Savitri L. Bess

Whenever I would watch films about Ireland, I was captivated by the classical Irish cottage. Ooooo, I'd love to live in one of those. And now here I am.

Soul reflections.

Maybe it's auspicious. Something about to shift. Today was the first day you can walk all the way to where the waves break. They are soft breaking, not crashing. Tide is creeping in and you notice the water will soon make a circle around you. So you leave.

These stone or cliff beings reveal themselves to you in their own time. This one, by far the largest, only recently showed herself. You bow down in awe.

Your eyes scan the high ledges of the cliffs now. You usually find the ancient stone beings down low, or at eye level. There She is. The Lady who presides. You can hear the words: "Take off your sandals for you are standing on holy ground. Tell them that 'I Am' sent you." You bow down, your face in the sand. You feel the heat on your forehead. The roar of the waves, her speech, flooding you. Your hair stands on end.

Who is She beyond Regal, Divine, Mother, Queen. Read More 

Where are they going? Where did they come from? Does it matter if they are leading anywhere or not?

You want to walk all the way out to the waves that are breaking just where the water enters the bay, a deep channel of swift-flowing tide, in and out. You long to go there to the breakers. Something about it beckons. Firm sand left bare by the low tidal waters, ripples in the sand, like the Sahara Desert, a flatland of sand. Always with mirrors of shallows reflecting the sun and clouds. Like a mirage it is. Every time you go down there during low tide, through the grasses, the long grasses like troll’s hair, and down the trail between the cliffs, you see the sand all barren, and those waves in the far distance breaking, beckoning.  Read More 

Off the shore of Pollan strand in Ballyliffin, stands the magic isle of Glashedy. Believe it or not, sometimes they graze sheep on top of it. Not sure how they get the sheep up there. I did meet a man who'd just paddled out to the island in his ocean-going kayak and he said he looked for a wayup and couldn't find one. I'm imagining the sheep pathway must be around the back and accessed during low tide.  Read More 

You go walking anyway. If you waited for the sun, you'd rarely get out. You discover a new world of clouds, and the incredible brilliance, shades of the light coming out of the dark.

You travel all that distance, maybe with a memory of Brigadoon in your heart, maybe a mystery of faery with a red hat or wand, maybe a cave where the Tuatha de Dannan hid and hide still. You discover pathways in the sand, mirrors that disappear with each incoming tide. You follow where they lead and when you look back your footprints are gone.  Read More