All That I've Found...

"All that I've found in the ups and the downs is that I'd have no other way, life in the raw is both fragile and strong, it's both lovely and ugly the same; oh who can attest that when they're at their best, oh their worst is still crouching close behind; it's coming to peace with the darkness in me that allows the true light inside to shine; so let it go, we are still far from home, though you try and you try to escape; to live and to love will always be dangerous but it's better than playing it safe..." [-Kendall Payne]

And so there seems to be a theme here because spoiler alert, the day did not do according to plan...

I'm running late. Well, that's not new...I catch the Red Line Luas at 8:40a, under caffeinated and fully in a tizzy because I need to catch a bus to Kilmainham by 9:30a and the morning Luas runs at a snails pace, and I am fretting because well, I am late.

A mere 15 minutes in and the Luas operator announces a death blow, cue sinister movie score, "Ladies and Gents, we will be stopping all Luas transit at the Blackhorse stop due to an accident at Hueston Station, all tickets will transfer to the bus."

No, no this isn't funny anymore. I can roll with a few curve balls but this, no, no...I am calculating a retreat back to Tallaght when I stop myself- I can do this, I can figure this out, I can work off the script, wasn't that the lesson of yesterday?? And so it was, so here we go again, let's do this.

Now here's the thing, I am directionally challenged as noted by yesterdays amusing lost wanderings- I feel as though I want to stand up in this crowd and announce "Ladies and Gents, good people of Dublin, I have no feckin' idea what I am doing..." But instead I grip my backpack and file out the Luas door with a sea of Dubliners. Well, when in Dublin, do as the Dubliner's, and so I follow the wave of people to the bus stop. An accident at Hueston Station is a big deal- every Luas from Tallaght to Saggart will stop at Blackhorse with the same marching orders, in fact when our merry band of Dubliner's reaches the bus stop, there is already a growing que...It's cold and drizzly and people mill about on phones, calling bosses, spouses, the Luas Central Office, a taxi, anyone really that they can think of- I look at my phone and shrug, but oddly think I should call someone too, you know to blend in...

After 20 minutes of waiting, off in the distance we see it, the bus, and as it's gets near, it's slows down just enough for the bus driver to wave and shrug- that one had a bent sense of humor, and I had to respect it, and so I let out a small, slight giggle at the absurdity of it all. Bus number 2 passes us. Bus number 3 sails by without a care. Almost an hour of waiting and most of our merry band of Dubliner's have wandered off in search of other ways into the city. Bus number 4 approaches and bless him, he stops...We file on and I stop and ask for O' Connell Street, and the bus driver solemnly swears, "Missus, yer man stops at O' Connell Street, hold tight, and we'll get ya there." A true, knight that bloke and I smile and thank him kindly and walk up top and take a seat.

We stop at O' Connell Street and I run to the hop on/hop off bus and board just in time to make my way to Kilmainham....My tour of the old Kilmainham Gaol starts in about 45 minutes and it's high traffic in the city. And I just resign myself to being late and cross my fingers that they'll still let me join the tour. We get to Kilmainham and I speak with the reception desk and they inform me that the tour is currently on the first section and they can fold me in with a few other late comers in just a few minutes and I am so grateful. A tour host walks me into the waiting area and runs down a few basic tour guidelines- for general amusement, let's take a commercial break and review this exchange:

Jamie is almost the stereotypical classic Irish ginger with adorable dimples and an accent that melts my heart...and he's cheeky to boot...He towers over me at about 6'0 feet which sparks the following:

Jamie: "Now mind you Kilmainham is an aged property, still in original form, so mind yer feet, ya know, floors and bends and stones and such. Some of the entry ways are low and so you might have ta duck under" And this is where we derail...because his eye's twinkle at the 'duck under' bit and he emits a shameless amused snort. And I feel the need to be properly indignant.

Me: "Really, short people humor, is your side job pub comedy because you might need some new material, at best that was a 10 pence joke and well, I'm just kind of sad for you right now."

James: *Laughing to the point of wiping tears* "Oh that's right proper craic there love, I should take you to meet my mates later. Ya got a fella at home? Because I think I might be in love with ya." [Insert cheeky Irish grin...]

Me: *Snort laugh* Hmm, that has yet to be decided. Keep talking. *Full on giggle...damn those accents...* "Alas sad but true, this beautiful relationship of ours isn't meant to be because I'm late for a tour and you sir are trouble in spades."

James: *Shaking his head while laughing* "Yeah, me mam tells me that all time. Well then, let's find you your tour..."

And back to our regularly scheduled programming...

Kilmainham is rich in history, sad and haunting. Stories bleed out from the cracks in the weathered walls and cold hallways and chipped wooden doors and solemn peep holes that line the row of cells. I walk slowly, falling behind to touch these stories and fold them into myself and carry them out into the afternoon sun as if I could release them to the sky, setting free their sorrow and lifting them gentle into a breeze that whispers a peace without words. And it is peaceful there, in that courtyard, though the ground upon which I stand is drenched in the blood of men and women, it is a strange and inexplicable beauty that springs forth from the dirt, rising into the Irish sun, it is the beauty of freedom. And as we make our way out of the prison gates, the wind stirs and I look to the sky and the Irish flag billows and for a moment the world stands still and all is quiet and something fills me but I am not sure what, it is all at once sad and melancholy, gentle, and bittersweet, beautiful and calm, and I walk away tucking this moment into my ever expanding heart, grateful for things that I cannot begin to name.

I take the hop on/ hop off bus to the Dame Lane stop and I weave my way through city streets as if for a moment, I was a born and bred Dubliner, no map, no hesitation in my footsteps, head up, strong and purposeful.

I reach the grounds of the Dublin Castle which is home to the Chester Beatty Library and I marvel at the grand garden that sits in the middle. Walking into the Chester Beatty Library, my heart soars with joy. I walk through the corridors of ancient manuscripts, taking mental pictures because this is a scared journey, these are centuries old religious texts and out of respect photos are not allowed. There are Tibetan prayer books, Qurans that are scripted in blots of ink, scrolls of long faded Chinese proverbs, but my favorite corridor is the one that holds some of the oldest known parchments of the bible that date back to 250 A.D., in original Hebrew and Greek, they are tattered scraps of parchment, one from Genesis, and Hebrews, the book of James, and 1st Thessalonians.

I make my way to the café and order a cappuccino and apple tart with clotted cream and I find a quiet table in the center arboretum and I pull my worn copy of Joyce's Dubliners from my backpack and I sit there, reading and sipping and it hits me, this deep feeling of wonder, I am sitting in the midst of the Chester Beatty Library in Dublin, yet another moment that I must have dreamt a million times and it was real, it was real.

The afternoon is fading and so I make my way to Christ Church Cathedral and as I walk through the right entry gates, I stand still and something fierce rises up in my soul, and there are no words, there is just worship. I sit in the courtyard waiting for the prayer service and as I watched the sky, my lips without thinking begin to sing out, "When peace like a river attendeth my way, when sorrow like sea billows roll, whatever my lot thou hast taught me to say, it is well, it is well with my soul..." It bounces off the stones and all around me, this choir girl hymn that I have been singing for 20 years, and I can't help but keep singing it over and over again because it was, it was well with my soul.

The afternoon prayer service is peaceful and it seems to anchor some piece of my soul that has been in orbit. And as I recite the liturgy, I feel a content and a connection to something bigger, something more, something wholly divine and there is worship in my heart, deep abiding worship.

The city ebbs and flows. The day is coming to an end and I sense that the building theme of this trip thus far is twofold and so it courses through me as the Luas carries me back to Tallaght, "It's both lovely and ugly the same...to live and to love will always be dangerous but it's better than playing it safe."

And it is, the lot of it.

And so it is that I am learning to breathe in the grace of that truth, an ocean away from my own life, embracing perhaps this new life.

One day at a time...

-Jillian Nichole, embracing the journey...