There will not be a day that goes by that I am not grateful for the journey I got to take with my brother in pursuit of the path I will someday lead people on through Ireland, as they do their own inner work and embark on many of their own inner journeys along the way. I have decided to share the journey I took with my brother here. Enjoy. 
    The pandemic affected everyone, and still affects us all in some way, that much is undisputable. During lockdown, I was blessed to be involved in a pursuit that benefitted from the increased time for individualized focus. I finished my Psychology degree, graduating summa cum laude as the department's Outstanding Scholar and receiving awards for my research on intuition completed during my time there. I am incredibly grateful for that time and being able to focus on my studies while being stuck at the house. But I felt disoriented when I was finished. 20 years it took me to get this degree. Now what?
    Knowing I was taking a year away from the possibility of continuing school, I felt the stirrings in me to turn my focus to the creation of a dream that had been slowly growing over the past couple years. To utilize all this intuition research in practice by developing a program that people can implement and grow their own intuitive abilities. What might be the biggest piece of it all is the tours I want to take people on, to Ireland. Last summer, there was a brief glimpse of light at the end of the pandemic tunnel, with people able to be vaccinated, and travel opening up again. I took a leap of faith and invited my brother to take a trip to Ireland with me, so I could map the route I may possibly have started taking people on next year. I knew he was the right person to come with me, although there were many reasons why my logic disagreed. But I trusted, and asked him. He agreed, and I began to put the plan in motion. My parents would graciously help get my kids to and from school, so I booked our flights and started reserving rooms. It was a huge process and reminded me how much I enjoyed doing it. 
    Once again in my life, I was pushing myself to take a leap of faith and act upon something that seemed crazy in the moment, and especially crazier as the time to leave kept getting closer and closer, and that pandemic tunnel stretched out. But all the messages in my life urged me, strongly and without ambiguity, to move forward with this plan. Like the poem at my feet the morning I left. So, I did. And I still am. I am realizing, too, that the telling of it is as much a part of doing it as driving around the roads of Ireland. So, I will keep telling until the story is told.

(originally published 11/24/21)

​  I used to know, for a brief moment, how to pack light. And I went to Thailand. Apparently though, not being able to travel for two years puts a person right back in their old habits, because to say I overpacked for this eleven-day journey in Ireland is an understatement. However, in my defense, I never felt like I was going on a vacation to relax and hang out. I was going on a mission, and this mission had necessary gear. Like books, notebooks, card decks, and yes, rocks and crystals. All of which are much heavier than your basic vacation supplies. And then the normal items on top of all that. It was the unnormal non-mission-related additions that I could’ve left behind. Things that I thought I could do while there was nothing else to do or while my brother was driving. Little did I know, neither of those two things were going to happen. So, the needlepoint, the chainmail materials (which I almost lost on the way back because I put them in my carry-on), the unrelated books, the sketchbook and watercolors, all could’ve stayed at home. Point taken!
    So, instead of being a svelte traveler, my journey began with me hauling all this weight on the Amtrak from Springfield to Chicago, all through Chicago, on and off two el stops and 3 trains, and through O'Hare. It was great, and I didn’t feel like a fool at all. Neither did I berate myself on the inside for being this fool that overpacked like a fool. Okay, I did all that. But I also reminded myself that this is how we learn! My brother’s oh-so gracious attitude that he was carrying everything he packed, so I got to do the same, was even welcomed. I knew I had done this to myself, and it would help me remember to not do it again. So, by the time his attitude changed, and he wanted to help, I turned it down. This was my growth, by god, and no one was getting in the way of it. This was shaping up to be an epic trip already, and we hadn’t even left the state!
    Needless to say, I couldn’t have been happier when we finally got to the check-in at O'Hare and I could offload my big bag (sorry O'Hare workers, I’m a work-in-progress). My brother and I were double-masked this whole time, and we had all our necessary Covid-era paperwork, so we moved through security and made it to our gate in time to board. Departure was on-time, at 5:05pm CST, which would get us into Dublin at 5:15am GMT. 

​    I had the window seat on the way over, which I took full advantage of. We settled in for the flight, having texted our see-you-laters to family and me working to stay calm that we were on a plane in the middle of a global pandemic. I will say, the lengths Aer Lingus went to make sure their flights are as safe as they can be from Covid transmission made me feel much better about the whole flight. They instituted an air filtration system that recycles the air around each aisle of seats, so all the air in the cabin gets recycled and filtered every two or three minutes. Brilliant.
    One highlight of the flight came for me while we were flying over the Atlantic, just south of Greenland. I looked out the darkened window and noticed a slight, horizontal glow that was beginning in the sky. I was thrilled when it began to dawn on me that it wasn’t the sunrise, but the Northern Lights! 

  Safe landing, and then… the darkness of the early morning sky seeped into my psyche and began to eat away at my joy of having arrived as we taxied down the runway. Doubt crept in and started whispering its incessant reasons why none of this was going to work out. And reminded me, as I realized nothing in Ireland opens until after 8:30, that I had already screwed up by booking the earlier flight when I knew I should’ve booked the later flight. It was just after 5 a.m. and the later flight would’ve put us there at 9:30 a.m. What were we going to do for two to three hours while we waited for the country to wake up? Here we were, barely begun, and I have already failed. I’ve let down my kids, who I had to leave to do this silly trip, I let down my family, and I’ve let down my brother, who is trusting me to have everything all figured out. I was deeply afraid of failing and it had me seized at the throat. I practiced taking deep breaths and flowed with the collection of other tired travelers through immigration and to the baggage claim, oscillating between this fear and the joy of being in Ireland that thankfully refused to leave me no matter how provoked the fear became.
    As I continued to breathe through the presence of this negative self-talk and fear, I thought about the process that brought me to this place, to see what I could learn. There was obviously a lesson here for me. That’s what I try to see moments when I am highly self-critical of myself as. Lessons for me to discern what it is in myself that is asking to be paid attention to and given love. Granted, much of the love-giving is done in retrospect, as the self-criticism in the moment can often be too overpowering to allow for much during that moment. While I was booking the flight for this trip back in the summer, when it seemed like a great idea to begin travel plans again, I asked my brother about what time he thought would be good to book the flight. He told me that daylight traveling is good, which is great advice and still informs much of the rest of my planning. He was also very quick to point out that I was the one who would be more qualified to pick the flight time, and it made no difference to him. Yet for some reason, I told myself that he was probably right, and I should trust that, not what I was feeling was right at the time. Flying in on the 9:30 am flight would have let me sleep on the plane, and then arrive after everything is up and functioning. I knew all of this within me but couldn’t call it to my thinking mind when I was making the decision. It did its best to inform me, by creating the feeling within me that booking the later flight would be good. But I blocked it, or ignored it, or distrusted it, and here we were.
    After we collected our baggage, just another thorn my negative self-talk could twist into my side, we walked to the car rental place, and the first sign of relief came through the agent there, called Anne. She helped shift my mood by being kind to me. She helped us sort the added insurance I thought was included in what I had already paid (another screw up on my part), and shared part of her life with me. Her story was inspiring and lifted my spirits. I left the counter smiling and feeling thankful she was put onto my path. It reminded me that the biggest part of this lesson I was once again in the process of learning is trust. Trusting the process. Trusting the journey. Trusting the decisions of the past are the ones that were meant to be made to create the opportunities and experiences of today for our biggest and highest growth. And we can see this if we are willing to stop and take a moment to reflect, and allow. Even if, upon retrospect, we can recognize the moments in time when a different decision would have maybe made things seemingly easier, there is still purpose and reason that those decisions were made the way they were. And we can trust in that if we choose. This journey is about remembering to choose trust.

    I also walked over to the Esplanade Hotel, which seemed to be closed. If so, I hope someone can get it up and going again. It is such a beautiful old place with warming character, and it welcomed my kids and me when we were fresh into the country with too much stuff and just enough courage to be there. It felt natural to come back to this original place to start.
    Functionally speaking, Bray also had a cellphone store where I could buy a sim card for my phone.
    Remember, nothing in Ireland opens until 8 or 8:30 and many not until 10, which I assumed was the case with the cellphone store. So after watching the sunrise, yet still receiving that potent self-criticism for not booking an earlier flight so we wouldn't have to kill all this time, I decided to drive us to the Tesco grocery store in the hopes that they may have a sim card I could purchase. I worked on creating an alternative dialogue in my head, reminding myself about how things turn out as they're meant to, and everything was going to be fine, and oscillated successfully between the two trains of thought on the way. 
    When Tesco opened at 8, we went inside and I began to instantly feel even better being in the shop around the familiar products I had grown to love while I lived there. They did not have a sim card, but we picked up some gluten-free muffins and fruit for breakfast and waited for the adjoining Costa Coffee to open. Because coffee. 

    Around this time in the morning, and it being a Tuesday, the local school children began walking to the nearby schools from the nearby neighborhoods, and we sat and enjoyed the beautiful bustle that seemed to instantaneously pop up around us. When we pulled in, the parking lot had only one other car in it, and no people to be seen. Then, in a few moments' time, it was teeming with the activity of morning rush. It made me think of the congruous nature with which life seems to flow in Ireland. Everyone seems to operate on the same page, albeit in their own unique ways. But all tapped into the hum of the day. All together a part of something bigger than themselves, creating a feeling of ease to the order of the day. I relished it, and sat gratefully in the car amidst its presence.
    The coffee shop opened at 8:30 and I entered with my laptop among the couple others who had lined up outside waiting for it to open. I loved how there was no presupposition for the employee to let people in early while she set up the tables and chairs in the patio space outside. The customers that were there just patiently waited. And were not cross when they were allowed to enter. It was the order of things. And again, that feeling of everyone was in it together.
    I was asked to give my information if I was sitting inside for the possibility of contact tracing if needs be, so I gave my name and email and ordered my coffee. I chose a table where I could still see the activities of the school kids hanging out before making their way to class. Each had on their school uniform and all had on the early morning hesitancy about having to go to school at all. On the patio, small groups would congregate and move on, making way for the next small group, like the water in the ocean coming from all over the sea to congregate together on the beach in wave after wave. And then eventually, they were all gone, and it was quiet. Just an occasional mom and small child walking to the Tesco, or person on their way to work. 
    After these moments, I couldn't hear that self-criticism anymore, even though I didn't notice it in the moment. All I felt in the moment was how pleased I was to be greeted by the everyday minutia of the morning. It was a warm reminder of my life when I lived in Wicklow, and of the synchronistic nature of life when we allow it. And now, with the gift of hindsight, I see it was again demonstrated to me how powerful our own thoughts are when we decide to switch trains.

​(originally published 12/15/21)

    With my newly functional cellphone, the first place I programmed into maps was the ancient monastic ruin of Glendalough, though I could've gotten there without it. Glendalough is a place that has always pulled at me, even from the first time I heard about it well before I ever came to Ireland. It is already populated with profound stories from my life, and now being the beginning place of the journeys, will undoubtedly gain many more.

    It was around 10:45 a.m. when we pulled up and walked onto the settlement ruins. I had an appointment at 11:30 at a nearby Hermitage Center, but wanted to reintroduce myself to the land before the appointment. Walking around the monastic settlement, I became aware of how good it felt to be back there. Familiar sites and lovely memories with friends and family are connected there for me, as well as a more ancient feeling of connection that will forever draw me back.

    I began to walk the short distance back over to the Upper Lake, and instead found myself drawn to a low, circular stone wall enclosing a gravel area a few steps down into the earth. One of the stones jutted out enough for me to take a seat and I sat there with myself, once again surrounded by the deep energy of the place. I imagined the thousands of pilgrimages that had been taken to the site over the centuries, and was again struck by poignancy of having this sacred place be the first place on my journeys. I suppose we will be pilgrims of a different sort, pilgrims and stewards of our own spirituality. Sitting there, I also felt settle into myself the mantle which I would be wearing for each person on the journey. It is a responsibility that continues to this day, and probably always will, to grow and transform with deeper purpose and humility. There began the realization that so much will be up to me, yet it must also remain not about me at all. I asked for the support and help of those that had come before me, my ancestors, and their ancestors, and I felt the circle fill with their support and love. I cried in gratitude and thanked them, breathing deeper than I had all day. ​

    I knew it was getting time for us to check into our first place, so I finished up in the circle and walked the short distance back over to the Upper Lake. I enjoyed watching some ducks on the edge of the lake for a moment, and left an offering of a stone and a feather on the banks of the lake, a symbol of my gratitude for everything this place has been and continues to be for me. ​

​   The physical body is only meant to withstand a certain amount of sleeplessness, which varies on a person-to-person basis. Somewhere on the drive up to Wicklow Town for my brother to visit the amazing Bridge Street Bookstore there, I reached my limit. Instead of being excited to be visiting one of my favorite places in the whole world, I was sullen and quiet, back to brooding about how foolish I was being in trying to accomplish any of what this trip was about. And, probably more to the point, I was hangry. There was a glimmer of excitement in the thought of getting takeaway dinner at the Bridge Tavern, across from the bookstore, but there, my friends, is where the last of my pleasantness reserves ran out. We were told they were not offering takeaway, and this glitch in my plan was the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back.
   When I get in a mood such as the one I was ruminating in at this point, hangry, exhausted, vulnerable, I really like that I do have the decency to keep my mouth shut, knowing the foul things running around in my head are not constructive or helpful to myself, or anyone around me. I give them their space, acknowledge their perspective as valid, yet realize I do not have to agree with them or let them take over my words. So, while my lowered cognitive ability gave them an easier target to hit in my head, I knew that the main target I still needed to be aiming for was my stomach.

   I walked down to the waterfront and the sunset bathed me in the reminders that no matter what, we live in a beautiful and simple world. Where the sun rises and sets every day, often offering us a gorgeous show in the process. I watched a large tanker vessel come into dock at the harbor and remembered the times I had walked out to the little lighthouse with my children and listened to the waves crash against the cement wall that protected the harbor from the brunt of the Atlantic's waves. The tanker also reminded me of my dear friend in Ireland who I was hoping to see on this trip. I felt like it was her way of saying welcome back to Wicklow and to Ireland. I was grateful the effect of these fifteen minutes standing and breathing on the quay were enough to buoy me back up to a respectable level of civility towards my brother, and myself. We picked up our food and I drove us back to the Meetings in Avoca where we had a quiet dinner in our room, and both were asleep by 9:00 pm. Well, I was at least.
   The rollercoaster ride of dealing with ourselves and our emotions is not something to be scoffed at or taken lightly. But we sometimes forget that we are the main creators of our track. I am grateful for the time I’ve taken to learn the mechanics of building my track as I go, and how to create a new one if I do not like the one I’m on or where it is taking me. Our thoughts are our most powerful tools, and the more we practice using them for the creation of good in our lives, the better we get at creating good lives, just like the entire rest of this journey.

(originally published 01/13/22)

The Beltany Stone Circle exists in County Donegal, and it was there that I received the seed of what has now grown into a sprout. I didn't know it at the time, but my profound experience there in 2015 would go on to shape the trajectory of my life in transformative ways. It is why I decided to offer my services under the name Beltany Wellness, also amused by the familiar initials. :) I am on course to offer spiritual journeys through Ireland to those wanting to learn more about their intuitive selves within the safe space of a sacred container, created for healing and with love. I've learned this was my path over the last few years while doing my own personal transformative inner work through the practice of Shamanic Breathwork. In January of 2021, I completed my Facilitator Training to be a Licensed Practitioner of Shamanic Breathwork and I hope to complete my Master Facilitator Training in January of 2022, both through the Aahara Spiritual Community of Venus Rising right here in Springfield.

And now, I am in the final preparations of returning to Ireland for my third time. There is a new sense of nervousness within, gently held by a newly-deeper sense of trust. I am not stepping off the final precipice of this vision-made-reality, with this trip, but I am taking great, big strides closer to the edge. The precipice will be the first tour I lead, tentatively set for June 2022, although something tells me it might take a little longer to get all my ducks in a row. However, I have been known to surprise myself by what I can get done when I focus my attention. That being said, this current trip for which I depart on All Saint's Day is an anchoring of the route that I will lead folks on. I hope to take photos AND share them. Lol Because I hope to allow myself to share this process with those that may one day feel called to take the journey with me. As it is translated from the great teacher Lao Tzu,

"A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."
​
In light and love...