Don't pray for jesus, pray for downhills

Guess who's got internet. Lying comfortably naked across a funky, patterned quilt atop a queen size bed, I'm about as far away from the rest of today's events as I can get. But don't let that be a denigration of the lovely Gasha Meadow B&B, Marianne is quite nice as is her daughter. Why would that be a denigration you ask (obviously oblivious to the mere awful fact which separation constitutes in itself)? Well, I answer, because today was one of the best days of my life. And that's a fact. I even said it to myself, about a hundred times as I rolled through the rolling hills of the Burren preserve in Ireland, passing churches, sheep, tractors, about a million stone walls, and a few castles. I feel like a wave, and even tonight as I dissipate in a hot shower and comfy bed, I can feel all the things which I have gathered up inside me: they are me. This day is as much me as the last and the next. No more and no less, except that often times I think it so. Well anyway, how did I get here?

It began with a luxurious wakeup at 5:45 in the Generator Hostel Dublin. Lying beneath, Tom, the quiet villanova student trying not to seem inexperienced or nervous, and across from some badass crazy seriously awful dude from the netherlands who I've forgotten the name of (though I haven't forgotten how many times he cheated on his girlfriend, the threats he made to her cousin who was pretending to be her boyfriend on the phone, or how he said women were wired to be with one man but men....) anyway I've completely lost control of this sentence. Start over.

I woke up early. But I got an amazing sleep, so no worries. I know you were worried. I ramble around Dublin for a bit, puttering into two Polish girls who seem to also be looking for the citylink bus to Galway. We find the spot, and I meander over to a central to pick up some brekkers. As i peruse the delicious looking pastries, a small japanese man taps me on the shoulder and says in an irish accent, "We aren't open" So much for breakfast.

I hop on the bus, pay some guy who says sold at the end of every sentence (legit he said it me when I thanked him as I was getting off), and take a seat at the back. I can already feel the emotional time the bus ride is gunna be. Mashups of Chili's and Tupac turn into the Waste Land and shit gets real. I begin to realize how much of what we do is designed for the purpose of making us forget that we are alone, that we are without externally determined purpose, and that we are in control in a far scarier way than any of the materialist and explotative ideas of power we usually deal with. We have existential power. I mouth the words of the poem to myself, delighting in the magnificent turns of narrative and image Eliot uses. God he is good.

So i get into galway, walk around a bit, waiting for the bike shop to open and getting to see a bit of the city. Galway is gorgeous, it seems to be centered around the water that juts into it like some lover's hand. Every house has a green lawn. I'm approached two separate times by friendly locals. One spoke to me of falling in love with reading with the book Little Women and the other, a self-proclaimed young looking grandmother, ends up telling me to tell my mother that she told me not to talk to strangers. Both are incredibly warm souls; it is obvious that they are happy.

I pick up my bike in a really strange part of the city, kind of looks like Route 1 in MA for those of you who know it.It's a bit cold, but my hat makes me feel nice. I think I love it, but don't tell it though, because it's too soon and me saying that will only freak it out.

So I get on the road. The first part is a bit stressful as I'm on main roads with cars (the N6 mostly). I emerge onto a highway. I'm not sure whether what I am doing is legal. The bike rides like a dream though, so fuck it. Eventually I make it to the N67, a coastal road with little to no traffic. This shit is beautiful. Like fairy-tale beautiful, like every house has sheep and cows and cast fields, and silence beautiful.

I enjoy chocolate snack bars. The road is pretty hilly, but at this point I am too enchanted to notice.

When I saw this, I had two thoughts: 1. I'm not as far from home as I thought and 2. I've been spelling moinin na gCloigeann the lame way my whole life.

Okay, fast forward a few hours. This is going to be a lot harder than I thought. Like all choices, it is existential. Like Sartre's gambler, I can't just make the decision once and forget about it. At all moments I have to continually will it, in order for it to be a reality. Otherwise, it all falls apart, I become unhappy with the bike ride, I maybe even stop, and that's that. I come to the conclusion that this is a test of will rather than endurance. I repeat that to myself as a mantra for about twenty minutes.

But oh it is beautiful. 90% of my thoughts are simply incomprehensible gurgles in reaction to where I am and how I am and what this is and the fact that it is all here is so incontrovertibly wondrous. Going down a hill in the burren, tears were streaming down my face as I recognized how unworthy of such beauty I am. But then it was exhilerating, like touching someone's gorgeous breast for the first time, amazing that it and me are in contact, sharing a moment. I ride as in a dream, but I stop often for pictures and communion.


I scribble:
Ireland is all stone walls
and long green, wide, wild smiles.
It's all fenced in cows
and castles billowing and diffusing like smoke now.
The hills come up like the cars which ride them
on the road
distant and close
immensely powerful
and immeasurably out of control;
the whole land is illinguable:
full of bursting seed
and blissful silence, except
for the wind riding "WHOOOP!"
as the sky goes down
and the hill turns level
and the smell of smoke and apples and Ireland
has descended the horizon
like a storm on you.



From here the road gets even more beautiful, which was impossible for me to imagine. It is the coast. The R477 is a winding hair against the ocean, and I can hear the waves crashing between my manic shouts of glee. The road is perfect. I feel that I, on the road, am perfect.

But soon it grows dark and I begin to worry. I continually see signs for Lisdonvarna which read 22 km, 19km, 13km, 10km. But I could swear that I have been approaching for hours. The sun is basically set. I know lisdonvarna is before my goal of Doolin. I press on, hoping my legs will receive the jolt of adrenaline by heart pumps as it realizes I may have to find a secluded spot on some farmer's land. It is completely pitch black, I still have not reached Lisdonvarna. I have now resigned to stop at the next B&B despite the cost, just for a place to sleep and rest. But no buildings are on the horizon. I can make out the road winding around another coastline jutting into the water. There are no lights. I have to stop the bike before hills now to rest. I don't know the property laws in Ireland. All of the land is within barbed wire fences. I am drunk on worry. I pee beside the road and eat a rice cake. Before long I am simply walking my bike so that I don't miss any signs. Nothing. No lights. Nothing.

I begin to pray under my breath.I begin to feel the road in its awesome, terrible glory now. It has me. And then I am sent a glorious downhill. For what must have been 2 km i sped down, with my eyes always at the horizon for lights. I see one. That is my mecca. I reach it, dogs run out at me howling. There are no signs. I can't risk the dogs. I continue on. Mick from Dublin calls me wondering how I'm doing. Great I say, but I'm still a few km from Lisdonvarna. It's getting pretty dark, he says. Ya, I say, I'll see you in another life, brother. Click.

I find a sing pointing to Doolin. Do I take it and forsake Lisdonvarna, the ever escaping town? I do, I follow another beautiful downhill 1km all the way to Glasha Meadows. Marian Mc donagh greets me at the door, a somewhat frumpy, extremely Irish woman in her mid fifties. After hashing out pricing, I tramp inside. Neither of us notice there is shit on my shoes. I order the pancake, bread, cereal, tea& coffee breakfast for the morning. I haven't eaten anything besides energy bars and rice cakes since 11am.

I fall into my room and call home. Then here. This shower will be glorious. Thank God this place has internet, I think I'll watch some californication and go to bed so I can get plenty of sleep before my 830 breakfeast.

Don't know when I'll have internet next, but I'll keep y'all in the loop. So much love is pouring through my veins right now, my sore, sore veins. But I hope you can feel it. There is so much beauty in this world, it is truly overwhelming.

Shantih. Shantih. Shantih.