An afternooon with the Crofts

It is our second to last Wednesday in Northern Ireland. Billy and Mindi surprised us by arriving early on Monday and shocking us tremendously. Our group took a wee walk down the road to Richard and Amanda Croft's home this afternoon to enjoy minced pies, hot drinks, Christmas crackers, good conversation and general Christmas cheer. The Croft's home is lovely and hidden with wondrous old surprises. Richard played us delicious old records on his gramophone, which dates back to the 1890's, and the records he played us were from the big band age of the 1920's. It was transporting. I felt myself pulled back to the days of women in boyish fitting dresses, with shortly cropped hair, and wee hats, dancing away to music of brass and the like. We toured their house further and surveyed their extensive art collection (they are both professional artists). Carrie, Jill and I settled ourselves in their reading room, having discovered a wonderfully old book of Irish wit and humor, entitled "Brave Crack." We proceeded to read aloud selected verses and poems with the best and most dramatic Irish accents we could muster. Their house inspired the mind and wakened the soul to great thought. I mourn at the idea of leaving this place...

The real Ireland

I think I experienced the real Ireland for the first time since being in Northern Ireland. Carrie and I accompanied our new Irish friend Aiden and his German friend Klaus to a pub in an Irish village called Castlewellan, near Dundrum, where authentic Irish music was being played. We were easily the youngest people in the pub and it was an obvious difference. The band played and played. The tunes were like something heard only in films. There was a banjo, guitar, Irish flute, and another instrument I could not distinguish. The voices of the band rang out true Irish tones of nationalism. There were a great many songs about immigration and America. Klaus plays the harmonica and decided to play a few songs with the band. By the end of the night the entire pub was in love with him. The culture was evident everywhere. The accents were markedly different, the tunes, the language (some people spoke Gaelic) the people, the Guinness. Klaus was begged to stay and sing many more songs. He was essentially a celebrity when by the time we left the pub, people were getting up to shake his hand. The music was incredible. I felt as close to Irish as I might ever get. The beat pulsed through our veins as we clapped along to the rhythmic beat, while singing happily along with those around us. It was a beautiful scene of culture I have only now been privileged enough to survey. We drove home beneath a blazing moon, listening to beautiful Irish bagpipes and pensively watching the dark outline of the Mournes as we rode past. It was a glorious night...
I felt as if I was seeing the other side of Ireland for the first time. It was not until tonight that I realized the entirety of my experience in this wonderful place has been secluded to the Protestant, Unionist side of Ireland. I was able to glimpse finally the Nationalist, Catholic Ireland which has been denied me these three months. I think unintentionally, our group has been dragged right into the middle of sectarianism and allowed only to experience what others wanted us to. I am saddened by this, but grateful for my brief glimpse...

Idealization

I am far too much of a romantic. I attempt to live my life in the world of optimistic idealism. But, sadly I am often brought crashing down into the cold, harsh world of realism. Cruel reality grips my ideals and vindictively breaks them apart-leaving me with only my dreams, shattered, but real. I realize my ideals are exactly that-ideals, but I choose them over the harsh reality of this world. I would rather live deluded and idealistically deceived then to constantly live in the sad reality of life. Perhaps I should temper my world of ideology with a bit of reality, but I can not be persuaded to part from this that is part of my nature. I am an idealist...so shoot me. This is who I am and I can be no one else besides myself. That is the key really-to arrive at a place where one is content with oneself-perhaps I am on the way...? Or perhaps instead, this is just another silly ideal?

Crowds and Individuals

I find that when traversing my way through the crowded streets of Belfast, faces and people appear as mere blurs, nameless characters with no meaning or individuality. People begin to all look the same, losing all sense of uniqueness. It is only when the maddening rush ceases and the crowds disperse into small groups, individuals emerge. It is in the small coffee shops and restaurants that the faces slow down and I see people, separate from the masses. It is until those moments that I remember to look at people as unique creations and not simply as mass produced clumps of sameness. I am able to see personal stories and experiences-people emerge from the crowd and become individuals...it is indeed a beautiful thing.

Studying

The monotony of studying is broken only by the metallic sound of rain crying its tears of steel outside our doors and windows. We have been cooped up all day due to the dismal weather. The wet, sopping outside as frightened us indoors. We cower in our cold rooms, with curtains shut tight, so as to keep out the cold, wrapped in layers we clutch mugs of hot tea for momentary relief. The words dribble out of our fingers with a click, tat, click, type of the computer keys--it is the only and incessant noise of our still houses. The wind howls outside our confinement like a mad child, reminding us to be thankful for being within doors. Hot stew for dinner, wondrous warmth. Besides warmth, our main aim is sanity, which bodes difficult in such forlorn conditions. I think cabin fever has begun to set in. We are all beginning to feel the effects: restlessness, irritability, fatigue, etc. I do not want to leave this place to which my soul has become attached, but I might be prepared for this time to be at an end. My nose is incessantly cold...

Dublin

Industrial. That is how the city struck me upon entering its boarders this morning as the sun shone through the fog and mist of the early day. The early morning cold reached into our limbs as we ascended from the bus and greeted us awake. We boarded another bus into the city. Houses, stores, and people unique passed my vision and rapped me in the life of the city. Teasing rays of sunlight peaked through tree branches as we continued, drawing me to further alertness and awareness. I tried to read, but could not keep my eyes upon the page or the ideas that flitted in and out of my attention span. There was much to see. The city neared or rather we neared it. An automated voice screeched out the announcement that we had arrived at the city center. We departed the bus and entered the city. Swarms of people. International. We traversed to Trinity college which brought one into times past and romanticized. The architecture harked back to what appeared Victorian or something old and grand at the least. We communed with our art guide and had coffee. The accent of Dubliners is lovely, different and harsh upon my ears after being long accustomed to the Northern accent. The National gallery awaited. She took us through rooms upon rooms filled with artists and their work that related to our art course. Such beauty that I sadly do not possess the capacity to fully appreciate! The security guards at the gallery talked incessantly, sweet but time consuming-I adore the accent. Eating, walking, talking. More crowds. The thrill of walking through a big city alone and independent absolutely exhilarated my soul. Shops upon shops-overwhelming. Unique streets lined with Christmas light adorn my memory. We walked where "Once" was filmed-wonderful. There were street musicians-I gave them a Euro. A park with geese and many people-I took a picture of Carrie despite my hatred of being "that person" who takes pictures like a tourist. More walking, window shopping-fresh flower venders, homeless people, lattes and crazy talk. Dinner in a pub, walking to the bus, languages galore-international city. The Dublin Post office-I am reminded of The Easter Rising-what history I have been allowed to see...wondrous city.

Philosophy

I just finished reading the chapter in my philosophy book regarding Post-modernism. It definitely caused me to pause and ponder. There is so much emptiness in philosophy, but it is pursued by individuals who, I believe, are genuinely seeking true life and meaning to existence. Why then do so many find only circular philosophies that leave one without meaning or life? But, philosophy requires reason and we are intelligent beings gifted with reason. We are left with the keys to knowledge and with that comes power, responsibility. We have been given much in the form of ourselves, but even more in the person of Jesus Christ. He has done much and given all, and we must give up to receive all. We have been given much in the realm of reason and philosophy, but we are offered life in the person of Jesus. He has reached down through the heavens to rescue us, but it is our responsibility to respond. This response, I believe, transcends salvation and reaches into the daily surrender that must take place for true life to emerge. We must die in order to really live-now cause that to make sense in philosophy...