Sistionary: Musings from Ireland

Hey Amanda,

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

It's been a few weeks since we visited Ireland together, but there's a few things that keep running through my head.

there really were sheep everywhere

Ireland felt ancient. Not in the feral way that the redwood forest feels ancient, but a kindly ancient like what I imagine the island form of Grandmother Willow would be. No joke, I stood in the shade of an Elm tree that had witnessed the childhood of my great-grandmother's grandfather. The wet January wind just cemented in my mind that that dirt had been sheltering people against the elements for millenia. And I felt a gratitude for that shelter that I haven't felt other places. That I owed a piece of myself to those rolling hills, unbelievably green despite the cold and lack of sunshine. That the trees and grass had grown up in furrows shaped by man and in turn had shaped them....okay, a little dramatic with my descriptions--however, they're accurate. To put it lightly, the whole landscape was in fact magically delicious. Although like most Americans I'm an amalgamation of nations, I felt a kindred-ness. Maybe we all just wish were Irish. Who knows.

Dolmen in The Burren

Ireland also sold me socialism in a way that even my Texas heart found a place for. I mean look at this poster:

Captions talk about how laborers would share food with each other to survive

You'd never see that in the US, our McCarthy shaped culture just wouldn't allow it. But good heavens, what a beautiful sentiment. And then while eating the best meat pie of my entire life, I heard a trio of musicians wail into "A Pound A-Week Rise" in a corner pub, which is a song about the sad collusion of the government with mine owners to crush labor dispute in, wait for it--1967. (Side note: the violinist in that band may or may not have been some kind mythical creature. Way. Good.) So yeah, Ireland as a whole is perhaps the antithesis of an Ayn Rand novel.

...Also just in case you fell asleep in history class, the English really sucked at being nice to people that weren't English. I won't get into that, but heck yeah solidarity!

I know you talked a little about the Trinity Library already Amanda, but I just need to reiterate that if you love to read or otherwise acknowledge the momentous value of the written word, it will move you. I don't know if there's such a thing as a secular religious experience but if there is, I think I had one looking at the rows upon rows of antique book spines.

Us and our goofy grins outside of the library

I was impressed with the value of a truly mundane life at the Trinity Library. In its basement is the Book of Kells, an illuminated manuscript from around 800 AD (and incidentally the subject of a great animated film). In the display they talked about these monks who had settled in Ireland like one-way astronauts hundreds of miles away from anything or anyone they had ever known, and then spent the entirety of their lives preparing vellum, stitching folios, and copying text, stopping to ink their reed pens between words, for hours upon days upon years of their life. One, that's amazing persistence. Two, how utterly boring. And yet, these scribes are essentially the only people on the planet who weren't born into a monarchy whose names we know from the 9th century. Not only did they copy the word of God, but in their illuminations they also captured their culture in one of the few surviving artifacts of their era. Plus, it looks pretty.

Seriously, the colors are just as vivid in person--amazingly well preserved

Of course John the Revelator would be a ginger

Really, I just want to go back. Ireland was gorgeous in every aspect. The landscape, the people, the bacon (mmm, yes, the bacon). Next time I'll just go when it's a wee bit warmer.