Éire...

 

Warning: this is a very long post. Grab yourself a cup of tea or coffee and I hope you enjoy! 

As I mentioned on my last post, the schedule of the ferry was not the best to allow me a good sleep. This ferry between Pembroke and Rosslare runs twice a day, at 2.35am, and 2.35pm. Easy to remember I guess.

I couldn't really find a decent place to sleep with my Hammock in Pembroke, and to be honest, I would almost have no time to sleep anyway. 

The doors would open around 10pm, the ticket office would open at 12 and check-in at 1pm or before. I just waited on their different waiting rooms. Before and after the check-in there was different rooms. I walked around on the first as they had some big boards with some history about Pembroke that I was curious about.

I found this very weird and almost disturbing. They plan to regenerate the community using their "fine military past"? Possibly developing some sort of historical tourism or something. I just don't understand this almost worship of wars and warriors, of armies and soldiers. I saw it a lot in France, shrines and statues to the "brave soldiers" who gave their lives to defend the nation. It almost makes me sick. It is the worship of the Nation State that most Western people chose as their God. They convince their children that it is such an honourable thing to do, and send them to the front lines to be killed. Families get traumatised, communities get traumatised, but they become heros for dying in the name of a nation, or its independence.

I haven't seen one single remembrance of those who gave their lives to protect those they were not supposed to, or refused to pick up arms and use violence, unless I would consider the cross with Jesus nailed to it. That I found in loads of places, sometimes huge ones, but wasn't Jesus' example the opposite of that of a soldier? Jesus didn't pick up any arms neither he formed an army, yet, whether one believes or not, he did show us a way to defeat any oppressive empire. A way of resistance with non-violence. A way that is more like a choice, within each one's heart, to follow the Great Spirit instead of human authorities, to follow love instead of unjust laws, to follow God instead of Nation States or Money, to follow non-violence instead of war.

Yet, no matter how many crosses are displayed, and no matter how big and visible they are, humans don't seem to get it. Maybe they should be more realistic, with a complete naked body and almost unrecognisable with so many cuts and slashes from the Roman soldiers' whips.

 The cross became a symbol of a new religion called "Christianity" that some like to impose into others, but is actually, to me, a symbol of the cruelty of human empires towards the incarnation of the God of Love in a human body.

Unfortunately, it seems that it became a symbol of yet another empire.

But going back to my journey... I was told to join the queue outside together with all the cars, which I gladly did as the waiting room was way too warm with so many heaters. 

I was more than an hour standing with my bike which I eventually leaned against the fence bars at my right side. There was a baby gull making their calling sounds and I decided to practice imitating it. I did quite well I guess, so I entertained myself with the little one until all the trucks were in, then all the cars, then me at the end.

The crossing took 4 hours and I did snooze for a bit in the room with reclining chairs while my phone got charged. 

I must have slept 3 hours, so I was not planning to ride so much that day.

I cycled 25km north towards Wexford and there, after crossing the bridge I spotted a nice piece of grass with access to the river where I had a place to lean my bike. I took my sheep skin out, layed on the grass and fell asleep for a couple of hours until I woke up with too much sun and a feeling I soon would need to poo.

Thankfully there was a swimming pool up the hill after crossing the road and they had toilets accessible to visitors like me. Phew!

I hit the road, but not for long. I was only 11km from Wexford when my rear rack broke.Oops! For the first time I had to fix something on the bike.

I really didn't know how could I fix this as it broke what was already a welded part. A lovely man passed and asked if he could help, but when he saw the problem all he could do was go home and check if his son's bike had a rack. He didn't come back. While I was waiting I also decided to change the tires from the back to the front as the back tire was much more worn out.

Then I thought I should check if there was any bike shop nearby for me to try to get a new rack. There was a couple in Wexford and it was possibly the best chance I had. I went to the house next to where my bike broke down and the family was very friendly. They were there already asking if they could help in any way, but they had no bikes themselves. I asked them to just keep my luggage in their yard while I biked to Wexford and back.

Thank God they had one rack left. I installed it there in case anything was missing and also got some hex keys that I needed for the new screws. It was not cheap, 70€, but it was actually the first expense I was having with my bike. 

The bike itself was a gift from a neighbour who didn't need it anymore as I mentioned in a previous post. I only changed the tires and inner tubes I bought last year before my bike trip in the "Costa Vicentina" in Alentejo. The rack that broke was from a bike that was left at Mount of Oaks many years ago, the rear panniers were also free. One from the Uhler's, friends from Lisbon, who moved house to another country, the other was Emma's and a gift from her mum. This one was not as robust for this kind of traveling, but I made it work. The front panniers I made myself reusing some olive oil plastic containers with a leather top flap that I stitched onto the plastic. They are attached with cable ties and they have been performing perfectly for my food and kitchen utensils. The front basket was also left at MoO, maybe with the same bike as the rear rack, I don't remember. I reinforced it with a piece of wood underneath so it wouldn't swing so much with the bumps, and tied it at the top with both wire and cable ties. At the current moment it has 2 hazel branches weaved in that I got from the last place near "Trap" in Wales, and 2 others I got in Tara. Which I haven't mention yet. I connected the basket with the extra handle for my hands in order to have another higher resting position for my hands as I ride. Little improvements that make the ride more comfortable.

So, I didn't feel so bad paying that money for a good rack that will possibly last me for life as it looks like a very good quality one, and adjustable for different bikes.

Some people these days pay over 3000 and 5000€ for new fancy bikes, can you imagine? I can't . These are not even the electric ones.

Anyway, I'm very pleased and happy with this bike that has done 2000km without any expense apart from a new rack.

Anyway, back to my journey. I didn't want to cycle much that day after biking 22 extra kilometres to get a new rack, on top of the 25km from Rosslare to Wexford in the morning after a sleepless night. On top of it all I started my moon cycle and it was a new supermoon too, so I just didn't want to push it too much when the energies are low anyway.

I was looking on the map at a stream about 5 km ahead that looked like it could be a nice place.

 

I'm glad I'm strong and resilient and do not give up easily.

I thanked the family for keeping my things and asked to fill up my water bottles which they gladly did.

I was glad to be back on the bike and moving forward. The landscape and the roads my route took me were not the best I have to say. Tall hedges, gates into big lawns with their big houses, fences and gates for keeping cattle in, and no access at all to any forest or river. Of course there was no interest of any local human to access those places, so why bother opening tracks through the high grass and brambles, right? 

The first place 5km away was an inaccessible stream, so I kept on going. I went on and on, and the landscape remained the same. It was really weird and started to be frustrating. I ended up cycling all the way to Ferns, 35km from the place my bike broke down. 

It was almost getting dark, the river in Ferns was also inaccessible so I kept going into the village hoping to find a park or something. After some houses that were part of the village already, I finally spotted an open gate of what seemed like an abandoned old farm house.

There was noone to be seen and I immediately entered and found a group of trees that made me feel at home. I waited a bit to feel the place and make sure this was definitely abandoned. Thankfully it was. I stretched my hammock and I was so looking forward for a good night sleep, which I had.

I woke up and checked the map of Ferns. There was a few things that caught my attention. A monastery and a holy well. I was hoping there would be some wilderness, at least around these places. 

First I went to the market to get a few things I was missing, including tampons for my bleeding. Then I went to check the monastery.

There was an invitation written in many different languages saying "the Master is here and is calling you". The other invitation was an opening on the wall, without a door or gate. I felt at home. Coming in I saw 3 modest stone cabins, a pathway of stones and trees all around enclosing what would have been the cells of the monks who would live, pray, study, write and contemplate in this place. It was not a massive building with intricate architecture and engineering as a lot of European Monasteries became. It was a simple retreat place, as it should be. Retreated from the world of its age, the business of human settlements and all that distract us from seeking the source we all came from. 

There were names written on stone tablets for each of the cabins.

The first was called "Cherith", which is actually an Hebrew word meaning "place of refuge" or "place of separation". For Hebrews, also a place of divine provision during hard times. 

The second was "Cill Dara" which I really liked. It means "the cell of the Oak", which relates to St. Brigid's cell under an Oak, where is now the Abbey she founded in the town of Kildare ("Cill Dara" in Gaelic). 

It was also the name given to the gathering of Christians in Ireland around the 5th and 6th century before the big institutions took over. "The cells of the Oak Forest", the "Cill Doire", or the "church of the Oak" as it became mostly known.

People who would separate themselves from the human world to dedicate their lives to prayer and service, would often have a cell, a small hut where they would go to isolate themselves and listen to the Spirit of God without distractions.

That was actually part of my desire for "Mount of Oaks" when I moved there 20 years ago and I hope there will still be place for it. A few Cill Dara's...

 "Go to your cell, and your cell will teach you" was an old saying from the wisdom of early followers of Christ, also known as desert fathers and mothers. Silence and solitude was their teacher. I love that, and I feel it's so important now, as much as it was then.

The 3rd hit had the name "Doire Cholmchille", or "Columba's Oak forest". Again a reference of another Gaelic Saint, Columba, who founded the well known Abbey in the Island of Iona in Scotland.

The place definitely invited silence and solitude and that's what I did. 

I cooked my meal and had enough for dinner, made a coffee and wrote on my notebook as I was missing taking that time. I had been on a bit of a rush to get at Annahavil the day I promised Emma, but I also had to listen to my body and soul. They were telling me to stop, to slow down and contemplate. I was still sad with the lack of wilderness along the route I took. I could see the diversity of the seed bank in the more wild hedges, and I could see the potential for many forests to evolve, but the humans here were not really giving it much chance. They seem to like their big mansions with huge lawns, mostly with no trees at all, and if any, they are evergreen ornamentals. Very rarely I would spot a fruit tree, like a wild plum or an apple, and even more rare was to find a vegetable garden. I saw one field with a monoculture of some sort of brassica, and that was it. 

I kept asking, "where is the wild in Ireland?". Where are the forests with Oaks, Ash, Hawthorn, Hazel, Beech and Sycamore? I could see them all on hedges, but not in a more natural ecosystem yet.

I saw a "holy well" in the map and I was determined to visit it, so, when I was slow enough, I left that beautiful haven and gave thanks to all who kept this place open and available and all those who prayed here. 

At least the 3 cottages were spared from "development", as it is now surrounded by 3 big houses with their yards and a farm with a big barn. 

But it is still a quite place thankfully.

I let the GPS guide me even though I was almost sure the well I spotted the day before seemed closer from the village and just on my route out, but hey, I trusted the flow. It was about 2km away.

The route took me out of the village into a more wooded area which I was very pleased to see.

There were signs for other things like a sport's club and even a carpentry shop, but no sign for the "lady's well". 

In the map it just showed a fountain symbol in the middle of a forested area, so I was already not setting my hopes high to find anything.

I followed the track into the woods area and that in itself was already beautiful and wild. I was already grateful. I kept going down this gravel track and no sign posts to any well...then I passed what could have been an entry, but there was no trail. The ground of the forest was totally covered in nettles, bramble and ivy, which was lovely.

I felt I should go back and check it out as it was more or less at the same point in the map where the well was, in the middle of the forest. An eagle flew above me and went into the direction of the woods making their call, and that was the encouragement I needed to go look for the Lady's Well even without a trail.

Somehow I saw something that could be a possible track to the "lady's well", but it would still be a guess...so off I went into the forest of Oaks with ivy, fern, nettles and bramble forming a nice mat all over the ground of the forest. I made sure I would not loose the direction of the bike, even though I did marked a pin, just in case I had to go far.

I did feel I was following a sort of a "not so used" trail, and eventually I heard water flowing from bellow... It seems like I had reached the well, covered in brambles. The water sounded deep and it was running which was lovely to hear. This was the mystical Éire I was looking for, and I was so grateful. 3 eagles flew above me and made their call which I responded as usual. 

I saw a beautiful butterfly that stayed for a long time in front of me opening and closing her wings.

I was so grateful and I felt the Great Spirit and the Spirits of this land saying, "we're here, the wilderness is here."

Forgotten, untamed and without a sign post...there it was, the Ireland I was looking for... Bits of the mystical fairy Island still remain, hidden, probably for its own protection.

I went back to the bike following the trail now threaded by my own steps and took a look on my map again. The GPS totally tricked me or, as I prefer to think, the Spirits used it to trick me.

 That was not the well I saw the night before. This was the "lady's well" and the other one was, as I thought, closer to the village and called "St.Mogue's well", or "St.Aidan's well".

I cycled 2 km back to the village and went straight to the well just on the side of the road.

Apparently St. Aidan asked to remove a tree and said water would flow, but people didn't want to believe. When they eventually removed the tree, water flew as he said and never stopped until today.

I sat here, on the steps next to the well most afternoon. I almost cried when I siped the cold, cristal clear water from the spring. This was the first time I was drinking from a spring after leaving Portugal. We are so used to fill up our water bottles in the many springs and fountains we still have all over Portugal in our national roads, that we might take it for granted. Well, I will never take living water for granted. It's one of the most previous things we can have access to. I sang for a while too. Singing to Oxum, the Yoruba Goddess of sweet waters and St.Maria, not only the mother of Jesus, but the Mother of us all, The Earth and all her essencial and vital elements.

"Luz Divina, Santa Maria, Santa Maria Divino Amor...Água limpia é milagrosa, Tierra en todo su splendor..." 

( Divine Light , St Mary, St Mary Divine Love...Clean water is miraculous, The Earth in all her Splendour...)

I was already tempted to set up camp and stay there for the night, but then something told me I should move on, and trust that I will find other places with all I needed. It's part of a pilgrimage isn't it, to leave our comfort zones and trust in Divine provision in any circumstance.

I filled all my bottles and hit the road totally refreshed and rejuvenated.

I left around 6pm and I saw a town, Tullow, 25km ahead also with a "Lady's Well" . It must be a thing in Ireland. I like it.

And there it was. This one was not in the middle of a forest, but on the side of a road. There was a sign post, but almost hidden too. There was a shrine filled with objects and images people would bring and the spring with cristal clear water in a stone basin. I stayed there for a bit and then I went to look for a place to spend the night. I knew there was a river, Slaney, and there was a park that might just have an access to it. And it had thankfully 

It was a perfect spot right next to the river, on a sand bank and surrounded by broken drift tree trunks which provided me with the perfect scenario and support for my hammock.

I slept very well and I took my time in the morning, having a bath in the river and cooking my rice for the day.

You couldn't tell I was actually between one hedge of a park and a road on the other side of the river bank. Another small haven.

As I was finishing my rice I had a nice encounter with an older woman called June that really appreciated what I was doing and when I said "blessings" as she was going her way, she came back as she was surprised I had faith in God. We had a nice conversation and sad realisation about the lack of faith among people people today and the disconnection from what is Sacred in the Spirit world and Natural world. Well, to be honest, I would blame the church for most of the spiritual disconnection, and even the disconnection from Nature. It's very sad to see that the only place where Saints pointed people to the Natural beings we should honour and protect, the church didn't make much of it. On top of it all, "Christians" are enemies in this land, fighting against one another and still trying to convince people their way is better than the others. If I would grow up here, I would not want anything to do with any of these "Christianities". Actually, even growing up in Portugal, I never wanted anything to do with the church as I could see too much hypocrisy from a very young age. I got to know Jesus when I was 23, among the poor and the most vulnerable during the civil war in Angola.

Humans in this part of the world seem to be consumed with their own world and all that is human made and bought with money, more than what is Natural and spiritual.

Something stayed with me after she left. Her concern about life after death. It seems to be such an important aspect of Christian faith in the last few hundred years, but it was not the case in the time of Jesus. Life after death was guaranteed to everyone as the resurrection confirmed it. The teachings of Jesus were mostly about Life before death, even giving up our lives and our personal interests in behalf of others, but nothing about our life after we die.

If anything, Jesus told his disciples not to worry about that as "our Father's house" could accommodate everyone.

I don't know when or who introduced this obsession about life after death into Christian theology, but I see it as a total distraction to what is much more important: how we live our lives before our death.

It must have been after 10 or 11 when I hit the road to ride nearly 90km to my possible sleeping spot.

I came across another interesting holy site on the side of the road, a "holy stone". I have no idea of the story behind it , but it also had water and offerings of visitors. I obviously had to stop and pay my respects. Rathvilly was the closest village. There is a "Saint Patrick's well" there, but this was on the road, and it could be related or not. I'm glad it was on my way.

I came to my possible destination when the son was about to set. On my map there was a small trail next to a cemetery with a chapel and that trail would end at the river Tolka, near "Batterstown", so I thought I had good chances, but reality is different from these maps and there was a locked fence on that trail. It also seemed like a new posh neighborhood with big houses and their lawns and high green hedges. I cycled a bit further to see if there was any other access to that river, but without any luck. I was ready to bike to the next town, Dunshaughlin, only 5km away, even though it was about to get dark and I was exhausted.

 

When I was about to turn in the junction after the posh houses I spotted what seemed to be a kid's project ( It turned out to be a sort of retired men's club project). There were some trees and I could easily hide behind them. Apart from anything else, it was getting dark, so I immediately rode into the small forest and found a perfect place for my hammock. I felt totally fine, even if next to a road in a posh neighborhood. It kind of amused me too.

I had to laugh next day when I noticed the details of their "bug hotel", or should I say the "Buggimham Palace". Very smart. I woke up when the first light of sun was up, it was perfect to leave totally unnoticed.

I stopped on a bench in "Dunshaughlin" to make my coffee and oats in front of this interesting piece of art on a tree trunk and then followed my route. I was planning to reach " Lough Muckno" by evening and hopefully find a nice wild place to camp.

I only cycled 10km when I noticed another sign post for a "Holy well"... 

I haven't noticed that on my route so I passed it, but after pedalling a bit after the sign post I felt I had to go back, even if I was just starting the day. I wouldn't miss any well for anything. Back I went and I'm so glad I made that call.

I passed by the gate and immediately I felt grateful. I knew I was in holy ground.

It was only when I read the sign I realised where I was. It's possibly one of the most known holy sites in Ireland and I visited in 2005 when there was only a small group of protesters trying to make the local council see the importance of it, as they wanted to allow a Motorway to pass through it. These hills are ancient burial sites and an important archeological site to remember the history of the peoples of these lands.

This well in particular had many names throughout many generations according to the meaning each one gave to it. They have always been magical places, power places, healing places, where water springs out of the ground or stone. Today I'm not sure how many people see their vital importance for our own survival. As far as most people are concerned these days, they get water from the supermarket in plastic bottles, or from taps where treated water flows. 

The sign actually warned people to never drink water from open sources without boiling it. What a silly fear based statement. Basically teaching people to kill living water. Of course it was the first thing I did as soon as I took my cup to scoop some fresh water from the spring sink and drink it. I gave thanks for the water of course and all the ancestors who have kept this well protected. A young girl came not long after I had arrived. She didn't drink any water but at least paid her respects or made her own ritual as she kneeled to get to the water at the end of the steps. 

I also brought my pots to cook and as I looked around, there was nice Nettles, Plantain, Sorel and Dandelion which I added to the rice I made.

I stayed hours there all by myself, and it was great. In a way I was glad this well was not touristic, because I know the whole area is. I used the time and quietness to write on my notebook as well, and when I was about to leave another couple came in. I still had my cup and offered them to drink some water which they refused with a surprised look in their faces as if I was suggesting the most unthinkable of things. I thought it was weird to come to the well and not even touch the water, but hey, they probably thought I was the weirdo.

I left the well, again, refreshed and re-energised, ready to cycle 75km to "Lough Muckno". Not much further after the well there were the tourists and the tourist shops with all sorts of souvenirs for consumers to buy and take home as a proof they have been at Tara, a bar and restaurant I think. I just passed with a big smile on my face.

I'm taking an amazing memory I still feel in my body, my soul and will remain in my spirit. The peace and quiet of that enclosed haven, the taste of that water, the nutritious plants that fed me that day, the hazel who witnessed and offered me a branch to add to my bike's basket, the prayer I whispered as I made a knot on a piece I cut from my Angolan fabric, which I hanged together with other prayer ribbons people left on the tree closest to the spring.

"May this spring never dries and may it be always available for humans to drink from. May humans all over the world always have access to living water and wild places."

It was only maybe 10 or 15 Km ahead and I would join the "green trail" which was an old train track converted into a walking/cycling route. As in France, these trails are great as there are no steep hills and I can do many kilometres with less effort and usually through a nice landscape. 

But I needed to meet another good samaritan before that. I was just coming down a hill to turn right and join the trail when I noticed a fence at the end of the road.Great! Then I saw a biker passing his bike over the fence and I couldn't help but swear "Fuuuuck! Are you serious?" . I couldn't believe I had to pass my bike over such high fence. The biker heard and saw the expression in my face and we started a chat. He was Brazilian, Marcos, and immediately we switched to Portuguese. 

He enjoyed chatting with me too as he also likes to travel like me and wild camp but never tried a long distance trip. I encouraged him and invited him to visit us in Portugal. He's soon retiring and he definitely wants to do that when he returns to Minas Gerais in Brazil, where he is from.

I took all my things from the rack and he helped me to swing my bike through this tall fence while I was on the other side to pick it up. I was so grateful for the timing, for the help and for meeting such a lovely person like Marcos.

The rest of the journey was nice an easy.

I only stopped in a small village called "Nobber" to eat something, rest a bit and charge my phone in the only little shop open where I also got some bread and cheese for next day's meals as I was not planning to cook any more rice on the last day on the road.

I only had a long but gentle uphill before I arrived to the Lough.

I arrived at the end of the day, but with enough light to find a nice spot by the water. 

I couldn't believe it. Of course I had to break the rules and camp where it was forbidden, but hey, I can totally live with that.

In the morning It was starting to drizzle so I packed my camp and went to make my coffee by a bench on the walking trail. 

One man passed and said with a chicky tone "- Did you have a good night sleep?", knowing it was not allowed, to which I proudly answered "yes, I did.", with a big smile on my face.

The thing is, most people who use this places are cool and friendly people who also appreciate Nature and a more wild way of living. They might not live so wild, but probably they wish they would.

The coffee took ages to boil as the gas is running out and the wind was blowing cold. It was a good idea to get on the road early, this would be my last day on the road to reach the destination I gave myself when I left home.

I only stopped in Armagh for a break and to try to find a "fish&chips", but it was not easy. I end up eating in a café that was closing at 4pm, which was strange to me. I had an ok "fish&chips", not traditional at all, and just enough charge on my phone to continue my journey with the GPS. There was also a big screen inside with very cheesy pop songs and videos obviously created by a computer. The whole experience was totally not wild and very weird to me, but hey, this is part of today's world too, isn't it?

Speaking of weird, these are only an example of weird messages that are pinned in telegraph posts in different places I passed. I do get why many of my Irish friends have problems with Christianity. I mean, this is very embarrassing, to say the least, if you are a follower of Jesus. I think Jesus would be embarrassed too. 

I can't even understand how come there are still so many divisions between Catholics and Protestants in Ireland. We know it's politics and not religion, but if you say you follow Christ and you don't tolerate and accept those who have different opinions from you, you shouldn't even use the name of Christ. 

This is another weird sight in the northern part of the Island. By the way, there is no border at all, I didn't even know where did I cross from the Republic of Ireland into Northern Ireland, or technically from Europe into UK. A very different scenario from Calais into Dover.

Some towns really want to make clear that they are loyal to the king in England. Other towns have parts that clearly support the king or Queen and other parts who are supportive of a unified Island as one Republic... Where I see Irish flags usually there are also Palestinian flags, which is interesting to observe. It was the same in the Basque Country. The "underdogs" supporting eachother, or showing empathy as they know what it is to live under a regime that dominates. 

Forgive my ignorance, those of you who know more of the details, but I'm simply commenting as an outsider. 

It seems like Catholics  are more "Republicans", in favour of a unified Republic of Ireland, and Protestants more "Loyalists" to the Royals in England who want to remain in Government of the north part of the Island for some reason I don't see... It seems ridiculous from an outsider point of view, especially knowing they all claim to be "Christians", but this has been making a lot of people, families and communities from many generations,  miserable and traumatised.

How come we are still like this as humans?

Families like Emma's are rare as her mother is Catholic and her father was Protestant, and that might be the reason why she did her masters on "peace and reconciliation" studies and worked for Corrymeela which main call is to provide spaces for dialogue between groups where strong divisions dominate.

It was a real pleasure to have arrived at Annahavil after one an a half month on the road with my bike. It was the biggest pleasure to be reunited with my beloved life companion Emma.

It has been great to catch up with family and friends and especially spending more time with James, Louise and their kids as they are here on longer holidays too.

The only other thing that was missing and I was looking forward to, was to visit Corrymeela, and the "Croi" ("heart" in Irish), the place we had our "handfasting" 15 years ago, and the 3 day celebration of our commitment to love one another in this journey of life together.

"The Croi", a spiral stone building with a green roof. A place of Peace and house of Prayer for all peoples

"The tree of life" sliding door that divides the inner circle of the spiral and opens to the wider circle

The inner circle 

Since 1965 Corrymeela is committed to facilitate dialogue for peace and reconciliation in Northern Ireland and continues this very important work in a world that continues to choose division over peace.

To find out more about this work and opportunities to collaborate visit their Website

For the curious ones , here s the Link for a video I made of our wedding at Corrymeela.

Thanks for following  this great adventure!

Blessings!