There is a great debate on at the moment as to whether Irish as a language should remain a compulsory subject on the Irish schools’ curriculum. Suggestions have been made to incorporate learning about Irish tradition and culture along with an introduction to the language and to drop it as a necessary subject for the Leaving Certificate. I agree with this approach. There are some very descriptive words and phrases in the Irish language which give us a sense of connection to the spiritual world, help us to respect the God in everyone, and which make us aware that unity gives all a chance to prosper.
One such word is meitheal which captures beautifully the essence of a whole endeavour. It means a gang of workmen, or a band of reapers, and has been applied, in the past, to the co-operative nature of bringing in the harvest when all hands gathered to help each farmer complete the cycle of sowing and reaping.
A couple of years’ ago, I found myself in the midst of a modern-day meitheal. It was a summer evening, and I had called to one of my best friends with a wedding gift for her daughter and husband-to-be. They had just begun to put together the sheets for the Order of Service, surrounded by pieces of card of varying sizes to be assembled, scissors, doubled-sided tape and ribbon. The young couple wanted to go out to spend their last evening together before their faithful commitment the next day. We looked at the clock and decided that the only way to complete the job in order for everyone to be satisfied was to form a very creative production line. It was extremely interesting how we all fell into doing the jobs that each of us could do best, we laughed and chatted, shared scissors, spilled coffee, drank tea, stroked the cat, and the cards were finished in an hour and a half. Everyone was smiling.
Today, we are being urged by ecologists to change our relationships towards ourselves, others and our planet Earth in order to invite back the fragmented parts of ourselves and help weave a more sustainable way of living for all. Words like meitheal could be an essential component of this rich tapestry.
Last week some family and friends called to my home to find out what they could do to help as my back had finally told me in no uncertain terms that I hadn’t heeded my own words (see Crossroads blog) and it has produced enough pain and attendant tiredness to keep me away from work for several weeks.
Each visit had necessitated a perusal of the bottom half of my kitchen dresser. One friend wanted to retrieve sugar for her coffee while another was looking for space for some of the shopping she had done for me for the weekend. I was so deeply embarrassed by the mess therein that I decided to clean it out once I was more mobile and flexible. On so doing, in amongst spilled flour and dried pasta, etc, I discovered some angelica which I had candied (without the green dye) about 3 years’ ago. While it didn’t look the best, it had still retained some of its sweet, musky, seductive flavour and I have been nibbling happily on it ever since.
Now that the seeds from the original plant have produced four new angelica plants, I can get to work again, putting it to better use than reclining in an untidy store cupboard. According to food writer, Sophie Grigson, ‘its Latin name, angel of the archangel, derives, according to one source, from a dream in which an angel announced that an infusion of angelica would halt the spread of plague’. Well, if it can do that successfully, maybe, just maybe, it can hit the sore spot, and help with the healing of my back.
I also found a kilner jar of apricot and nettle wine which I had made as a Spring tonic around the same time as the candying of the angelica. On sampling, I was surprised that it tasted far better than when it was first made. Evil warded off and blood purified, what next but a big thank you to all my family, friends and neighbours who offered their support in the last week and who continue to keep in touch. I am very grateful for your love, kindness and friendship.
I switched on the light
In the darkened room of my existence.
Powerful, life-enhancing words tumbled forth,
Cascading like a refreshing, mountainside waterfall,
To cleanse my emotional wasteland.
Negativity dissolved like a soluble substance
On the tongue of my speaking,
Translating into a new language
For the expression
Of the progression
Of my awareness.
On Saturday morning, 1st of May, I received a phone call from Ben to ask if his friend had come in to pay for his groceries as he hadn’t had the money a few weeks’ ago. It had amounted to 6 euros and 10 cents and he wanted to be reassured that it had been paid in full. I put his mind at rest. His friend had called the previous day to settle up.
Then he enquired about our latest grandchild and said he had intended to buy a card to welcome the new baby. He would do it the next time he was passing on his way to an AA meeting which is accommodated in the grounds of our local church.
Next, he asked ‘Do you know where I am this morning?’ Many ideas rushed through my head as to where this honest, homeless man might have spent the night. Down by the riverbank, in a shop doorway, in an abandoned car, in a covered park bandstand, or perhaps even in a shelter for the homeless?
‘I am in Ranelagh Park, listening to the birds singing. I wish I knew more about the birds, their names, how to identify them. It is beautiful here’, he told me. I suggested that for this morning he could sit and receive their birdsong. He could come to know the birds through their singing first, and then he could start putting names on them. He said he would do just that, wished me a ‘God Bless’, and that he would wave in to me on his way to the AA meeting at 11am.
Ben is bent almost in half, unsteady on his feet, and is frequently bleeding and drooling through and over skin that hasn’t been washed for a long time. When I don’t see him for a few months, I wonder has he passed on, and then unexpectedly I will glimpse his misshapen figure weaving unsteadily through the traffic and I smile with happiness while other motorists are stopped in their tracks to allow him safe passage. Another day has woken up to receive a man who doesn’t whinge about the weather, the effects of the recession/credit crunch, global warming or cooling, or the price of the tahini, water and rye crackers which he buys for his picnic. His days are perfect, and so are yours, and so are mine.
