finally made it to the center.  What a relief!  I sat at the base of the sculpture to collect myself.  I now had to find my way back out!  I took out my map and decided I’d had enough anxiety and stress for one day, thank you.

   How different is the labyrinth.  This is the one at the monastic city in Glendalough.  It is simple and open…only one way in and one way out...again, like life.  You just have to put one foot in front of the other and walk.  Instead of anxiety and stress there is only a calm peacefulness that washes over you.  You know you will reach the center and going out is as easy as going in, almost like breathing.

   I’ve written a lot about choices during this journey and this, perhaps, is the ultimate choice.  You can move through life as if you are in a maze or you can see life as a labyrinth.  I think I’ll choose the latter.  After all, we all come into this life the same way and we, ultimately, go out the same way as well.  Not much choice there.  It is how we walk along the path that differs and in that respect we do have a choice.

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Footnote:

What would a trip to Ireland be without a sheepdog demonstration!  Michael Crowe gives a wonderful one at Russborough House.  I tried to video the demonstration, without much success, but I wanted to mention the experience. 

Wherever you travel, take the time to talk and interact with the local residents. (Which is why I took cabs around Dublin...so I could talk to the Irish cabbies!)  It will always be a delightful and illuminating experience.  Michael completed my wonderful day at Russborough House, thank you Michael, especially for the ride around the estate in your horse drawn carriage!  Give Millie a carrot for me! (You can visit his website at Irish Working Sheepdogs.)

I return to the States today.  Tomorrow I will post my album of "icons"...12 images that are ones that highlight my month long threshold pilgrimage.

A Visit to St. Kevin's Cell...

   A few days before I left Glendalough, I visited the site of St. Kevin’s cell or hermitage. It was June 3rd, St. Kevin's feast day so I thought a visit to the site of his cell was in order.

   All that is left now of the hermitage are some of the foundation stones but it would have been a stone beehive structure with a door and a solitary window looking out to the Upper Lake.

   St. Kevin spent 7 years living here and returned to it over the remaining years of his life.  But it wasn’t as solitary a living situation as one would have imagined by its isolated location.

   A very important part of Celtic spirituality was the concept of the anam cara or soul friend.  The whole relationship was intended to help people make peace with themselves, with others and with all of creation. It was crucial for everyone to develop this sort of deep relationship with another during one’s lifetime.  St. Kevin was visited by countless pilgrims seeking his spiritual guidance.

   I had a bit of lunch, a modest "feast", sitting in the cell and thinking about how this concept of soul friend is sorely lacking in our world today but one that would be well worth nurturing.  Do you have someone you could call your anam cara?

   On my way back to the car, I passed this amazing conifer tree.  Its roots lay exposed and it had an enormous and solitary branch about 3 feet off the ground.  Children played on it and slid down it.  So many had in the past, its bark had been polished smooth. 

   I felt that in a way, this tree had forged a relationship with the visitors, welcoming them and offering them a moment of pleasure.  I didn’t climb on it but I did run my hand over it and it was almost soft and warm to the touch. Quite lovely.

   About fifty feet from this tree was the ancient Caher or ring fort overlooking the lake.  It may even pre-date the monastic city.  Some say it could be an Iron Age structure.   These forts were meant to protect people from attack.   They would shelter in it if intruders appeared.

   My book, Glendalough: A Celtic Pilgrimage, offered this poem that I thought a lovely reflection for this afternoons visit.  

   

 Hallowed stones, signs of a people

Present long ago,
Their dreams founded on things sacred,
Water surging, rushing, finding still
Life within these loughs (lakes)
A deep peace in this place of God.
I another pilgrim with another dream.
I touch the stones, I stand encircled by them.

  I went and stood inside the Caher as the ancient people did and I found a wonderful sense of encircling strength in this thinnest of thin places.  How different our lives, these ancient people and me,  but we shared the same need of security and protection in a trouble world…we are not all that different really.

                        

Seven Churches...Seven Questions

   I took along on my trip the Michael Rodgers and Marcus Losack book, Glendalough: A Celtic Pilgrimage.  It was been a wonderful inspiration for my stay in Glendalough.  Rather than a mere guide book, it is also a book of spiritual questioning which has been the whole focus of this pilgrimage.  They ask the pilgrim to not only look at the monuments in this historic site but to use each as a spring board to explore deeper questions.  

  The first church is Trinity. Not part of the monastic city, it was built in the 11th century, probably on the site of a much older wooden one of the 6th or 7th century. It is easily overlooked as it is a bit off the beaten track and it is a scramble over stiles and stone walls to get to it.

   The church has one of the finest arches of all the churches and it is the arch that forms the basis for the question.

   Seven identical granite stones are held in place by the key stone. (Seven is a sacred number relating, perhaps, to the seven stages of life.)  The authors ask one to contemplate how the key stone holds the balance; without it the arch would tumble to the ground.

  What is the key stone in your life?  What holds the balance of the opposing sides?

   Finding a guide book that challenges one to think is a rare treat.  It is the difference between being a tourist or a pilgrim.  As I visited each of the seven churches, I reflected on how these questions applied to the personal pilgrimage I am on.  I think they are relevant for any person wanting to explore the spiritual dimension of their lives.  Here are the other questions the authors suggest:

How can you enter into a new communion with others?

How is your faith reflected in your daily life?

How do you experience friendship and do you have a soul friend?

How can we embrace the feminine aspect of creation?

Can you recognize the divine presence in the natural world?

How can you remain open to change and new directions in your life?

   These questions were, for me, a kind of review of my entire pilgrimage.   You can read the wonderful poem by Macrina Wiederkehr, Tourist or Pilgrim? here.  I’ve used it before but it seems appropriate to reconsider it especially as the summer travel season is fast approaching.  You needn’t travel half way ‘round the world to take a pilgrimage.  It can be as near to hand as your own back yard.  Distance doesn’t make a pilgrim, intention does.

   I leave Glendalough today for Dublin. I fly home on Sunday. I love the last lines of Macrina's poem and I will think about them this weekend.

And yet, you cannot reach that home
until you’ve loved the pilgrim in you
One must be comfortable
with pilgrimhood
before one’s feet can touch the homeland.

Do you want to go home?
There’s a road that runs
straight through your heart.
Walk on it.