I first travelled to Inishbofin in 2012. I had just up ended my life, well, the life of the persona and I was facing the dreams I had ignored, excused, with all the meaningless tasks of a system life. “I’m too busy, I’m too tired.” This theme is present for me again currently as I sit in the discomfort of holding one’s self back.
I realise that the 9-5 life is in many ways easier than the conscious path. It takes away our freedom and our time for achieving our souls true purpose but it also allows us to hide from the blockages within that prevent us from following those dreams. It provides ample “valid” reasons why we just can’t get started. It’s a lot easier to make excuses for why I haven’t written or published when I’m working in a law firm, upholding a relationship, running a household, going to the gym etc. I could go on but how do I explain why I’m not pursuing my calling if I have removed all the distractions and simply sit here. Add to this the pressure of needing to either earn or become completely self sufficient off grid and the dream becomes urgent. Go for it or go back to oblivion? Oblivion… I could never do.
This is when we must go deeper and accept our own resistance in favour of healing. Our witch wound, our money wound, our self worth. For me, persecution plays a big part. I have been persecuted in many lifetimes sometimes killed for being and stepping out onto a perceived stage where my different is on show for all to see is subconsciously terrifying causing me to freeze. What is your resistance?
In 2012 as I began this transmutation I sat in the aftermath of blowing up my system life, medicated as I had been for most of my years when I couldn't accept the trap and I came across an advert for a poetry competition. “A jaunt to Inishbofin” with a group of fellow writers to explore your work and be with Mother Earth in her most untouched form. I had to write a piece explaining why I would like to be selected for the trip and though I cringe slightly looking back at the evidence of pain body in my 24 year old self, I understand where she was then, send her love and feel grateful for where I am now. Below is my application piece to give a sense of the confusion I was experiencing lost and unaware. The poetry quoted was written by Yvonne Cullen the facilitator of this wonderful trip.
"Heading west
Still so glad to be on this road, the same
Barred-gate-lover, frieze-of-hawthorns –lover
Happy here and happier over there.
The same piece of grit, worked and moved
Inside this mother-of-pearl day."
Why would I like to come on the Writing Train Inishbofin Jaunt? Five months ago I probably could have knocked your socks off with an informative and yet intriguing argument as to "why me," but right now I really don't have the answers to anything. All my life I have written, written journals that became poems or songs, autobiographical verse that became autobiographical fiction, but none were shared, and all held my secrets. I'm twenty four and feel that I have lived forever, spiraling in and out of a life meant for someone else. During my degree, I read of so many authors who experienced similar isolation and yet I still feel alone. Now amidst the final months of my Masters, I have no words. The more I study literature the more I long to be a part of it, to write of all the thoughts and feelings that dwell within, in a delicate perfected form, but every time I begin to rise I fall, and my words have still not left this room. On February 2nd I gave up pretending, I took time from my menial job, walked away from my “friends” and waved goodbye to my partner. I moved back to my parents country house and finally exhaled. Now I'm medicated, in limbo, but I can't go back. I can't squeeze my square heart into "normal" life's round hole for one more second. I don't belong behind a desk, I live between the pages of a good book. I realise now, dramatic as it may sound, that the only way to save my soul, is to write that book. Where do I begin? Perhaps with you, heading west "inside this mother-of-pearl day."
Yvonne lovingly responded unfazed by my melodramatic oversharing and quickly became another Earth Angel on my journey as my place on the trip was confirmed.
The frequency of absolute love I experienced from the moment I arrived in Cleggan is something I will never forget, from the sea sprays on my face and the salt wind in my hair on the boat across to the island, from the dainty harbour and quirky characters I met, to Mary the incredible Bean Feasa I had the privilege of renting a room from and Yvonne, the most incredible, supportive, literary genius with an infectious and healing energy, an ability to effortlessly usher you towards your dream and yourself without pushing, the wisdom to bring together a wonderful group of aligned beings and the strength to hold the space as we each shared our lives and our work all while being absolutely authentically herself. She provided the place and the clarity I didn’t know I was searching for. I felt held by the landscape, free, and my poetry flowed while I was there.
I loved Inishbofin so much that my Mother painted me the featured image of its shore. A painting I hold very dear to my heart as it hangs in my bedroom existing as my very own portal, anytime I need to go.
A duality that struck me on the island was the difference between a sunny day and a stormy one. On a sunny day it felt like heaven on Earth, everything flowed, everything was easy but on a stormy day everything felt like resistance. Harsh and cold and steep. This poem explores that stark juxtaposition as the first stanza dances through a summer’s day from the highest cliffs on the island down to the sea and the second describes the climb back from the sea to the cliff top when the storm has arrived.
On an insightful and nourishing Samhain retreat with
I learnt the oldest form of Irish spells or poetry was called Rosc and it often included repeating the last word of each line as the first word of the next in a rhythmic chant. I remembered this poem immediately as I suddenly realised that in writing it I had tapped into not just the physical landscape but the secrets of its past.As above so below, in this moment I experienced the duality of nature, the duality of a simple life, the duality of a dreamer holding their dream in their hands.
This piece inspired me to reach out to Yvonne and check in. I am delighted to hear she is currently organising her 2025 Jaunts! If you would like to know more you can find her at;
Email: yvonnesworkshops@gmail.com
Facebook: Yvonne Cullen’s Writing Train
Website: www.yvonnecullen.ie
Music: Port na bPúcaí by Daniel Horn
Share this post