Co Clare

Cultivating the courage to 'Un-Believe' this: My dreams are part of what is wrong with me

All last week I spent in anticipation of 10.30 Saturday morning...

I had planned a very special date for my creative self... 2 hours in Bridge House Studios an idyllic, renovated cottage, farmhouses and barn overlooking an old stone bridge and gently flowing river.

This is a magical place for 'artists, writers or those seeking inspiration or time-out' for their creative selves.

There is a gallery, a barn, greenery, flowers, trees, stone, timber, water... a perfectly attuned aesthetic playground to wander, to ignite, and to fertilise possibilities. All this only 2 miles down the road from where I live! Until a week previous I had no idea this space existed but ever since the discovery, I have been infused with gratitude and spirit.

As I was given the tour, Iseult, the artist who's home this is, painted for me the image of what this space would become, it is a vision in progress. She is knee deep in a transformational process of hand making this vision into a haven of her own creation. As I emerged from my whirlwind of amazement, it dawned on me, I turned to her and I said "Iseult, this is the dream". To which she stopped dead, mid-stride, looked me straight in the eye and said "YES.. the dream".

Oh... hello dreamer.. you just got another sign. Dreams can come true!

 

I know my radar is tuning in to another wavelength of late, I'm seeing my surroundings through different eyes, like as if I have invoked a perception that has remained dormant within me all this time. I am developing more and more interest closer to home, in the spiritual sense, things that are 'right under my nose'... 'here', not there.

Though I'm a dreamer, I've always swept my dreams under the carpet.. like some shameful personal truth, I believed my dreams were part of what was 'wrong with me'. They were what made me 'for the birds'.

 

Hello, this is Destiny calling...again

 

Does this make any sense to you? I'm speaking about destiny here I think... could my destiny possibly reveal itself to resemble the dreams I've suppressed and kept secret  all my life? Is this why, in my slumber, I repeatedly re-visit dreams in which I accidentally discover foreign parts of old houses and by which I am enchanted every time?

Paradoxically, while it feels intuitive that my attention now rests 'here', it also somehow implies a signpost, as if I'm also discovering some sort of pathway to 'there', but 'there' (wherever that is) is not my focus, it's not my aim, it's just an extension of 'here'.

Then, destiny really did call 

Just now, as I was drafting this post, I received an 'out of the blue' phone call from someone I don't know, but have crossed paths with in the recent past. She called me about a longing she has to create meaning in her life... she remembered a conversation we had where I was able to empathise with her because circumstance had caused her to question everything she thought she knew about herself, about love and about life.

I shared with her how I once didn't know how to listen to myself at all, because if I did, I would have to confront the fear of taking steps I knew had become necessary for my life to have the meaning I desperately wanted, I was afraid I might lose something by following my heart.

I then told her it boiled down to a single decision in the end, to chose the fear of change over the fear of staying the same...

That decision created a movement of providence for me and yes, there was loss, but I can say with confidence, it was the best thing I ever done. She remembered that conversation and I remembered her.

She called me today to say she hears it now, that she's conflicted about trusting it, but that my courage then has inspired in her, her own courage now. This is what it's all about for me, because my courage too was inspired, and continues to be. 

My most recent inspirations have been calling to me again... to recover my dreams, to acknowledge, to cultivate and to live as if... that part of me is real.

Do you have dreams waiting to be discovered?

Always, Amanda xx

 

 

 

 

Doolin, the Apocalypse & Bar-eavement

I really love day trippin' around Ireland. There are so many characters and traditions and everywhere you go, there's a little madness weaved into the fabric of life here. This weekend we decided on Sunday to take a trip to the west coast of Clare. We were a bit tender from the night before.. Having decided to 'stay in', myself and Terry ended up having a two person party, complete with mosh pit. We'd have been better off going out.  So to avoid a day of hungover idleness, we each grabbed a few essentials, hopped into '75' (Our campervan) and took off for the coast.

You know it's summer in Ireland when the rain gets warmer...

We weren't 20 minutes on the road and the apocalypse descended. I could hardly see for the rain, but we did what all true Irish people do (when we can't say 'shur at least it's not raining').. we rolled out the 'shur what else would we be doin on a day like it?'. The answer to that is usually the high stool, by the way. Rain is a great excuse for the drink.

Fist stop was Spanish Point and the Armada Hotel (Check it out here) where we feasted on Lamb Shank overlooking the wild Atlantic way. We then took Ted to the beach where we played ball in the surf, watched the distant rain crossing the horizon and got acquainted with a curious little beagle who seemed to be the  'one dog, local beach welcome committee'.

On leaving Spanish Point, we headed for St Anthony's Caravan park in Doolin and Ironically, couldn't find it.. We reckoned if St Anthony couldn't be found, there must have been good reason. So we settled for Nagle's and parked up between two walls, affording us some shelter should the floods arrive. We heard they were building an arc on the pier nearby, so we were positioned well either way. We stuck on our box set of 'Only Fools and Horses' and laughed with Rodney and Del Boy while we sat out the Storm.

Lovely Jubly....

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The stages of BAReavement...

After a short walk to nearby Doolin, we landed into a mighty session in the famous Gus O Connors Pub. We discovered to our delight (as we live in the arsehole of internet blackspot) they had FREE WIFI and we happily began checking in and reporting our whereabouts on Facebook before being admonished by a local who reminded us we were there to converse, not surf. :) He was right. We put the phones away and gave ourselves to 'handy chat' with our imbibing neighbours. They soon reached that horrible first phase of bareavement... ' ambivalent decision to go home' (denial) and took turns facilitating each other through the next 3 phases, which by the way are bargaining, depression and finally, acceptance. The depression phase was skilfully suppressed by the older Gentleman with a spontaneous verse of 'Finnegans Wake' on his way to the bar; he was a pro, I could tell.

The rest of the night featured a stunning performance of this beautiful song from a Luke Kelly voice twin. Followed by a random and somewhat disturbing appearance from the set dancing 'Straw Boys' from Kilnaboy. I have no idea what that was about, it was an unexpected experience... I emerged from the loo and stepped into what looked like a scene from the 'Wizard of Oz'... and me without my ruby slippers, oh my! I captured some video, though I can't seem to upload it, they were all masked and dressed like scarecrows. Hmmm. Apparently it's an Irish wedding tradition (I had never heard of it). It's supposed to bring luck and wealth to the marrying couple. What do you think, would you not feel weirded out dancing with a bale of hay?

Weirdo's

Phantom Toxic Arse Man

Something else we unfortunately captured that night was the cyclical, septic, arse end of some phantom's digestive misfortune. We spent the night trying to identify the culprit by a process of elimination, but it must have been pro-night on the bar stools because not a single sign of shame did we see on the faces of our chosen contenders for the 'throne'. I couldn't help but hope that whoever he was, he was going home to an empty bed and if not, that the missus had the foresight to at least sleep in a gas mask. Ugh...Rotten!

Always, Amanda xx