It is raining and foggy, the coastline looks as I imagine it must have looked to Leif Eriksson or John Cabot. I am looking at my credit card receipt from the Esso service station in Mabou - at the bottom, "Tapadh Leibh". One of only a handful of reminders that the blood of the Gael runs in the veins of the people here. But the blood of the Gael has been overcome by boring, everyday practicalities. The blood of the Gael! What is wrong with us all? How can we just watch as beauty dies, is there no force operating for good, beauty, love, understanding in the universe? What about what Siddhartha learnt? What of all the beauty and wonder, where is it now? Where are the people of good-will, gentleness, love? Are we all hiding behind the walls that pain has built around us? Why am I sitting here alone? Where are you, Great Spirit?
A raven, jester-creator, perched on the fence, cocks his eye at me, twinkling.
