Everything Rides on Hope Now...

"When my life is like a storm, rising waters all I want is the shore; You say I'll be okay and make it through the rain; You are my shelter from the storm; Everything rides on hope now, everything rides on faith somehow; When the world has broken me down, your love sets me free; I'm not my own, I've been carried by you all my life..." [-Addison Road]

I am walking up to Malahide Castle on a seemingly picture perfect day. Feeling slightly overwhelmed, I pause myself mid-step and breathe in some kind of lightness that I have never known in myself before this very second. And I stand here, a thirsty girl, drinking in this postcard that I should like to write to myself years from now about this moment, on this day, when all the world was safe and warm and dripping in the holiness of ordinary miracles like that of a girl who stood in the glow of the sun while the wind danced around her as she smiled for the pure joy of smiling and I will say to that girl, you were here my darling, you were here. Because years from now, this, all of this will surely seem a dream that I will rouse myself from, only to wish for it for the rest of my days. And so I stand here, committing this all into the marrow of my bones, inking these very coordinates where my feet stand, 53.44494'N, -6.164586'E- into my veins, so that I will never lose the infinite joy that I feel right here, right now.

I walk through the day with an awakening unfolding in my soul. Because at the end of this road that I have been walking, what I know now is that these days and these nights have been reviving me, bringing me back to life with each step off the beaten path and while I am keenly aware that tomorrow will find me on plane back home to an uncertain future, in a life that I am still trying to own, today is for the living, today is for hope and so...

I sip tea as if  am entertaining royalty.

I sit in the old butterfly greenhouse on the Talbert Estate at Malahide Castle, forgetting to keep time, mesmerized by the stunning grace of fragile wings.

I trace the old stones beneath my fingers as if I am learning a new kind of poetry.

I find that there are moments where I click the shutter frame on my camera, looking through the lens, as if I had never seen beauty before.

I seem to listen to the world in a new way as if I am discovering a new song, one that I will love for my whole life, the one that I will come back to and play again, and again, and again, and never grow tired of hearing the beat because that beat will be timed to the beat of my own heart, of that much I am certain.

And as the sun begins to fade over this technicolor postcard, I make my way down to the old marina wall in Malahide Village, and I walk in step beside the quiet solitude of the Irish Sea, heart cast out into the water deep, vowing that I will learn to be a sailor of these tides, that I will know them one day as sure as I know my own name.

As I am walking back to my cozy little room in my Marina Village Air B&B, the words girl in me begins to unravel a thread of her complex thoughts:

I carried this dream for over 15 years, Ireland.

And I've spent the last two weeks, walking it out, flesh and bone.

Each part of this strange and wonderful journey was it's own thread, weaving into the existing tattered fabric of my being, building into me some kind of sacred tapestry, a living, breathing, waking, Ebenezer that I will carry with me as I walk forward:

Dublin was grit: Dublin said to me, come my darling, let me show you what you are made of. You were made for something more than safe and sound, you my darling, were made for standing on the edge of a wild and fierce world, yours is a strength formed of fire, a fragile, unyielding grace, that's whispers of brave, messy, stunning grit. Yes, my darling, grit, carry this thread and let it remind you that come what may, you will stand your ground and hold your own. Always.

And Cork was heart: Cork held me in her arms and whispered, come my darling, break, break wide open and grieve for the things that grieve you but do not go into that dark night alone. She said to me, your heart is broken but oh my darling, you are not, drink from that cup that runneth over inside of you, that tender place that aches for belonging, lean into that my dearest, for that is the heart that beats inside of us all, a connected beat wherein strangers are merely friends that you have yet to meet; I know that once upon a time that part of you was so deeply damaged, forgive that wrong, and let is be so again, that you should walk through this world, heart wide open, able to give the best of yourself and to receive in full measure and with each step, allow it to fill you up; Heart my darling, this broken, aching, beautiful, redemption work of the heart, this is my thread, carry it with open hands, and let it remind you that even our broken pieces matter. Always.

Edinburgh was magic: Edinburgh was an ancient incantation pulsing through my veins, oh my darling, up! Wake up! Believe in this ordinary magic that is all around you, ever flourishing. Let yourself let go of who you think you ought to be, I dare you. Be that playful girl with messy hair, the one who jumped in leaves and stained her clothes with puddles of wonder mixed in every splash of mud, that girl who laughed until she was clear out of breath, the one who did all of these things and then did them all over again, losing herself to this magic. Color outside the lines that you have drawn yourself into and set free that captive, wild child in your soul, let her out into the sun again, free to cause merry making and mischief, but above all my darling, set her free so that she might live her life wide awake, believing in the magic that she alone can create. Always.

And Malahide was hope: Malahide was the pulsing resilient beat of this rising song in my blood that sang out to me, oh my darling, it is a beautiful redemption, this story of yours, take my hand and hold on tight, hold on my darling, just a little bit longer, this is a good story, keep walking. There will be days in the days ahead where storms will surely rage but remember that this hope that has been ignited in your bones is eternal, darkness no matter how dark cannot be obscured by the light, so hold on tenaciously to this thread, this audacious hope of yours. Always.

Grit.

Heart.

Magic.

Hope.

And it was all so much more than I could have ever imagined. It was all so much more for a girl like me, who used to fall asleep at night, dreaming of a spot on the map, of this place that to her was her own little lighthouse in the dark of her life.

The lights are flickering in the window by my bed. My eyes are heavy and I find myself marveling at something that I had said two weeks prior to my therapist Heather, it was all only ever supposed to be a dream, I told her.

It was all, only, ever supposed to be a dream, Ireland...

And I fall asleep, holding the depth and with of it in my arms thinking, what a lovely dream, this, what a lovely dream, and hope rises in me as I let go and give in...

-Jillian Nichole, everything rides on hope now...