John Wiercioch
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Reflections on the Art of Living

The Burrens, Ireland

9/7/2019

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Burren National Park, County Clare, Ireland


Yesterday we headed to Burren, (from the Gaelic “great rock”) a national park loosely situated between Limerick on the south, the Wild Atlantic Way along the western coast, and Galway to the north. We traveled along narrow roads with little or no shoulder, carefully navigating the “wrong side of the road” and fighting muscle memory and instincts to avoid mishaps with locals. There are virtually no wooden fences in this region, rather, low stone walls are everywhere. Not pretending to be knowledgeable, we reckoned that was because rocks don’t rot, and also that since the region has been inhabited for over a thousand years, any given wall could be hundreds of years old. It’s pretty cool, and gives you a different sense of place and your stature living within a place. Plus it makes you extra wary when buses or “lorries” (trucks) are hurtling toward you (in what feels like the wrong lane—even though they ARE in their proper lane) and you’re driving a rental car that you really don’t want to scrape against those walls.


Many kilometers of rolling farmlands similar to those in our region of Virginia occupy this central western area of Ireland, designated as County Clare. Following the final proscribed one lane route to the park, the foliage on the tree-lined road suddenly ended and exposed a strange, surreal view. A landscape and hills as far as the eye could see, made mostly of small layered fragments of stone, (of course the park roads are all framed in by more handbuilt stone walls). A limestone formation, further scraped by glaciers, left this uniquely scarred, ruggedly beautiful region of small mountains and hills. It’s dotted by lakes and scrubby bushes and patches of grasses. Apparently at some point there were a few forests in the area but overgrazing by sheep and goats led to them losing their fragile foothold. 


We made the slippery trek on a trail toward the crest, up a few hillsides, roughly 1.5 miles. A steady wind and driving light rains created foggy mists that limited any views from the top. Somewhat surprisingly, we both agreed to the wise choice of  returning to our vehicle after conquering only about half the hike. Given the weather it was no surprise few humans, let alone more sensible critters, were out. A crow laughed at us a bit as we passed. The winds seem to whip through these lands at a very steady clip. It was fascinating to consider the strength and agility of the birds in this region, and how strong they must become from constantly facing such harsh circumstances, especially compared to those elsewhere. Hard not to wonder also about the folks who have lived in these regions for generations, and become used to wet winds that nearly blow one over, have carved a life on lands where “soil” is often half rock, and property lines have been defined by hand-built, meter high, stone walls many kilometers in length, weighing billions of tons. F*cking tough lads and lassies! 


Despite the soaking rains, as we ambled back down the hillside, we honored our duty by making sure to take the time to “test” the ever-present blackberries. We found them to be of excellent quality.

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Old Growth Majesty & Irish Magic

9/5/2019

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Among many wonders our new friend in Ireland, Brendan Sanders made us aware, was a small vestige of an old growth forest not far from his homestead, in Flagmount, County Clare, just beyond a field near the road. Adjacent farmland and industry-planted, non-native cedar forests, we walked through an inconspicuous gate and wandered up a hilly overgrown dirt road. Just moments in, I sensed I was entering another world. A few steps off the road into the trees and the lushness of the moss —on everything— was incredible. My hand grasping a tree limb took an extra second to reach the bark, the moss was often an inch deep all around the branches and trunks. Amid this thick organic wrap, finger-sized young ferns often sprouted directly on limbs, adding subtle accents of life atop life atop life. 


A brook sweetly babbled a tinkling melody, drawing us in. Wandering a bit deeper into the open woods revealed a handful of trees growing a good bit apart, often with less mature trees (a hundred years old?) several paces from their trunks, unable to grow beneath the shade of their crowns. The stout trunks on some of the elders had arching old limbs sometimes spreading near-vertical, close to the ground, revealing a very slow, undisturbed aging. 


What one could feel  underfoot was as amazing as the above-ground inhabitants. Nurtured over hundreds of human lifetimes, the soft bed upon which we gently stepped was moist, lush, and literally covered in moss and ferns. Beneath this dense and chromatic green quilt, were deep layers of dark peat and soil. Generations of green forest and solid wood for millennia had thrived in harmony; then, in a perfectly synchronized ultra-slow symphony, first leaves, twigs, occasional limbs, then whole trees had let go of their desire to reach the sun and returned to the earth. Naturally decomposing they fed the next generation, in a continuing cycle. We were passing through like lost ants; human time felt irrelevant. 


Though not the largest of trees, the presence within this small copse of wood, especially beneath the grandest of the old ones was palpable. The space beneath them exuded a quiet majesty. The oxygen-rich air, the effect of on the eyes of greens in all directions (barely able to be hinted at in photos), the scent of  the damp process of composting, the misty veils enveloping and hugging us, the hushing of the mosses and millions of ferns, all were part of the magical elixir of our brief experience here, in being — no, briefly becoming — participants in this great wonder. 


We are so able to be moved, restored by it, yet mostly now seem so callously desensitized to this incredible energetic exchange. It’s been important for us to identify types of plants, gain knowledge of species, practical uses, and to a degree catalogue life forms on the earth. However, as Brendan mentioned, we finally are beginning to come full circle, understand trees and indeed, all growth in a wood, not as individual plants, but rather as supportive families, relatives living in proximity. Similarly, all ecosystems. It seems to me a logical extension to relate this notion to the barely shifting, yet ever evolving geological structure on which plants grow, as well as the comparatively exponentially rapidly shifting skies as extended relatives in this incredible commune of life on this planet. To continue to consider our selves apart from this extraordinary community feels tragic in every way. To embrace our small yet crucial role WITHIN it feels evermore critical, vitalizing and joyous.

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Brendan’s Wonderful Vision

9/3/2019

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Today we visited with Brendan, the host and builder of our accommodations last night, who graciously made us a breakfast of organic porridge, simmered apples directly from the trees on the land, and robust coffee. As perfectly delightful as our cabin was, his family place, also built by his own hands, was equally intriguing and welcoming. Essentially a harmonious, elegantly solid, eclectic mix of stone, wood beams, and glass, smoothly fitted within the surrounding trees and shrubs, it had “grown organically” over many years (“as I went from bachelor to partner to us being parents”), and seemed to match its maker. Brendan was born of an Irish mother and an English father, grew up in England, and studied art. Seeking the big questions many of us creatives ponder, he did what he needed in order to make a living, and continued to learn. He practiced TM, read about alternative approaches to life (“I knew pretty early I could  never be at peace working the standard 9-5 gig.”) and eventually found and bought the plot of land he’s been on for 28 years.  


For several years lived out of the small “caravan” in the photo — which is pictured in a mostly empty field, the same site that’s now happily forested and grown into lush greenery in all directions and on which his homestead was built. He befriended the old Irish farmers in the area in those first years because he appreciated both their wisdom and company. They had an “open front door” in the evenings and anyone could wander in and sit around the fire and ask questions and listen to stories. “I learned a lot from them.” Clearly Brendan is a great appreciator; we had an immediate bond. He spoke of his challenges in completing all his ideas for the property—including a new space that might accommodate retreats for yoga and other spiritually oriented gatherings—while raising a 12 and 6 year old (two other children are out of the house on their own). Regrettably his lovely partner Rachel had to be at work and we didn’t get to visit further with her. As a friend mentions below, their solid partnership made this beautiful inspiration possible. Brendan was eager to hear about my art making, and Anselm’s work. He reflected on how he had given up making paintings toward his interest in botany and plants and the land, and considers his home, the dwellings and the gardens, as his art and his spiritual path. 


We talked with regret about idiotic political leaders, about f*cking fracking and pipelines, the crisis humans are creating for ourselves and the future generations with our unsustainable lifestyles, and our hopes because of what we seen sparkling in the younger minds coming up. He related how he’d been an activist for peace and environmental issues in his younger years, but has accepted it was now best for him  to focus on his own local issues and home place. I shared similar concerns and sentiments. “My work on the gardens is my ongoing art in process” ...humbly adding: “I feel as if it’s my own way of helping heal the planet.”


We spoke of competition versus cooperation, and how we both had only recently begun to recognize money not as an inherent negative, but rather as, in Joseph Campbells’ phrase, “congealed energy” and a tool we might use to better the world as we choose.  “We only have been renting a year, but this place is doing really well. It seems to attract a certain type of person, and there are a lot of them thinking about the earth and how to contribute. That makes me feel hopeful. Some have even started looking for land around here already...In a very small way, through Airbnb and people staying and seeing this place, I hope it might give them some ideas or open them up to new possibilities about how we can live in better harmony with the earth.” The sensations from this land he has “reclaimed” by plantings and allowing it to reforest are soothing and energizing. 


I told him about a country called Floyd and friends I knew working in ways similar to his path. I shared my recent joys tubing the Roanoke River, and some of my own journeys and uncertain new directions. He mentioned struggling to get the Irish Forestry (Much like our national forests they are not preservation minded but bidden to corporate wood and paper harvesting production) to preserve a small stand of local old growth forest. Detailed with us how Ireland was once nearly completely covered in Old Growth woods, and where we might go to experience this last vestige near his home. I shared information about a woman I’d met just Saturday who has established a nonprofit to save the freshwater rivers and streams all across Ireland, in the hope they might lock arms in their missions. It’s my growing belief one of the best hopes we have in changing our foolish old unsustainable paradigms is by connecting with like-minded folks and strengthening our nets by helping each other.



We spoke the arts as cultivating a “way of knowing” similar to experiencing the wisdom of the natural world; of synergy; of our “mature” bodies needing yoga; Sufism; lunar modules and living on Mars and our imagined importance in the Big universe; of Maharishi Mahesh Yogi; of teenagers sleeping into lunch and staying up all night; eclectic things and practical joys. I’d chosen this lodging less than 24 hours before, by instinct, following my gut, and now in some very real ways, I feel I’ve met an Irish brother.


I’ve mentioned and shared on many FB posts my love of the writings of John O’Donohue. I hoped later this week to visit the Nat. Park in a region a few hours north Connemara, which had inspired some of his writings. So I was tickled to find “Anam Cara” his most known work, among the small collection of books  in our cabin. I took the copy to breakfast and pulled MY copy out of my backpack to show Brendan. He looked at the two and his eyes lit up with joy! “Oooh, yes!” Brendan then went on to tell us about when he first was settling in Ireland, he lived in a place nearby, an extraordinary geographic region known as the Burrens, “it looks like a lunar landscape” (pictures coming on another post) and suggested we go.


At one point Brendan added, “About 30 years ago, I was new to the region so I thought I’d attend a church a few times, ya know, it’s a good way to get a feel for the views of the local folks. I went into a church in this small town, and I couldn’t believe my ears. Here was this priest, in conservative Catholic Ireland, and he was sayin’ all these radical type things I’d never in my life heard in a church! About finding spirituality in nature, and the need to connect to the Earth, all sorts of things like that. I said to myself, I need to find out who this guy is.” Turns out, it was an impassioned young priest who in the next year would become enmeshed in a protest against developing some land in the region vs leaving it naturally preserved. He soon left the priesthood, and became the famed mystical poet/philosopher of Ireland, named John O’Donohue.

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The Cottage at the Wild Gardens

9/2/2019

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​When you and your travel partner are “winging it” regarding lodging, you have to be open about the accommodations you arrange. In our case this may mean the day of, or, when we are really on top of things, the day before. After getting lucky and finding a place at 9 PM Sunday for that same night, we decided it was cutting things a bit close. So first thing on Monday morning we scanned airbnb to be set for Monday night. I glanced at photos and picked one that seemed to feel right. We were quickly confirmed. 

At dusk, after a day of a castle visit, a car rental delay that led to an amazing dinner in Swords, and then gaining a handle on driving the left side of the road, we headed to our lodging. The final hour we drove on several back roads into west central Ireland. We iterally made dozens of turns off very narrow, ostensibly two lane roads (which seem about 2/3 the size of American roads). A large buck darted across our headlights and bumped our Adrenalin the last few kilometers. Fortunately google maps was accurate and eventually put us in the correct woodsy driveway, where we met one of our hosts, Rachel, with whom we had a nice visit before retiring. 

The place was exquisite. A spare, hand built, barely-two room wood cabin, with a curtain separating the bedroom, and a shower/toilet in a separate 4 x 4 sq. shed, connected by pebble walkway, vine-covered trellis, and lit by tea candles. In the tidy Thoreau-like cabin, was a sink, small fridge, and range top at one end. A simple wooden table, two chairs and a small cozy sofa were already warmed by a wood stove in the corner at the other end. We added a few chunks of oak and peat, and with a down comforter one the bed the place was toasty, smelled delicious, and offered a perfect balance to the cool, misty Irish evening. Within a few minutes we could feel in the air that this was a gem of a place. Daisy, one of two 15 lb. greeting dogs, settled to bed on our porch stoop, guarding us into the morning light.

We each savored a warm tea, read our books by the stove, and travel weary, headed to sleep. I woke to a feeling of vital, calm comfort in the middle of the night, wrote a note of appreciation to a friend, and returned to sleep.

In the dawn light we discovered a “wild garden” wonderland: Berries everywhere were bursting, green and red apples were on the trees. Small other unidentified fruits were on other trees, flowers all along the paths. A greenhouse was out back. Lush greenery was in control, and seemed to be in a happy symbiosis with the human built structures. A tree was afforded priority to grow through the small porch covering where a hammock and cozy reading chair awaited the chance to recharge body and mind. As I walked back to the cabin from the shower, Brendan, our other host, greeted me beaming with a big grin, his arms loaded with more apples than he could handle, and invited us to join him for breakfast, offering porridge and coffee, which we happily accepted. I breathed a breath of gratitude; it had been a great trip so far, the sun was just rising, and it was already a magical day...

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    ​John's Blog

    Writing offers an opportunity to clarify my thoughts and feelings. Often these relate to my art and may offer insights about my work. I learn from engaging with others and welcome comments. 

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