Berlin, From Here

Once upon a time, at Christmas, I went with my mother to see John Moriarty in the chapel in UCG. John Moriarty was a philosopher, a storyteller, a seer, a visionary. To me he was a prophet and a holy man, and I don’t say that lightly. I was home for Christmas and he was going to speak for three nights in a row in a tiny candlelit chapel. I had no idea who he was and was blown away. Some of the things he said and the stories he told over those nights profoundly impacted me, changed me as a person even.


One of the stories he told so beautifully (and this, I guarantee, will be my sketchily remembered version rather than his consummately told tale) was an old Irish scéal about a king who left Ireland in search of home. He left with his men on a great ship, on a quest to find truth and answers and a place he might truly call home. They sailed and they sailed, and the men grew discouraged. On they went for days on end but no land did they spy, until eventually they dropped anchor with heavy hearts, knowing they had failed. As the ship sat in the water the current slowly turned her, until the king saw, in the very far distance, a haze of land – and he knew in his heart it was home. It was, of course, Ireland, but it was only at that great distance that he could truly see it and know that it was where he belonged.

I came home from Berlin nearly a fortnight ago now. I’ve thought a lot about this blog since, and what I might possibly write that would do justice to my Berlin. I’ve wanted to shout about how happy I feel and how renewed, how I am myself again and more than that… how I’m a me I didn’t even know I could be. I’ve learned to walk again, metaphorically and physically – and perhaps even emotionally – which is a powerful combination. My heart is beating more quickly, or at least with a different energy.

To take John Moriarty’s story and hammer it into something that suits where I’m at…. I got in my ship and sailed away, knowing I needed something. Different air, at the very least. And I got far enough away – for a long enough time – to see myself. Lord almighty, it is so hard to see ourselves, our patterns and habits and dependencies, when we’re in the midst of it. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t go away and actively think about myself or my life or make a five-year plan. (I was way too busy having a good time). But unasked, an entirely subconscious filing system kicked in. The good and bad was weighed up and – whoop! – a feeling of ‘hey, I’m alright’ sneaked in. More than alright. I’m good. Worth minding. Worth investing in. These last five years, which have felt sometimes like climbing up a mountain in winter, are over. The last year, which was marred by debilitating physical pain, is over. The clouds have lifted and I can see the view.

I can see all the people, my cheering squad of incredible family and magnificent friends and random strangers who lighten the load. I can see the good moves and the bad, where I do too much or too little, and I can see that I probably wouldn’t do much differently if I had to do it again. I can see the road ahead,  and I can see, really see, me.

The road less travelled can be a bitch, especially if you didn’t actually set out to go that way and sometimes wonder why you’re not at home by the fire with a cup of cocoa. But if you do find yourself on that road, if you find yourself sailing your ship far enough away to see yourself on the horizon – well. Your heart lights up like fireworks over water. And that is what Berlin did for me. I am ablaze. This is joy.




This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

14 Responses to Berlin, From Here

  1. tesskitchen1 says:

    thanks Sile and keep diverging on those oh so many roads, and of course, write about it – tessx

  2. Pingback: Berlin, From Here | AnOutsiderinCamus

  3. Paula Kehoe says:

    Gorgeous Síle. Loved hearing that story over a glass of wine, and reading it was even more delightful. Here’s to the view, to John Moriarty ar dheis dé go raibh a anam, and to many more good times in sunny Galway, and in uberBerlin. x

  4. Marcus says:

    Fáilte thar nais, a chroí. An-phíosa, aríst!

  5. Claire says:

    Go haoibhinn ar fad, lovely story. Fáilte ar ais!
    Excited to see where you end up next. C

  6. Is breá liom é seo! I’m in the same position myself having reluctantly given up on a venture that took up the past two years of my life (running a café in Dingle). I’ve always followed the road less traveled (usually not by choice!) and enjoyed the stability and focus that working on a long-term venture gave. I’m stumbling a little at the moment as I find my way forward. I know I’ll be fine and that I’m so lucky in so many ways. I just wish I could see the view, as you do. Árd phíosa scríobhnóireachta 🙂

    • Oh it can be so hard to see the view… I feel quite blessed, to be honest – ní minic a tharlaíonn sé. Is iontach – iontach – an rud é cos a leagan ar bhóthar nua agus feiceáil cá dtabharfaidh sé tú. I’d say I could have spent ten years in Conamara waiting for the feeling of release and happiness that came in two months while away from it all. Distance gives you clarity for free 🙂 Go n-éirí leat ar do bhótharsa.

  7. Róisín says:

    Eureka! Food for thought! ;D xx

  8. I need this too, some breathing space, so good to know its possible, thank you!And I am glad that life is good for again 🙂

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s