I am Irish, Day 47

Saturday I had this unyielding desire to consume the innards of a book. My most favorite information to dine upon is any which pertains to Ireland. It’s been far too long since I’ve partook of such a meal. My hunger drove me to the library where I chose my morsel and began feasting.

When I read Irish history a light turns on inside of me. A reoccurring smile works its way from somewhere deep within me to a comfortable place between my lips. I feel as if I am reading a story about me, about my past, a history of who I am. This story excites me and brings increase to my life. It connects me to the world I live in and the immense number of days this world has experienced. This story gives my life far more than its 30 years, limited perspective and tiny bits of knowledge; it gives my life centuries of culture, color, personality, and a connection to countless lives and all their many stories.

I finished reading this evening and I found myself giddy once again over MY Irish history. I had to stop myself and ask, “am I attempting to “have” an Irish heritage or am I being an Irish[wo]man?” I don’t wish to be acquiring a collection of knowledge, a title to add to my ego, a possession that I might have in order to increase me. I want to be.

The wheels in my head began turning. I asked, “What’s the difference between having my Irish heritage and being and Irishman?” Well, having is holding onto; it’s smoldering/ smothering something. The opposite of having is letting go. Only when we release a thing (that is living), when we let it move, grow, increase, breath, progress along its natural course is that thing really valuable. When you love something I believe you must let it be what it is. When you “have” something it is there to serve your purposes, it exists to further you. But how much can someone actually be furthered by something which is being suffocated? If the thing which you are “having” is a thing which cannot grow or increase then is it a thing even worth having?

My Irish heritage does not belong to me. Rather it is a part of every person with the littlest bit of Ireland flowing through their veins. I cannot have it. I cannot make it mine. I cannot hold it or keep it. I can only continue to respect it, to dine upon it, to walk it out, and to let it be. I am Irish. I am me. I need “have” nothing for this to ring true.

Driving Towards the Beautiful Burren