literature

Schull Bay wonders

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Literature Text

As soon as the bus leaps out of Ballydehob and the known-by-heart shapes of Mount Gabriel emerge on my right, my soul swells with so much joy it can barely still fit inside my chest. No art can bring me more comfort than the sights of rough, bare rocks sticking out of the heather-purpled soil like tired but still welcoming bones of this ancient land.


Then, the very air starts changing and every sharp turn echoes in my heart as a double beat. And finally, there it is - slowly opening its horizons like loving, long-missed arms... The ocean. The purest, ever-relevant form of beauty and freedom; the big sister of the universe, full of magic, shifting and hypnotizing like a sacred caleidoscope. Greedily swallowing pungent, salty air, I remember all those times the shore embraced me when I thought all hope is lost; and here I am again - four years, thousands of miles and countless lightless abysses later. I immerse palms in the soft, ebbing light and suddenly a bramble thorn, that's been stuck in my thumb for weeks, slips out of the flesh and disappears together with the relentless noise in my head. Can't stop the tears; not so long ago I narrowly escaped death, and now I'm here. I'm back home, where my mind is free and my energy at peace.


As I climb the steep hill, every step and everything I cast my eyes on is a new, miniature miracle. Late, lush vegetation frantically steaming last breaths of green before the winter; and I'm steaming with it, bonding closer and closer with every exchanged, heavy breath and every twig brushing against my burning feet. The bay visible nearby, glistening like a puddle of mercury, caresses me gently with a soft, warm breeze, saturated with wood smoke, dizzying scent of silage and a promise of rain. Greeting strangers and getting greeted by dogs, I feast on the ubiquitous brambles, so ripe and eager the slightest touch turns them into the aromatic juice running down my fingers - the essence of a long, good summer, the ink for stories yet not told.


And finally, I find myself on a stone bench in front of my hiding spot, sipping tea from a handmade mug and remembering the magic of my first brew in Eire, topped with a splash of milk and a view on the Bantry Bay. The silence is so absolute it fills my entire existence like a thick, soft cotton wool, gently soothing all the anxieties, and rush, and restlessness; slowly making all the pieces fall back into their places. I'm whole again.


Oh, Ireland, how could have I ever doubted you! There's nothing wrong with you or me. It's just the cities, rotten to the bone with greed, throwing up hostility, hurry and noise - it's the cities that make us sick. But now I'm here, and the endless stars, slipping through me like Mala beads, turn my entire existence into the prayer, and the prayer becomes the universe, and the universe becomes me. Breathing in the ether, dewing with the light, I suddenly see the path of my life with both terrifying and elating clarity. Flooded with previously unknown, crushing wave of hope, relief, determination and validation, I look up to the moon... And trust.


We may as well be all mad down here.

Finally had time to read through and polish the draft I wrote in one sitting up the West Cork hills. 
© 2021 bohurtpotato
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LindArtz's avatar

Incredibly beautiful words,... and ability to make me understand, and connect - as though these feelings are my own.


I Love nature!!! :heart:


A joyful, soulful, treat for the senses!!! :clap: ( and absolutely DD worthy! If I had found it first! ) :heart:

bohurtpotato's avatar

Gods, you make me blush.

What do you mean by "If I had found it first"?