Ballyvaughn, County Clare

We loved our three days in Ballyvaughn and nearby sites amidst the Burren (a Gallic word referring to a high, rocky area). The highlight was visiting the grave of John O'Donohue, poet and priest who died unexpectedly in his sleep at the age of 53. Fr. Michael celebrated Mass here in the ruins of a 900 year old church. With wind blowing down from the Burren to the sea below, it was a poem that John O'Donohue might have written. We left tokens there with prayers for all of you reading this.















The Hylands Burren Hotel

















This is what a full iirsh breakfast looks like, The mushrooms are yummy. The two patties are called white and black pudding (sausage).
















The upstairs lounge where I found another 'happy place,' the white sofa in the corner, and our comfortable room.


























Kim enjoying the peat fire in the lobby.


Monk, the farmer, selling his potatoes at the weekly farmer' market. Yes, he's a former monk.








































The resting place of the O'Donohues.

Fr. Michael recited John O'Donohue's "To Come Home to Yourself" as the final blessing of the Mass:

May all that is unforgiven in you
Be released.

May your fears yield
Their deepest tranquilities.

May all that is unloved in you
Blossom into a future
Graced with love.
















"Anyone want a carrot?" Robin, whose son Joe owns Dirty Girls Produce in Santa Cruz, offers to share the bounty.















We stopped at the Cliffs of Moher where strong winds and 700 vertical feet occasionally combine to blow people off the cliffs. We were careful to stay on the inland side of the walls, though others seemed compelled to climb over. They are relatives, no doubt, of those who climb down to the rocks below Lighthouse Point in Santa Cruz and over the rails in Yosemite. What a gorgeous part of the planet.




St .Brigid's Well, a pilgrimage site where the sick come to be cured.






















Fr. Michael blesses us with Brigid's water.











Do you remember the story about the fairy tree by the side of a major highway and the decision to move the highway after there'd been many accidents there? Eddie Lenihan, an Irish storyteller, was the person behind that decision. He has compiled books and tapes of oral histories recounting the presence of fairies in the land and lives of the Irish. Here he is in the hotel's pub regaling us with authentic tales. We bought a CD containing six of his stories, so we can relive the experience. (Martin, our driver, described him as "a hairy fellow.")









































Fr. Michael concelebrated Mass on Sunday with Fr. Richard Flanagan who, in his homily, quoted Nelson Mandela's speech on forgiveness after he was released from thirty years in prison. It was amusing to watch the altar server (Conor) perform his duties with a bit of delightful Irish cockiness.














We tried to make our way to the Burren for a short walk, but there was, as the Irish might say, too much slog on the bog. We've been catching the edge of one of the hurricanes, thus the bluster and wetness.