We have been to the west coast of Ireland for two weeks, ostensibly sailing, but beset by weak or contrary winds. Sligo and Knocknarea will have to wait.
The calm weather was there too, and regarded as a rare event. It allowed us to anchor off the White Strand on the Great Blasket, and kayak along her steep cliffs, exploring the deep, sucking caves.
The far end was a blush of seapinks.
Very Heaven.
If you haven't read any of the Blasket books, look them out. They are about a time when a peasant community lived on this six mile long island, fed on fish, milk, and potatoes. A diet enriched by sealmeat and the spoils of wreckage . They fished with skin boats, canoes, curraghs, kayaks; call them what you like. The landlord had seized their larger boats to cover rent arrears.
The Islandman, or "Twenty Years A'growing" are a good start.
The trip was tarnished for me by witnessing my partner being drawn increasingly to another member of the crew. I started to feel like a jealous and wounded old man and didn't like that role.
I am 15 years her senior & I think she has been constricted by my ways.
On our return, we parted.
Hopefully we will work something out... .
I have felt like I have just been in some horrendous car accident, shaky and shocked.
All that happens to us we can learn from and grow from. I have not spent eight years in the company of two amazing New Age women without learning that. Anyway, the other way leads to victimhood and emotional close-down, and they both lead nowhere.
The initial gain from this is that I have been sleeping in my van, in the forest where I have more work than I can handle.
Trees are a parliament of sense in any social or emotional turbulence. They really want to help.
-Remember that in these last days of the Age of Stupid.
Head for the woods.
Millions of refugees in a century of wars would agree.
The other haven has been my parkup overlooking the sea. Allt Tabor.
The whole of Fishguard Bay with it's ferry and fishing traffic to pace my day; cutting chest-high bracken that has overwhelmed the trees that I planted this Spring.
After the forest it feels fresh and free. For years I have lived in a valley noisy with great tribes of trees and their birdchoir, overlooked by a mountain outline of a sleeping goddess, who jealousy blocked the glory of the setting sun in all seasons.
Now I can gaze out at that golden pathway to the end of the day. The road to a new day.