The Sacred pause

Springtime Blessings all, from one who is not always here and never all there.

robin texture

My thoughts are slowly thawing as daylight lingers longer, and morning footsteps awash in sun beams  lead back to the mossy hillside path. The snowdrops are joyfully singing in the dawn along with the songbirds while the trees stir in a barrage of loud whispers on our windswept hill. If I remain stationary in sadness, I will become  rooted  so I am moving from the profound quiet of winter, and everywhere there are stories coming to life.

flowing with the temporary, attachments are like the seasons which come and go

de bonne heure

Sorrow can come swiftly like the hunting hawk who swoops down on his hapless prey  but so can joy at his soaring.

A pilgrimage consists of three parts ” a journey, a threshold and a silence.”

lake the journey transforms us

 like the wind, the light and the shadow, we are constantly changing. 

meadowsIt is an act of the heart to accept that everything we love will eventually be taken from us but as Kafka said, love will always come back to us in different form. 


As St. Patricks’ day approaches I prepared a tribute to our  journeys in Ireland  with Cuchullain’s Lament (Caoineadh Cuchullainn)  played on the Uilleann pipes

The Far and Away

cliffs of Moher and some sacred spaces of Ireland