Up until about a few days ago I was pretty adamant about closing the curtains on the ever so infamous, Couch Surfing Lawler escapades. Keeping up with it became less of a priority and somewhere along the line I began to let a smidgen of 'couch surfer' fall between the cracks. Say it ain't so, E! I will infuse a little Nancy Reagan-ism and respond with a, "Just say No!" to relinquishing the title of couch surfer. And no it is.
I must give credit where credit is due, to be completely honest. My mom called me earlier this evening and I picked up the phone to her being a tad choked up and greeting me with, "I should never read these things when I'm by myself..." It has been about a year since I really allowed myself to jam on the keyboard and write. But apparently mom stumbled upon a few pages of writing that I began shortly after returning from a stint in Europe. It was really a journaling of my emotional, physical and spiritual journey through Europe at a pretty dark chapter in my life that lead me, ultimately, to where I am today. Good things from rocky patches.
She read a few of my excerpts out loud and I found myself transported back to twelve years prior in the hills of Tuscany, then the valleys of Switzerland and the quaint pubs of Ireland. "You have to write again." After sharing a little of this with my husband he too chided, "I've told you that for a year. Write."
And so begins the penning of words, memories and travels of years past. I'll leave you with a short excerpt from an experience in Ireland visiting the Cliffs of Moher, but nothing more : )
After brief introductions we boarded the bus and there were only four or five others who accompanied our group. The skies were clear and the air was crisp, the recipe for a perfect day. The ride was a bumpy one, my kidneys leapt from one side of my body to the other repeatedly as the bus’s tires hugged the narrow countryside roads. I had only anticipated visiting the cliffs, but Desmond made periodic stops pointing out homes, landmarks, and empty fields chock full of history and areas that, had I been wandering on my own, would have been overlooked. Our last stop before the cliffs was an extremely dilapidated church that for the most part was merely limestone rubble that just barely held the resemblance of a church. Patches of knee high grass lead to an open field laden with remnants of headstones and fragmented celtic crosses. It was strange to stroll alongside gravestones that were hundreds of years old and meander through a church that, even in its most dilapidated form, held charm and beauty. Hundreds of years ago those that now lie below me walked this land, built this church with their own hands and lived in a world that’s only evidence is now in history books and the remnants that lie before me. A chill ran down my spine. Maybe my own relatives walked upon these grounds at some point. Maybe. Part of me felt as though I was intruding on holy ground. I am undeserving of walking these grounds. That was my sign to leave this place as it was, no words needed.
I wasn’t even sure where we were, but each corner the bus turned and every glance caused my mind to stir. My brain was on sensory overload and it was fantastic. When finally arriving at the Cliffs I was ready to stretch my legs and fill my lungs with the airs freshness. “Before I let you all out to explore the cliffs, there are a few matters to be discussed. I urge you to be somewhat cautious of approaching the cliff’s edge and being daring and such. Every year there are a few who take it upon themselves to explore the very edges of the cliffs and end up not making it back to their buses or cars. The winds are mighty and very cunning, please be wary and take caution. I’d hate to leave without one of ya." I’d hate to leave without one of us too. This guy was serious. “And be sure to take note of the rapid change in weather with clouds and wind. It changes without warning. We’ll be meeting back here in two hours. That should be good timing for you to explore and take in the beauty of the cliffs. Enjoy yourselves and be careful now.”
Desmond was right the Cliffs were stunning. As I climbed the slate steps that lead to the highest reaches of the cliffs the ocean could be seen for miles. The water was a deep emerald green with swirls of foaming white caps. The Cliffs towered mightily as the raging ocean water’s below churned incessantly. I had fallen into a poem that’s serene beauty and grace was mystifying and passionately alluring. The two boys from Queens and another yank strode by me and I followed still absorbing in this portrait of nature. The cobbled stone walk we traveled was soon replaced by an orange-caked dirt path that lead to an even narrower pathway that winded along the very edges of the cliffs strewn with patches of grass and grime.
As we neared the narrow section I noticed there were no longer any stone or ledges used as barriers for the cliff’s edge and then a small sign propped into the earth that read, CAUTION: approach cliffs at your own risk. My eyes traced the narrow path that lead to a ledge that seemed to lure me towards it. I knew the view would be breathtaking. “Anyone up for a little hike?” Both of the boys from Queens shrugged their heads and shoulders to sheepishly decline my offer, but the Yankee dressed in her black trench coat was up for the challenge, So as the boys headed back to the bus I initiated the walk upon the narrowed path towards the ledge. Desmond’s heeded warning echoed in the back of my mind, but I pushed it aside and charged forward. About five minutes into our swift walk the wind shifted and now seemed to swoosh up the face of the cliffs and swiftly cross over towards us with vigilance forcing both of us to stoop down and then crawl as we grew nearer to the ledge. My fingernails were now dug into orange cake like ground and fear was lingering close by. There were only maybe ten or twelve feet between our path and the end of the cliff. It was a little nerve wracking.
There was a slight incline before reaching the ledge and as we neared its peak the combination of increased wind and grainy decline made for a real challenge. Digging my fingers into the earth and carefully maneuvering my feet with each step I was taking every precaution to not loose my grip. As I approached flat ground the winds intensity created a whirlwind pelting small stones and pebbles in every direction. It felt as though a thousand bb guns had released their pellets directly towards every vulnerable area of my face and hands, it stung terribly. I was only twenty or thirty feet from the cliffs edge and the fury of sea and wind had unleashed. For only a few moments I leaned against a large stone pillar and dismissed nature’s fury and absorbed its serene beauty. For miles the raging emerald seas roared and the isolated Aaron islands lie only miles from the shoreline. I captured these images in my mind knowing that no picture or video could ever do justice to what my eyes have witnessed, natures beauty was truly humbling. Drops of salt water lined my lips and grains of dirt and sand stuck stubbornly to my face. I turned to trench coat, “hey what do you think?” I was shouting and although she was maybe two feet from me, I knew my voice was muffled. I motioned towards the bus and she nodded. The view was unbelievable, but I was somewhat inclined to leave with all of me intact and able to pass on the story to family and friends.
Slainte!
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