AS a young boy of seven years of age, I experienced a moment of profound separation and reunion that would shape my lifelong connection to Glendalough in County Wicklow. It was during a family picnic amidst the tranquil greens and blues of the Wicklow Mountains that I unwittingly embarked on an adventure of my own.
The day began like any other idyllic outing in the countryside. The air was crisp, the sun gently warming the earth, the chatter of fellow picnickers filling the air. Nestled among the rolling hills and shimmering lakes of Glendalough, I was surrounded by an ancient serenity. Little did I know, this day would mark the beginning of a personal journey intertwined with the legacy of St Kevin and his monastic sanctuary.
In a moment of youthful curiosity, I wandered away from our picnic spot, drawn by the whispering allure of the long grass and the mysteries it concealed. Innocently following the path less trodden, I soon found myself enveloped in a world of my own making. Time lost its usual meaning as minutes stretched into an eternity for worried parents and frantic searches.
My absence did not go unnoticed for long. Picnic became panic and the panic gradually seeped into the once carefree atmosphere as my parents realised I was missing. With every passing minute, their anxiety grew until it reached a crescendo that prompted them to contact the local Gardaí. The serene beauty of Glendalough had momentarily transformed into a landscape fraught with worry and uncertainty.
Yet, just as despair threatened to overwhelm, fortune smiled upon us. As my parents recounted later, amidst the vast sea of green, there I appeared, alive, well, and blissfully unaware of the turmoil I had caused. Their relief was palpable, their joy infectious. The prodigal son had returned, and with him came a newfound reverence for the historic grounds of Glendalough.
From that day forward, Glendalough became more than just a scenic backdrop. It evolved into a sanctuary of personal reflection and historical wonder. Each subsequent visit deepened my appreciation for its ancient stones and whispered tales of saints and scholars. St Kevin's Monastery, founded in the mists of the late 6th century, stood as a testament to resilience and spiritual devotion. His solitary life in a cave by the upper lake, dressed in rough animal skins and sleeping on stones, resonated deeply with my young imagination.
Guiding friends and visitors through Glendalough, I shared its rich tapestry of history and legend. The intricately carved Glendalough Cross, depicting St Kevin in a yogic posture, hinted at an ancient wisdom that transcended time and geography. It was here, amidst the sleepy valleys and silent lakes, that I first glimpsed the interconnectedness of Ireland's monastic tradition with the wider world.
Glendalough, located in County Wicklow, the Garden of Ireland, offered more than mere scenic beauty. It was a place where history breathed, where the spirit found solace in the embrace of nature and heritage. Each moss-covered stone, each rustling leaf whispered tales of centuries past, tales that echoed in the poetry of Seamus Heaney, who immortalised St Kevin and the blackbird nesting in the palm of his hand.
On reflection, my childhood escapade in Glendalough has left an indelible mark on my soul. It ignited a lifelong passion for history, spirituality and the natural world, a passion that continues to shape my understanding of heritage and the human spirit. Glendalough remains not just a place on the map, but a timeless sanctuary where past and present announce themselves in whispered harmony.
If you get the chance, listen to Van the Man’s The Garden. He put into words my experience:
No Guru, no method, no teacher,
Just you and I and nature
And the father in the garden.
