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September 19, 2005
Galway, Kentucky
The mind paints the past in broad strokes of euphoria resulting in most of us housing, at least, an abstract Picasso in our minds when it comes to remembering what home used to be. You can't go home again because going back presents you with an immediate reality that never can live up to the past. You have to out paint Picasso. When looking back I tend to think of my own past as "The Scream" as painted by the master Edvard Munch. Loads of horror for sure but it's still an unbeatable masterpiece.
* * *
I left Shepherdsville a long time ago with a determination of a refugee fleeing a war torn banana republic. I have since called a variety of places "home" like Louisville, Dallas, New York City, Washington DC and, as of this writing, my backpack. I have spent a lot of these post Bullitt Central days traveling to numerous countries including a war torn torn banana republic or two. Many of these places I thought I could call "home" like Ireland.
If you were abducted from your old Kentucky home by aliens and due to an in-spaceship clerical error were redeposited in Ireland you could be forgiven for thinking you were back in the bluegrass. Before you go away thinking this is patently absurd remember that most alien abduction occur from rural places.
You'd realize after gettng over the stinging and discomfort of the alien probing that the smiliarities are numerous.
Ireland's undulating rolling hills are carpeted in a wonderful green, thus the name "Emerald Isle". It's a brilliant green which is exactly how the the progeny of a beautiful blue sky and brilliant yellow sun should look. Once, when rolling down the road from Dublin to Galway, I looked at pictures I took in Kentucky and was amazed at the uncanny resemblance to the Irish countryside.
I was sitting in Taaffe's in Galway, one of Ireland's countless pubs, and I felt right at home watching the band play. The instruments were downright familiar: banjos, mandolins and fiddles were in steady, constant play with such a fury that I began to wonder which performer's strings were going to break first. The feel of the songs was familiar too. Irish songs tend to be heartbreaking in lyrical content, but you'd never know it watching the performers and the audience. Everyone was dancing or tapping their feet and they were all inebriated by music, ale and spirit. It reminded me of my own family back home. Times were never great for us but that didn't matter when the music came out. My two brothers, Ricky and James, and my mother would often perform while those of us less talented would watch, listen and stomp on the floorboards. We were possessed by the mighty bluegrass spirit.
Speaking of spirit, Irish whiskey is a joyful thing. Smooth and rich just like the whiskey my grandfather made with his own two hands. The similarity doesn't end there, it was a great surprise to me to learn that casks from Kentucky's distilleries go to Ireland's whiskey makers where they are reused up to three times before being into furniture. They know what we know in Kentucky, the oak makes all the difference.
Excepting the glaring differences like driving on the wrong side of the road and the funny accents it could easily be Galway, Kentucky.
Posted by Julian Cook at September 19, 2005 11:04 AM
Dear Julian,
Many's the dewy morn I've gazed from me 'ome here along the Ohio River to dear Kentucky on the other side of the river's dark waters, and thought to meself your homeland bore a bit of a resemblance to the Emerald Isle. What with those rolling hills, and the bright green pastures, and the simple homesteads sprinkled between the occasional rich forest, it is easy to see why Kentucky became the refuge of so many of Ireland's poor and stubborn.
How lucky I am, to have such easy access to one of America's best kept secrets. How blessed you are, to have been born there.
Steven Newman
Posted by: steven newman at September 24, 2005 12:52 AM
I trust your journey is progressing smoothly. I met you at the Shambala Center in Dublin. It was nice of you to drop in to see us.It was very pleasant talking with you on our stroll from the Shambala center to Grafton Street. It helped to streghten my resolve to journey to India and spend some time with Buddhist monks which I hope to do next year. I'm sure you will influence other like minded people to practice a life of compassion and truth for the wellbeing of all sentient beings and of our mother earth.
Good luck. May the wind always be at your back, the sun shine on your face and your feet always be dry!!!
Eoghan
Posted by: Eoghan Lawlor at September 25, 2005 05:33 AM
Kentucky accents? What are you talking about? It's everybody ELSE that has the accent! hee hee
Posted by: Julian Cook at September 25, 2005 05:34 AM
Steven,
I am finding the more I am traveling the more I am appreciating my old Kentucky Home. I am enjoying the travel sure enough but the more I go the more I feel like a human being and not a human doing.
The only sad thing about Ireland is that it takes at least a month there. I am doing it almost no justice.
I did show some pictures of Kentucky to a few folks and they thought it WAS Ireland!
Now that is a high compliment.
Julian
Posted by: Julian Cook at September 25, 2005 05:37 AM
Eoghan,
I enjoyed our walk also. I really needed to have some time to sit and meditate especially after being in Belfast. You should go and visit the monks, you will never be sorry you did.
If I could make a suggestion, in the meantime, consider Dechen Choling in France where I'm going in the coming months. I am spending a whole month there studying and practicing.
The website is at http://www.dechencholing.org
It would be a way to immerse yourself in some mindful awareness. Of all the things I am looking forward to most, it's spending time in Dharamsala practicing buddhism that really warms my heart.
Dechen Choling, until you can make it to India, would be a good start.
Stay in touch my friend.
Julian
Posted by: Julian Cook at September 25, 2005 05:58 AM
Hi Julian,
Seems like a long time since you were in Dublin and we met in the Shambhala Centre.
Your journey is an inspiration to me to take that year off and go to India and follow in the footsteps of Marpa the Translator and all the other great yogis. I need to see the world of the Himalyayas, those high places, to really believe that such great people exist. And to remind myself that we are all great people.
May the seed of your journey blossom in many hearts.
Yours in the Dharma,
Philip
ps here's a little Haiku from yesterday:
Grey Crow majestic
high on a full rubbish skip*
he lives in splendour
*skip = dumpster
Posted by: Philip Keogh at November 21, 2005 08:57 AM
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