17 Jun 1985, Posted by Scott An Chora in Travelogue, No Comments.

06/17 Cliffs of Moher, Clare Ireland

This world was filled with small narrow roads hidden by hedge groves, secluded lakes, isolated rivers, hills to climb and valleys to explore.  Tracking down a castle, graveyard or whatever we had earmarked on our map of antiquities was like our very own secret treasure hunt.  Then at the end of every one of these little adventures, we found ourselves staring again at a wonderful pint of local ale, in a small pub in the center of whatever it was the center of.  We shared conversations with some very interesting people and many times listened to a local changeling play old tunes long forgotten on the fiddle.  Before we were asked to leave, we would pack up and try our best to locate a spot that appeared secluded, to bed down in what could be best termed an uncomfortable position.  One of us always had the steering wheel.

I wasn’t ready to call it a night, so I proceeded through the low growth, to the top of the highest hill in sight, sat down on a small rock to keep my pants from getting wet from the moisture on the ground and looked beyond the stars that littered the sky.  Humbling myself with my lack of knowledge, yet knowing that somewhere hidden deep inside was a feeling that I knew all the answers before and somehow they had slipped through my fingers.  It was like I was standing here in a dream and reality was at a distance.  Tonight, I have come to the realization that I am made from the dust of stars and through my pursuit of explanations, I am in fact attempting, as if I am the universe, to look back upon myself, to explain what I am.  So I am comfortable sitting here knowing that I am here tonight, at the center of the universe.

Do these eyes of mine, seek out in vain, is every single drop of rain, mine to embrace
The face of a child, with illusions of a world set apart, it’s not easy to trace, the lines of my heart
Piece by piece, they fall by my side, as the petals of a rose, slowly gives way to life, so must I

One night after our quota of beers, while deciding on which direction to head in order to locate a secluded spot to sleep, Jim introduced his desire to drive.  I reluctantly agreed and took a reclining position in the passenger seat.  I must have dozed off after about an hour or so and then whatever I was dreaming merged together with Jim’s erratic driving and I then realized we were still moving.  Later I was told they’re called pillar clouds but to me they looked like ghosts without faces standing in the middle of the road.  Jim was running down each and every one of them as if this was an amusement game and not a starlit country road.