Lower World Journey

I journeyed to the Lower World

To meet my Spirit Guide,

And found myself following a path

With a wolf by my side,

Affording me friendship and protection,

He seemed at the time

To be my totem animal and gentle guardian.

We walked along a river bank,

Sunshine glistened on the water,

There were otters swimming playfully,

Some were lying belly up,

Basking in the sun’s warm rays,

Their carefree, unbridled joy

Made me yearn to have a life like theirs.

‘To wit-to woo’, an owl’s shrill cry

Pierced me through,

And jerked me out of my reverie.

I glimpsed him only for a split second,

High up in the branches,

Where I saw his round dark eyes

And later pondered

What wisdom he espoused.

We continued walking, the wolf and I,

The sound of gushing water

Came into earshot and grew louder,

Until its source was unveiled,

A waterfall, flowing down a rocky hillside,

Its drops, a prism for the sun

To reveal in a rainbow the full colour spectrum

Continuing on, the path grew steeper.

Up ahead I could see openings

Like caves in the stony embankment.

Climbing higher now and over to the left,

Was a view out to sea with a rocky island

Shrouded in mist, like some mythical Atlantis

Or could it be the enchanting Skellig Michael?

Up ahead on the path by the entrance

To a cave stood a bald-headed man

With a red beard and rimless glasses,

Wearing a hooded robe like a monk

He had a calm, intelligent demeanour

And I couldn’t quite work out

Why it was that he looked so familiar

He nodded towards the cave

As though beckoning me to enter

I could just discern from its dark interior

A high stone table or altar upon which

Lay an opened book, displaying a message

That was only just written, for the ink was still wet.

A quill rested on the page with an ink pot beside it

The message was in Gaelic

‘Conas ata tu? Ta me ag fanacht

Leat ar feadh tamaill fhada. Is mise Aodran’.

When I emerged from the cave the man had gone,

But I knew the message was from him.

He wrote his name was Aodran

And he had been waiting for me a long time

Sometime after this adventure,

I had a lucid dream where

I was a monk on Skellig Michael,

One of my colleagues there was Aodran.

As well as saying prayers and fasting,

We were employed as Scribes,

Custodians of sacred knowledge,

Whence gave Ireland its title,

'The Land of Saints and Scholars’