It was good year, turning 50 notwithstanding. All my years have had exceptional moments, but this year they flowed in abundence. Toni, Nita and I were on a bus touring the Aran Islands in Ireland when we asked the driver to stop and let us look at a 700 year old cemetary. He obliged (grudgingly.....later I found out we almost caused the ferry to leave the island without our whole bus cause we were late!) I had brought crayons and packing paper, so we raced to find the most beautiful grave stone to pull this rubbing. Maybe it was the waxy crayon, the course, brown paper, or the delicate speckled stone, worn away by ages of icey Irish gales that made this particular rubbing most perfect.
I love old things; those touched and hewn by the hands of some anonymous person hundreds of years ago. I love to think about the timeless nature of human creativity and the urge we all feel to leave a mark; to express. Someone made that stone, cutting and crafting each symbol and then standing before it to see it said something. How many eyes have looked on it? Who was it for? What ties of love lie as hidden mysteries captured in this one stone?
Through loving and appreciating we create and recreate divinity. So, celebrating 50 years of this grand life by jumping off a bus to do a rubbing of an ancient tribute seemed most perfect. Most wonderul.
