If you don’t live in Ireland,or other parts of what we know call the Celtic world, you may not be familiar with the concept of holy wells or sacred springs. But these are very much a feature of the Irish landscape.They are, however, not exclusive to Ireland. In Derbyshire, in England, each June they dress their wells with elaborate floral artwork, usually depicting some Bible scene. Chalice Well Gardens in Glastonbury are in the older religious tradition. The reverance for holy water and sacred spring is much older than Christianity. Unbeknownst to us when we bought our house, there is a holy well in a townland called Tubber, which is the Hiberno-English variant on the Irish tobár, meaning well. It was in disrepair for many years until a farmer neighbour realised it was on land he owned. He took up the role of ancestral well keeper and renovated it and had it rededicated and a curse lifted from it. (It’s a long story for another time. Just take it as read that we take this kind of thing for granted here in rural Ireland. Stuff like this happens. You deal with it the best you can. Or not. Which then becomes a curse.Then you need to deal with that, too.)
There was a new moon on the 30th and they are always useful for setting fresh intentions. Writing as much as I have been doing this past year I am really not very physically fit. It has really become noticeable to me. While I do take short walks with the little dog most days (we take turns on the exercising front), I decided I needed to start taking the longer walk up to the well on a daily basis. Of course, then there was torrential rain on the day. But yesterday I went up to the well and said some prayers for the many who ail or in trouble. There is always someone in trouble. I have written about holy wells before (https://sojourningsmith.blog/2019/01/20/when-the-well-runs-dry/) if you are curious about them.
For a bit of soulfulness on a Sunday I share with you a walk that I have taken many times over the past two decades. And there is a little snippet of video of its sanctuary in wet ash woodland.
Walking to the Holy Well
Once it was for everyday and everyone,
but sacred still all the same. And I walk
like ordinary and everyday pilgrims
of old. Supplicants all, of miracles
and small favours, walking the pattern of prayers,
the round and round and round of intentions.
The gnarled hawthorn wears clooties and rosaries.
An old neighbour said that once Our Lady
appeared here, to long ago, before Fatima,
before the Great Hunger and The Flood dispersed
the village named after its well to all corners
of the earth. Still, we keep walking up the hill.
Walkers need small favours and miracles,
seeking the cure for the curse of caring,
for the knowing of despair, its powerlessness,
the grief for love lost, the howl for justice.
The Lady stands there in mercy and mother love.
We all walk to her with our secrets,
unburdening our pain, speaking our dreams, wishes,
which is what wells were forever more for...
washing the woe, the worries, bathing in wonder,
laying al faith and hope in loving heaps
at The Lady's feet, tying beads, headbands, hankies
in thanks. And hope. On that gnarled tree.
Copyright © 2019 Bee Smith. All rights reserved