Do crows have accents?
That may seem like a poor attempt at humor, but hear me out. The crows in Ireland seem to sound different than the ones you find in the Great White North.
In Ireland, their voices are softer, higher pitched. In Canada, they are harsh, loud, and seem to be accusing us of forgetting. Unlike Ireland, rich in history, mythology, and all the stories that go along with it, I find that we have cast aside the past in favor of progress.
Are they screaming? Using their harsh tone in an attempt to remind us? Begging us to reconnect with the land and all who came before?
Airmid's Cairn
Bones of the Ancients
lie undisturbed
within the heart
of Airmid's Cairn
Message from the Crows
Put down your fancy gadgets
the "distractors"
your escape from reality
with their false light
put pen to paper
and remember
Corvids
Corvids take to the sky
surveying the landscape
as only they can
with generations of understanding
Stone walls
cascading down rolling hills of green
Cottages
changing hands
through the generations
Crumbling ruins
still withstanding
the test of time
The trees
whispering stories
hidden language
Corvids return to their home
to ponder the world
as only they can
through the eyes of ancients
The human ego is deadly
Iceland is a feral and unforgiving place. People see the warning signs everywhere, but rarely do they heed them.
"Never turn your back on the sea" sounds like the sort of thing one would find printed on mugs and t-shirts in the gift shops scattered across the island. Much as the tourists seems to think otherwise, this is something to be taken very seriously.
There are a million different ways to die in Iceland. The human ego is by far the most dangerous. When did we as a species decide that rules didn't apply to us?
You have to keep your wits about you.
Iceland is a liminal place. People who normally never get lost find their internal compass suddenly on the fritz. They find themselves lost in thought and wander off, inexplicably drawn into caves and toward water.
While visiting Dimmuborgir, a few of us decided to visit this cave. As I climbed the steps, I found myself drifting further and further away. Upon arriving at the mouth of the cave, I found myself drawn toward the back and began to walk forward. My companions had to coax me back. Dazed, I arrived at the top of the steps and realized I was not myself. Thankfully, by the time I reached the bottom, I was once again grounded in the present and able to orient myself.
These sort of experiences are not at all uncommon in Iceland, which is why you need to keep your wits about you and not wander off alone.
Thingvellir National Park, Iceland 2018
Standing in front of a wall of rock
A thousand faces staring back at you
Their expectation
My intention
Not exactly an exchange
A misstep could lead
to an untimely end
Quiet reminder
A small smudge
the brightest green
a souvenir
from Heapstown Cairn
My manifestation quartz pendant, charging among the moss at Heapstown Cairn.
Heapstown Cairn
Very much alive
untouched
laying in slumber
Energy builds
to be experienced
by those who
do not visit
with the intent to take
but rather
to share
in a moment
The Other Crowd are strong at Heapstown. They're all around you, luring you into all the little nooks and crannies.
Time seems to have no meaning. What feels like just a few moments is actually 30 minutes. What feels like 30 minutes is over an hour. What seems like an hour is closer to three. Everyone seems to have the same reaction. They feel themselves fading into the Otherworld and go willingly. There isn't any amount of time that is long enough and when we finally accept that it is indeed time to leave, we do so very slowly, pausing every few steps to take it all in.
I was pulled into a small grove, bathed in green. I stood there, dumbstruck. Uncertain what to say, I broke the rules.
"Thank you."
I regretted it as soon as the words left my lips. That is the number one thing you NEVER say to the Good Neighbors. To thank them indicates an acknowledgement of debt and if there is one thing you do not want, it is to be indebted to them.
I searched in vain for something to say, some way to make it right. I removed a piece of Labradorie from my pocket, placing it on a branch. The intent was to photograph it in this beautiful setting. The moss would be a gorgeous backdrop.
It remained there for only a second before tumbling to the ground. this unintended gift, lost to me forever, but hopefully well-received.
IN ORDER FOR AN OFFERING TO HAVE VALUE,
IT MUST BE A SACRIFICE.
What a difference some orange juice and a megalithic site can make
I climbed the stairs to the cairn at Knowth and took in the view. There it is. Ireland. The wind was strong but soft and seemed to wash away whatever was keeping me stuck. How could anyone stay in a funk when surrounded by all this beauty?
On to Newgrange. They didn't allow any photos in the passageway itself. I still was feeling jetlagged and rather out of sorts, so I don't know if my experience would have been different if I felt otherwise.
We waited our turn outside, taking photos and chatting. Once it was time, we fell into line and proceeded inside. It wasn't nearly as large as I thought it would be. I allowed everyone else to leave and in doing so, had the inner sanctum to myself for a few moments. It was quite impressive. I asked a few questions and marveled at the space. Then, I made my way out through the passageway and back into the open air.
