On our last day in Lima, we had the privilege of eating at Central, currently rated as one of the best restaurants in the world. It blew me away. At the beginning of our journey to Peru, we sat in circle, a group of people, some strangers, some not, with a collective intention of connection. Anna, our retreat leader was upfront from the start; “Think of the trip as you would a symphony. There will be highs and lows, there will be waves that you wish were over and waves you wish would last forever and there will be waves of stillness and being.” 

It’s hard to put into words all that I experienced during the two weeks away but the one word that keeps coming back to me is subtle. It might seem like a strange word to describe Peru. There is nothing subtle about the country, its people or the energy there, however the whole experience for me was deeply subtle. There were the emotional highs and lows, and at times anxiety, anger and sadness; there was resistance and holding on; and then there was letting go, laughter and love. Most important of all there was connection and beneath the connection there was the subtle beauty of experiencing a land that holds a strong spiritual energy, a land that holds sacred secrets that it shares with the people who choose to visit, secrets that can’t really be communicated outside of it. The movie Avatar was at the forefront of my mind while we were in the Andes. I can almost see where James Cameron had his vision realised and just as there is the underworld of Avatar, a wondrous place of synchronicity and connection, this exists deep in the heart of Peru if you are shown the way and the places to look. 

To the outside world there are the pictures I took, the new friends I made, the people I met and I can show this all on a screen to you but the subtle intense energy of Peru seduced me in ways I never dreamed possible. The things that I couldn’t capture on camera are the memories I will treasure forever. Sitting in a garden surrounded by hummingbirds as they flew from one plant to the next, watching a caterpillar connect to a wooden table and begin its journey inwards towards its chrysalis, tarantulas that show themselves only when they feel the need too, sloths who hang out in the jungle, hidden unless pointed out, happy within themselves to be on their own and yet part of an ecosystem that is greater than any other on earth, pink dolphins who hide beneath the waters of the Amazon and pop up once in a while to say hi and stars that glisten in the sky during a night boat-ride with fireflies twinkling on the river and a guitar softly playing in the background... this is the connection, the subtle softness of being present and part of a world that is touched and yet untouched by western society. This beauty, that cannot be captured in an image, is what will bring me back to this land again and is also what brought a lost part of me back to myself. 

Coming together at Central, as a group of individuals to celebrate our two weeks on retreat together was a subtle but stunning experience. From entering through high gates, where outside it is only recognisable with a simple sign and then wandering through a garden, a hidden gem tucked away from prying eyes full of flowers and herbs and fresh produce, a garden of eden in the midst of a busy city. Seated at tables with numbers restricted so that the conversation level never quite moves above a certain decibel, a menu that is a veritable taste fest of all that Peru has to offer, decadently prepared with care and served in a timely manner with soft music playing in the background that seems to match each course perfectly. As we sat together and shared our meal, it was not lost on some of us that this experience really epitomised the entire trip. The blank canvas of a gate, our own outer forms as we arrived in Peru, the hidden gems inside ourselves which we were shown time and time again, the stirring of all senses as we moved through the Andes and the Amazon and finally back into "normality"... all culminating in a final dish that tasted sweet and yet left us wanting more. 

There were days in the lead up to travelling where I was nervous and excited with anticipation. There were moments on the trip where there was an edge to a conversation that felt uncomfortable and yet held a lesson and knowing it was time to let go and to move on. There were times where I had to say no and permit myself to be true to my needs and also the days where a yes was the way forward even if it felt out of my comfort zone. And there was the day when the realisation came that sometimes the distractions in life are the point and the space held for heart-opening experiences are exactly why we chose to be a part of something bigger and greater than ourselves. 

In truth I feel a bit like the caterpillar, who has just attached itself to prepare for its' time inside, retreating to allow itself to grow into something wondrous and beautiful. What it may look like, it may not know yet and for now it doesn’t need to know. This is the time for dreaming and being in wonder, the time for allowing life to unfold without an agenda. How timely it is that we have the gift of winter and all its beauty of allowing us to be in hibernation for a little while, so that when spring comes there is something new, something unexpected that arises from the lessons, the learnings and the letting go. There is a pressure that builds so that when it is time, the transitional state of the chrysalis bursts open and the wings of a butterfly unfold to show itself in its truest form and its wisest self. 

​I wrote a blog this week about growing up along the border in Ireland. Then I rewrote it and then I deleted it and wrote it again and again and again. It is something that has been in my heart over recent months with the conversations about what type of border is needed in Ireland with the UK moving out of the EU. I am not a keen political operator and to be honest, there are parts of this landscape I don’t understand and haven’t delved into enough to fully engage with it. I shied away from politics when I was at university as we were encouraged to NOT talk about it. Living in Derry and Portrush during the years when we are traditionally meant to develop opinions on governments’, and whether we are right or left wing, just wasn’t supported. The on-going challenges between sides were always cited as the reason and as students and residents in Northern Ireland we confronted these regularly.  There was always an underlying sense of fear and being on guard in amongst the partying and youthful self-expressions of living away from home from the first time.
 
I moved to Monaghan Town when I was 11 years old. It was 1989 and it was nine years before peace came about in Northern Ireland and the hard border was removed.  Spending my early years in Dublin, I didn’t fully understand or comprehend the situation in Northern Ireland or in the border counties. I certainly don’t remember it ever being talked about and it was only when I moved closer to the border that it suddenly took up residence front and centre in my life. It was a time of education for me. I didn’t really get why, when we travelled into the North, we had to stop at a checkpoint with fully armed military patrolling it, questioning our intentions of traveling to a different county and then searching the boot of the car or why we would be shushed from speaking. At first it felt like being in a movie and there was an element of excitement.  That feeling radically changed and I soon realized this wasn’t a movie; it was now my reality.
 
They say that the feelings of fear and excitement are very close in their nature and that it is the absence of breath or the attitude to either that determines the one we live in. Having lived on both sides of the border, I can safely say that fear and mistrust were overriding no matter your attitude back in the days before peace and even in the years that followed as the transition was not the easiest one. I look at these quotes and wonder if the author ever lived in a place where conflict was at the heart of its community.  
 
The thing to realize is that this became normal life. Living in this way became part of the everyday. Evacuations, bomb scares, police banging on the door at various times of the day and night, name calling, stones thrown, breaking glass, armoured vehicles, random checkpoints, avoiding certain parts of town… it all became “the norm” and there was an immunity that came with it.
 
“In the place of stillness, rises potential. From the place of potential, emerges possibility. Where there is possibility there is choice. And where there is choice, there is freedom.”
Gabrielle Goddard
 
Those of us who have lived on the border had years of having to get on with day-to-day life and deal with the reality of having no choice but to live with the restrictions imposed on us.  We finally found freedom and were given the gift of choice in 1998. The relief and elatedness of this freedom allowed for fear to dissolve. The ‘norm’ shifted to now living in trust and faith. The immunity we had developed to deal with living in an area of conflict melted away. And yet here we are now, asking our immune systems to mobilize once again, against the old deep seeded fears of what the past entailed, and I feel there is a collective question of ourselves as to how we live into a future that continues to be of possibility no matter the border?
 
As we stand together on both sides now, in stillness, waiting for resolution, there is a collective holding of breath for the impact of this decision on our lives and the lives of our children. This is an old narrative that has been healing and like some illnesses it seems she has been in remission and has reared her head to see if we, as a people, are willing to step up, to share our stories and feel into the fear that sits inside so that we can move through it and trust that none of us want to revisit the days of old.
 
I believe the ‘ASK’ is for us to continue to walk the path of potential, to recognize that we are no longer willing to accept that a border comes at the cost of peace in our land. We breathe together and collectively recognize that no matter what border they deem as politically correct for our country, we are already one. We are of this land and we choose to be a part of the greater collective striving for a peaceful and better place to live and be a part of. 

AHO!

Brexit: A cry from the Irish Border 
‘Jacob Rees-Mogg you're right. You don't need to visit the border... you need to have lived here.’ Belfast-born actor Stephen Rea explores the real impact of Brexit and the uncertainty of the future of the Irish border in a short film written by Clare Dwyer Hogg.

 I remember the first time I saw him. He was standing by the large marquee of the camp talking with some other boys. I was 12 and he was 14. I was struck by his stance and then his eyes and couldn’t help but stare over at him. I found myself distracted by his presence and his every move. Being a shy 12 year old, I didn’t really know how to be around boys. I attended an all girls school where there wasn’t a lot of interaction with the boys and if there was, there was always someone there to make fun of it. So it never felt comfortable to simply chat to a boy to get to know him. Hitting puberty and suddenly noticing that there were a range of emotions that came up with that wasn’t my best time, and I had a public teenage experience as we had a family business, so the awkward stages of blushing and getting embarrassed around the opposite sex played out in front of the entire neighbourhood for me. 
 
When I went on holidays with my aunt and uncle that year I had an experience that forever changed me. My uncle was the leader of a Scout group so I went off to hang out with my cousins and my aunt whilst surrounded by a group of boys aged 10-15. It was an experience I will never forget. I remember the days walking the woods and playing around on the assault course, swim competitions in the local pool, dinner with the group in the evenings and this connection that seemed to come out of nowhere with a young man who, to this day is still with me. I remember the first time we said hi to each other and it felt as though I had accomplished a milestone in being able to speak to him. We used to simply sit across from each other and look into the other’s eyes, for what seemed like an age, and then look away embarrassed questioning if it was real. We stood outside the marquee one night and had our first conversation. I couldn’t tell you what it was about but I remember gazing up at him in wonder for what could happen between us. 
 
And life went on, I said goodbye after my time there and every time I visited my relatives I would be itching to get into town to see if I would run into him or catch a glimpse of him once more. He asked my cousin one night, a few months after we had met, if I was coming to the Christmas teenage disco and it ignited hope in that he had felt the same connection I did that week. Weeks and months passed and we came to Valentine’s Day, I had spent the week asking my aunt for his address, choosing a card and sending it to him full of excitement and fear, fear in case he didn’t remember me or that he didn’t feel the same about me anymore. 
 
When the phone call came I was still in my pajama's. It was the 15th February. I let the phone fall into the cradle as my best friend said goodbye and that she was sorry to have to be the bearer of the news. I sat on the stairs and I cried. I cried for what might have been. I cried for the loss of the dream. He was gone. There was no longer a possibility for us. He had left this world unexpectedly and tragically, leaving behind a family who loved him, a community who valued him and a young girl who had seen a life with him even though we had never even kissed. 
 
Last weekend was a weekend of healing and as it turned out a healing into something that I had thought I had let go of a long time ago. Through a visualization I found myself sitting with that same little girl. We sat on the stairs together and I held her as she cried and as she experienced a loss of innocence, a loss of belief and as she made a choice to never fully belong, never fully allow love in and never fully allow the connection to be there for fear it would once again be taken away. Over the years, her fears are exactly what have manifested. Failed relationships that don’t stand the test of time or distance, places that feel like home only to be moved on from and connections that feel so right only to be so wrong. 
 
Being on a path to healing the wounded side of myself has taken me down many roads and it is a path I have never regretted stepping onto. I do question it some days and there are moments I would rather be numb again so it means I don't have to look at who I am in the situation and what I can do to move forward and heal into the present. It isn’t always the easiest path and it takes courage and bravery for those who choose it.  On the weekend as I reflected over recent events in my life, I realised that since the day he died, I haven’t really allowed myself to belong. I have moved and travelled since I was old enough to and I never really gave myself permission to stay in one place too long. I never questioned it; I put it down to my itchy feet and restless spirit. 
 
On the weekend as we moved through various healing journey’s, it suddenly hit me that my fear in life has been not been the fear of never having love, connection and belonging but the fear of fully experiencing love, connection and belonging.  I had it once and it left so there has been a part of me that believed that this was how it was. No one would stay and therefore if I allowed myself to experience it, it wouldn’t hang around.  
 
In not allowing myself to belong anywhere or to anyone, I have also not allowed myself to belong to me, to fully embody who I am and to experience life in all its technicolour glory. 
 
“Belonging so fully to yourself that you’re willing to stand alone is a wilderness - an untamed, unpredictable place of solitude and searching. It is a place as dangerous as it is breathtaking, a place as sought after as it is feared. The wilderness can often feel unholy because we can’t control it, or what people think about our choice of whether to venture into that vastness or not. But it turns out to be the place of true belonging, and it is the bravest and most sacred place you will ever stand.” 
Brené  Brown 
 
So it is with gratitude for the journey so far, a sense of excitement and a little trepidation that I step into embodying love, connection and belonging in my life. It is with baby steps that I ease the younger part of me out of fear and into the wilderness. It is with an open heart I welcome in the unknown, the space for allowing myself to belong and to be at peace with fully being here now because I recognise that I am worthy of love, connection and belonging. We all are. 

Last week, on the day of the full moon I took a walk up Knocknarea. The mountain, beautifully situated behind my home in Sligo, is said to be the burial site of Queen Maeve, a legendary Irish warrior queen who had several husbands and was never one to run away from a battle. As I walked up to the cairn, it was a clear day with blue skies. Now, for any of you who live on or have experienced the west coast of Ireland, these blue sky days can be deceiving. As I climbed higher and higher, I was hit with a hail storm, rain and strong winds. There were sheep who stood under stones in shelter looking at me in what felt like disbelief and echoing what I was thinking in my head; “What the f*&% are you at?”, but I kept going, I was determined to be standing at the top at 1:26pm just as the moon hit its fullest here in Ireland. 

Arriving at the top wasn’t peaceful and the views were somewhat marred by the incessant wind and rain but as I walked around the cairn, I found a quiet spot, a reprieve from the howling wind and I took a seat and breathed the air into my body. I felt a sense of stillness descend over me and the mountain. The rain and wind seemed to have stopped and I felt as though I could hear for the first time in a while. 

“True listening is another way of bringing stillness into the relationship. When you truly listen to someone, the dimension of stillness arises and becomes an essential part of the relationship.”
Eckhart Tolle 

There are things in life that can throw us off track, we can feel outside of ourselves and not really connected to our essence or put another way, our spirit. It is almost as though the heart of us sits outside who we are and we watch as everything happens around and to us, not fully connecting to how the goings-on make us feel. The last couple of weeks I have spent time in a hospital (visiting) and I have seen that this is never more so than when in an environment where there is sickness. People are drawn into their body with the pain they feel and yet on another level they are pulled back out of feeling with painkillers and other drugs. It is hard to watch and see it happen, especially to a loved one. And yet there is a time to stay and be with feeling and there is also a time where the support is needed; be it painkillers, a friendly nurse, a fellow patient passing by that says hello or a family member to sit and listen. 

What I have been reminded of this week is that we as a society have to be better and more open to listening, to hearing and experiencing another person’s thoughts and stories. We may not agree with them but we at least must allow them to speak their truth and listen. One of my fellow Forrest Yogi’s, Erica, put up a post recently asking if we are wedded to our view point. Are we so ingrained in the systems we believe and work in, that we leave no space for other opinion’s, thoughts and beliefs and it really struck a cord. We have been raised in a way to follow in the footsteps of our family beliefs. Some of us choose to walk away from them and some of us continue in the same vein. We go to school and our beliefs and opinions are shaped by who we hang out with and who we admire. We move into the workforce and into relationships and again there are new ideas and ways of thinking and they in turn influence us. By being open to listening and allowing someone to share their story without having our own agenda of needing to get our story out can be hard. It also can be uncomfortable to hear someone’s story and we may not be able to listen as it can trigger emotions and memories within us that we resist dealing with. 

"Most people do not listen with the intent to understand; they listen with the intent to reply.”
Stephen R. Covey 

As I hiked up Knocknarea last week, Queen Maeve was expressing her viewpoint and boy was there a battle through the final few steps with the wind pushing against me and the hail raining down from the sky. It was hard not to listen to her. It begged the question, am I taking a moment to stop and listen to me right now or am I continuing to push ahead without awareness? When I did arrive at the top, the magical stillness that encouraged me to stop felt like a forcefield where I had no choice but to look and listen to all that was around and within me. 

For us to communicate clearly, presence is required. We have to stop and be present and aware. Moving to the west of Ireland, life moves at a slower pace and its taking me patience to slip into this way of being. City life is busy and there are plans made weeks in advance, whereas here it’s more of a minute by minute, day by day way of life. And I noticed over the last couple of weeks that I need to be better at listening, really listening to others and to myself. I have to open up more to hearing what others have to share without planning my response or jumping in to reply.

"Listening is more important than anything else because that's what music is. Somebody is playing something and you’re receiving it. It is sending and receiving.”
Carla Bley 

Listening takes many forms, it can be verbal and non-verbal. It can be through conversation, body language or energetic. Spending time at the side of a loved one's hospital bed can mean sitting in quietness and allowing the person to feel your presence whilst letting them sleep; it can be a hand and foot rub so that they feel a healing touch; it can be chatting about mundane, everyday things; it can be listening to stories of old that they suddenly feel the need to share; it can be listening to them share their symptoms and support their words if need be with those who know best and it can have a beautiful way of allowing us all to learn more so that we become better at listening.  

It’s a DIVINE place to be able to BE… simply listening and being there for someone else. 

Just as Queen Maeve lies on Knocknarea listening to the many footsteps that walk her land and the words of people who have visited her, she in turn provides a place to voice what we may not be able to voice to others, she provides a quiet stillness to allow us to be and also a howling wind if we feel the need to join in.  And this is the gift we can give, if we simply take the time to stop, look and listen.