6.1.12 The Cliffs of Moher

I have never seen such beauty as this. Usually in views of intensity, company pulls me out of what lays before me. Their voices distract me, I feel tension, even if they are not directly confronting or addressing me. Other people make me aware of of their surrounding, instead of focusing on my own. What they speak of, what relations they have with one another. This, strangely, did not happen here. The many languages, laughs, shout, and cries of children all faded away- diminished- with all other thoughts but the one before me.

The Cliffs of Moher demand one’s attention no matter who you are in present company with, or what is plaguing your mind. Never have I seen such beauty. It is almost indescribable, I’m still at a loss for words even days after I have visited those mighty cliffs. I sat on the cliff edging to the edge, thinking only of my mortality as my toes touched the last blades of grass before the 702 foot drop. I took out my pen and my paper, waiting for divine inspiration to visit me once more, moving the tip across the page. However, nothing came. No matter how great the poet, how Irish they were, none could come close to offering us anything but a mere glimpse of the magnitude and grace of Moher.

So I wrote of nothing. For all divination was held amidst the waves, carried in the beaks of the seagulls, and growing between rock and moss upon the cliffs. There was none left for the man-made paper. I was much too in awe of the scene before me to think of the beautiful words to do it any justice. They would fail in the wake of Moher. So I wrote simply, as people passed to and fro. I never turned back, a very unlikely action for me, but kept my face forward, feeling small. Feeling mortal.

There was a small patch of purple wildflowers by my feet. I realized that I was envious of them. Although so small and insignificant compared to the ageless rock it stood upon, they were graced with seeing it every moment of their beautiful existence. Those simple flowers had sprouted from the ground of Moher- they were one with it. However, I was from another country, cloaked in man-made apparel, consisting of many unnatural things-I was alien. It saddened me because the only way I could feel closer is by becoming intimately entangled with the many nooks and crannies of the cliff. The blades of grass. The ocean’s roar. The birds call. But it may very well be the last time I experienced this beauty. It may be very well be the last time I contradictorily felt both everything and nothing in unison. A complete and total balance.

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