For me, a twelve-hour
visit to Carlingford, Ireland, meant an eighteen-hour round trip from
Cardiff, Wales. This might sound like a disproportionate amount of
travelling time in order to meet up with friends, but time so often
seems to take on elasticity depending on the quality of its use. Despite advances in telecommunication technology, there is
simply no substitute for meetings in person. A virtual tug-of-war, or
an egg-and-spoon race via satellite, just would not be the same.
The outward journey could almost have been justified alone by the
sight of silhouette mountains embracing an inlet of sea: the water at
our destination as one huge length of trembling silk, the air sweet and
wholesome, leaving the lungs hungry for more. Mangala had waited up for
us, and directed us to our home for the night. We were welcomed to our
guesthouse by a lady uncommonly sprightly for the time of night. She
offered us cosy rooms full of gentle images of the Madonna and Child.
Shane was already singing with great gusto in the car park of the
hostel at 5.55am, breaking off from uncertain duties (and singing) to
welcome us profusely and kindly to the meditation hall. Meditation was
attended by around sixty people from no less than sixteen nations. That sublime
start amongst friends, amidst golden lilies and Sri Chinmoy’s flute
recordings, was followed by singing. An angelic sustain accompanied
every note in the hall’s vast acoustics.
A 2-mile race ensued around the pretty streets and along the water’s
edge. We then enjoyed a breakfast of eggs and homemade soda bread at
our accommodation, while watching the sea and the closest mountain.
Though I don’t mean I watched the mountain for leprechauns, as my hosts
encouraged me to do - I don’t believe they’d have let themselves be so
easily visible, especially from that distance ;-) - I mean that the
longer one watches a mountain, the friendlier it seems: less a lump of
rock than a hive of life and a masterpiece of colour and form. We would
not have time for climbing as others would, but I enjoyed it all the
same from the breakfast table.
It was a perfect day for playing in fields, and for lying in grass,
chatting. The sun matched our exuberance, but had the gentleness to
allow one to go about without a hat. Horses mooched and switched away
the flies between us and the sea. Shane and Colm were in full costume,
though as I arrived a little late I’m not sure what it was exactly. It
included capes, and sparkly wigs, and plastic swords. It certainly gave
weight to their storytelling and their commendable demonstrations of
the more traditional games. It also enhanced the already abundant
jollity and laughter.
Intense concentration was seen on every face though at some point,
as the challenges certainly were challenging. The most memorable was
making the shape of a larger-than-life cow on the ground, using only a
length of rope. Yet more difficult when you consider it was to be done
in teams of eight, where half were blindfolded, and half called out
(mainly ambiguous or contradictory) instructions. The results had us all in
fits of laughter: the poor cows looked rather ungainly and
uncomfortable.
Two of us had to leave before the afternoon meditation in order to
get back to work on Monday, but we just managed to sneak in for a group
photo to be sent to Sri Chinmoy. Paula offered to make the hour round
trip with us to Dundalk, where we could catch our bus to the airport.
The way back was long and hot, but it really didn’t matter - those twelve
hours have left so many sunny memories. Being a little out of the way
in Wales, we usually have to make long trips for Joy Days, but it’s
always worth it, and we always make sure the travelling is part of the
joy.
Sumangali Morhall
July 2005
