A Hillside in Ireland

I found this essay by A.E. today and I realized, though for only a year, I was blessed in having lived myself on a hillside in the northwest of Ireland. I would have stayed there for an eternity, but Fate had her own plans.

Now I watch the waves as I walk on the sand of a beach far, far from Ireland. It is Ireland that is in my heart. In my blood.

ON AN IRISH HILL

It has been my dream for many years that I might at some time dwell in a cabin on the hill-side in this dear and living land of ours, and there I would lay my head in the lap of a serene nature, and be on friendly terms with the winds and mountains who hold enough of unexplored mystery and infinitude to engage me at present. I would not dwell too far from men, for above an enchanted valley, only a morning's walk from the city, is the mountain of my dream. Here, between heaven and earth and my brothers, there might come on me some foretaste of the destiny which the great powers are shaping for us in this isle, the mingling of God and nature and man in a being, one, yet infinite in number. Old tradition has it that there was in our mysterious past such a union, a sympathy between man and the elements so complete, that at every great deed of hero or king the three swelling waves of Fohla responded : the wave of Toth, the wave of Rury, and the long, slow, white, foaming wave of Cleena.
 - A.E. from The Tower Press Booklet, January 1906

Photograph © Denise Sallee 2012

Being Thankful

The Voice of the Sea

The sea was hoary, hoary, 
Beating on rock and cave : 
The winds were white and weeping
With foam dust of the wave. 

They thundered louder, louder,
With storm-lips curled in scorn — 
And dost thou tremble before us, 
O fallen, star of morn ?

 - A.E. in The Earth Breath and other poems. 1879


Yesterday I rediscovered an old haunt of mine - a white sandy beach at the mouth of the Carmel River. I had forgotten how much I enjoyed going there in the winter after a storm to see what gifts the river laid upon the beach. It was like connecting with an old friend with whom you share memories of a time long gone by.

So, on today - Thanksgiving Day - I am grateful for the river and the sea that still have the power to draw my spirit....and their gifts for those with the eyes to see.

Photographs © Denise Sallee 2012

Beauty & Wisdom

And the Nuts of the Sacred Hazel Tree fell on the Waters.

They were like strange fruits, golden-rinded, ruby-hearted, fragrant, wonderful: and as they fell the circling water crimsoned, a surge of ecstasy moved in it, and everywhere a myriad joyous voices cried: 

“Exult!

 Exult! 

The stars blossom.

Wisdom is born. 

Exult!”

Fionn that was the God of the Waters, exulted. Beauty flowered in him; Wisdom unfolded. With every surge, with every pulse, with every heart-beat, Fionn exulted.

And still the fruits of the Hazel Tree fell upon the waters.

Like stars they fell, like glittering constellations, like flaming suns. And still the voices cried:

“Exult! 

Exult! 

Exult!”

From "The Nuts of Knowledge"   in  THE TANGLE–COATED HORSE by Ella Young

I know that in every age there are those who wake up in the morning and wonder "Has the world gone mad?"  War, famine, drought, climate-change, plagues, genocide, gynocide - none of these are new to the world.  The question (rather, the Quest) becomes how does one survive? For Ella, her lifelong search for Beauty and Wisdom elevated her spirit from the mundane world, keeping her focused on the work of her soul. How often she must have felt discouraged in her work for Irish independence, yet her old tales and her poetry surely served to hearten her comrades in their darkest moments of despair. And, perhaps for us, plodding through our day, the glimpse of a red leaf on the sidewalk, brilliantly shining with the morning's rain, reminds us of the true Beauty and the true Wisdom of the earth and we find reason to continue on our own journey.

Exult! 

Photograph © Denise Sallee 2010

"Splendid as a lioness"

I drove to San Francisco last week, met a friend, and drove down the coast to Half Moon Bay. The hills, still tawny-gold as the rain has not yet been enough to turn them green, rolled along on either side of me as I headed north. It reminded me of one of Ella's poems and I believe it was these same hills - the Gabilans, the Santa Lucias - that inspired her imagery. The Central Coast of California was home to Ella - and she knew it well. More than just what our eyes see - Ella recognized the spirit of this land and this is what she captures in her poem.

The Lioness

How could I know, America,
Hearing you praised for bigness,
For opulence alone,
As a calf is praised for the market,
How could I know you a land
Lean-ribbed and austere,
Splendid as a lioness
Golden-eyed and languorously alert?


Photograph © Denise Sallee 2010

What the Bell-Branch Signifies

When Ella wrote of hearing Faerie music, which is well documented in a journal she kept while living in the Wicklow Mountains, she mentioned the bells as one of the instruments she could discern. So, I've been exploring the concept of the Bell-Branch - quite literally a branch on which is fastened small bells. 

To harken...To bring forth...to summon...

When I was a child we always hung bells on our Christmas tree and on the stroke of midnight my father opened the front door and my brother and I would each hold a length of sleigh bells (metal bells embedded in thick red vinyl) and shake them and shake them. 

Why? 

To harken...To bring forth...to summon...

I love this poem by a contemporary of Ella's in Ireland:

THE BELL-BRANCH 

by James Henry Cousins (1873-1956)

 Shoheen, sho-lo : 

Birds are homeward winging. 

Shoheen, sho-lo : 

Herdsmen on the hills are singing :

 " Short the night, and long the day, — 

Come, ye weary flocks, away : 

Folded in deep shadows drowse, 

And on long sweet grasses browse 

Where the murmuring waters flow.

" Shoheen, sho-lo : 

Hark, the Bell-branch ringing. Shoheen, sho-lo : 

Dannans from the hills are singing : 

" Time is old, and earth is gray, — Come, ye weary ones, away, 

Where, with white, untroubled brows

 The Immortals dream and drowse, 

And the streams of quiet flow"

By way of an introduction...

I "met" Ella Young while researching a paper for my Master's at UCLA in 1990. My paper was about Monterey County's first librarian, an intrepid Irish woman named Anne Hadden.  Anne set up branches throughout the very large and very rural county. Her domain included the rugged and remote coast of Big Sur - for which she spent much of her time in the saddle.  Ella Young, when she arrived on the East Coast from Ireland read about Anne and her treacherous trips down the coast to deliver books to the settlers there. Ella, an avid horsewoman, was enthralled   so she contacted Anne and when Ella arrived in California to begin her lecturing, she and Anne hooked up. They soon discovered they had far more than their Irish blood and horseback riding in common. Both women were keenly interested in Theosophy and became great friends. Ella and Anne journeyed to Mount Shasta together and performed a ritual in honor of the great power that was held by this mountain (photo of Shasta by Peter Hughes).

What a magical coincidence it was that Ella Young had left a large collection of her papers to UCLA's special collection library - and amongst them all was one letter from Anne to Ella. When I read that letter my heart gave a wee leap - for I knew that in Ella and Anne I had found, as Ella would say, my comrades. Some years later, working in Carmel, I rediscovered Ella thanks to another comrade -Mara Freeman  My journey, with Ella as my guide, continues.

SONG OF A FAERY LOVER

SONG OF A FAERY LOVER

by Ella Young

Swan from the air

Leaf from the bough,

With the Bell-Branch I carry

I charm to me now:

Silver-throated swinging

The bells of it are ringing

Like faery birdlets singing

All so happily.

Hear the faint sweet chiming,

Cadenced and climbing,

Close wound, yet free,

And for sound of the Bell-Branch

Follow me!

Oh follow

O’er foam-crest and hollow.

My white steeds are biding,

Their long manes sliding,

In a wave-curl of the sea.

Hark to their neighing!  

The shaken wave,

The shore wave swaying,

Sinks to the sea:

The wave returns,

Return with me.

I charm your eyes,

I charm your feet,

I charm your heart

With mine to beat,

Flame to white flame

Austere and fair.

I charm you to diviner air.    

             

I am laughter of the sea,

I bear the Bell-Branch,

Follow me!