revelations

The road ahead and the stone walls, that have been erected by hand, each stone carefully fitting into the next, are the only things I can make out as I am putting one foot in front of the other on this early morning in September.

The world is still sleeping, lulled in a thick layer of fog that drowns out all sound and makes everything seem peaceful.

My intention was to see the sun rise and I am doubting whether today will be the day for it.

For a long while, the small valley called Oughtdarra has held a special place in my heart. It is an area in the Irish landscape, where there is no phone reception, few houses and little traffic, while the limestone hills and hazel trees are plenty. A small part of me is wishing to see the sunrise over that valley, but I walk on with an open mind.

I am quite disorientated with all the fog around me and I like that; I could be anywhere. The fog seems to thin out a little and I am starting to make out the green hills on the side of the road. I walk over an incline in the road and  there, to my left, I can see it:

The hills rolling into the sea, the steep limestone cliff with the hazel forest at its foot and the big boulders that stand in the middle of the field, out of place.

Oughtdarra.

The fog lies beautifully in the folds of the hills, hides other parts completely and hovers over the Atlantic Ocean like a pink cloud.

I exhale deeply.

Sitting down on the stone wall and pouring myself a cup of coffee, I enjoy the sunrise over Oughtdarra.

I hear the waves crashing, taste the earthy, dry coffee, feel the coolness of the stone I am sitting on and watch as, very slowly, the fog lifts in front of me and reveals what was hidden before. The sun reaches the hill on my left first, highlighting a lake in the field and slowly houses can be seen, cows start ‘moo-ing’, pheasants cackle and the world starts to wake up.

 I almost liked it better before, when the fog was still thick and hiding the world around me, making everything seem untouched and open to the imagination.

I continue my journey.

A kilometre or so later I see a dirt road winding up a hill behind a gate. Always craving to see the world from greater heights, I jump the fence and follow the path. The road leads to a clearing with big tyre grooves. The place looks like a parking lot and there is an old abandoned white van that has plants growing out the windows. I walk up the incline and here I see it; what once used to be a forest and remains in ugly tree stumps, an unhealthy looking sight. The hills in the distance bear the same image of big areas cleared and a large, neatly stacked pile of tree trunks glistens in the sunshine.

The feeling of tranquillity that the morning had brought is replaced with a familiar feeling, a realisation, a churning in the gut.

I retrace my steps and stop and marvel at the wide Atlantic in front of me. I love these views out to sea because, unless there is an island or wind turbines, man has not been successful yet at leaving his marks on the surface.

There are still layers of fog that cover the Twelve Bens, a mountain range in Connemara. It looks mystical and clean.

On these walks, there is no room for falsities and today is another day where the truth is gnawing at me.

I am a believer, I have to be a believer, that life will reveal itself to you. Good, bad, just, joy, sorrow, progress – not our perception on what we think life should be like, but what it is.  Again and again, the views and beliefs we have on life will be challenged by the reality of life and in those moments we can hold fast and steady to a pre-conceived perception or allow life to show us differently.

More than anything that day, I would have wished for the fog to remain, to feel like I am walking through open spaces, but that is not the reality. The fog lifted and revealed houses, cities, trees cut down and a seemingly never-ending windmill farm in those beautiful mountains in Connemara.

My hope remains that I will find more untouched nature in my lifetime and I have been extremely privileged to know what that looks like.

But that dream does come with a small inch of fear, that the fog will also lift on those places and reveal the reality of man’s eternal need for progress and, consequnetly, destruction.