I rise early
and make it to the station
just in time
for the next bus
to Ennis.
I will begin
my journey to Knock
from there
rather than the city.
Countrysides and small towns
always seem to make me
more open to grace.
That’s the frame of mind
I’ll need as I walk myself
into thoughtfulness
and try to open
my heart
to the still-small voice
of the Lord.
When I step out of the bus,
I find that even Ennis
is not quite as small
as what I had hoped.
Signs pointing to
Ennistimon
eventually lead me
beyond the sidewalks
and outside of town.
I look around
at the Ireland
I had longed for:
deep green fields
hemmed in by grey stone walls
and the thick scent
of fields, grass, and mud.
Only now
does it feel as if
the path of the pilgrim
has actually begun.
-------
I don’t make it
very far outside town
before having to stop,
drop my pack,
and rest.
Thirty-five pounds
seems heavier and heavier
every step I take.
I can tell that
I’m either going to
get in shape quickly
or fall dead in my tracks.
My back and feet
are beginning to hurt.
So soon
into the pilgrimage,
I already have
a deeper understanding
of the Fourth Sorrowful Mystery.
I’m sure that
by the time I reach Knock,
I will be able
to identify even more fully
with the weight
of Christ’s cross.
It suddenly dawns on me
that I have not offered
my pilgrimage
to the Lord yet.
As it is the past
that I wish
to be purged of
in this land,
I decide to offer
this pilgrim journey
to the Lord
on behalf of
all the sins of my past,
especially those
I have confessed poorly,
or have forgotten
to confess altogether.
I also realize
that my pain
need not be meaningless,
so I offer all the pain
that I will experience
on behalf of
the souls in Purgatory,
who, like me,
are being cleansed
of the past,
that they may truly
begin to live.
-------
After downing some cookies,
or biscuits as they’re called here,
and half a bottle of water,
I lift my cross again
and continue on.
Shortly, I come to
a small stone grotto
with a statue
of the Virgin Mary.
“Hail Mary, full of grace….”
As I complete my prayer,
I feel comforted,
knowing that,
she who followed
Christ to Calvary
now walks with me
as I carry
the weight of my past
to lay it down
at the foot of His cross.
-------
After having walked
about two miles,
I see someone
on the roadside ahead.
She looks to be
a young Irish woman
with long, dark hair.
Her burgundy sweater
stands out boldly
against the green background.
“Good day,”
I say as I approach her,
tipping the brim
of my travel hat.
“Hello. Are you hitching too?”
“Well, so far
I’ve just been hiking.
This pack’s getting heavy,
though, so I’ll probably
start hitching soon.”
“How long have you been
in Ireland?”
“This is my second day.
Can you give me
any tips for hitching?”
“Aye. Just stand and wait,
you’ll only wear yourself out
if you walk the whole time.
How do you like
Ireland so far?”
“I love it.
I haven’t seen much
yet, though.
I’m on my way
to Knock right now,
then to Charlestown.
Not sure where to
after that.”
“Be sure to see
the Cliffs of Moher.
It’s lovely out that way.”
“Yeah, I’m planning
on going there and
to the Aran Islands
on the way to Knock.”
“Well, looks like
I’ve a ride,” she says
as a car pulls over.
“Have a good trip.”
“Thanks, it was nice
talking with you.”
I continue on my way,
now raising my thumb
as cars pass by.
-------
I’m just outside Inagh
when a car finally
pulls over to offer a ride.
Bless you Simon of Cyrene.
I walk up to the car
and open the passenger door.
“Where’re you going?,”
asks a young man
who must be
in his late twenties.
“Cliffs of Moher.”
“I can get you
to Ennistimon,”
he offers.
“Sounds great.
Thanks for stopping,
my poor back is dying.”
“No problem.
You can put your bag
in the back seat.”
I toss my bag into
the back seat
and get in the car.
“I know exactly
how you feel,”
he says,
running his hand over
his short red curls.
“I once hitchhiked
from Dublin to Limerick.
I rode the bus
with a friend
to see Bruce Springsteen
in concert.
We spent every pence
we had in the city
and had to hitch it home.
It took us two days.
Since then,
I always pick up
hitchhikers.”
“Yeah, I think I’ll be
more kind to hitchhikers
in the future myself.”
“You enjoying Ireland?”
This question leads
into a discussion
of where to go
and how to get there.
We somehow
end up talking
about the problems
in the North
and the dim hopes
for peace.
These lamentations
last until we reach
Ennistimon,
where he drops me off.
Shouldering my pack,
I follow his directions.
-------
After walking through
the heart of Ennistimon,
I spot some ruins
keeping watch
from the top of a hill
on the edge of town.
I find my way there
after asking an elderly fellow
for directions.
An old shell
of a stone church
stands surrounded
by the graves
of the faithful departed.
I wonder how old
this church may be
as I walk in
and find headstones
even within the church itself.
How blessed are these souls,
whose bodies rest
inside this place
where bread and wine
were once transformed
into an even greater
body and blood.
How ironic that death
is now so present
in this place
where the faithful
once received
the source of life.
There was a time when
I often wished
that I too
were in a grave.
I have since
been transformed
by that same source of life
once made present
within these walls.
Perhaps it’s not
so ironic, though.
Just as I was an empty shell
before receiving true life,
so now has this building
become an empty shell
after Life Himself
was taken away
from within it.
“Whoever possesses the Son
has life;
whoever does not
possess the Son of God
does not have life.”
The atmosphere created
by this small collage
of images is somber
yet peaceful.
I pass back
through the graveyard
reading names and dates
and stop at the
scene of the crucifixion
to offer a moment of prayer
for the souls of those
buried here
and all those souls
passing through
the cleansing fires
on the journey to
their heavenly reward.
I walk back out
into the street
and continue
my own journey,
hoping that,
when I reach the end
of this pilgrimage,
I may find
some foretaste
of that heavenly reward.