At the Edge of Ireland (13 page)

• “Oh boy—the way that man lived! ‘Beaten paths are for beaten men!' he said. I tell you—it was like an ode to the randoming life—a joy-obsessed odyssey of discovery and zany inspiration that made those who met him wonder if they were living as fully as they should—and why they spent so much time and effort stifling all their wonderful reckless impulses!”
  “So why the heck did he jump off those cliffs?”
  “Ah well, yes—you have a point there…”
  
• “Original sin!? A bloody myth! There's never been anything original in Catholic sin. It's all boringly predictable, repetitious, and as old and hackneyed as a senile cart horse!”
  
• “Y'see, it's all very simple. We humans are essentially the visible tail ends of karmic sequences that stretch back eons of time—even before time existed.”
  “Ah well, so that explains this bleedin' eternal backache of mine then…”
  
• “There's no choice s'far as I'm concerned. You've got to live all out for today because you and/or the whole feckin' world could end tomorrow.”
  “So what the hell am I doin' wastin' my time talkin' to you!?”
  
• “I thought I was seein' one of those beautiful ‘love at first sight' romances openin' up t'me…”
  “Yeah—so…”
  “Turns out I was wearin' the wrong specs!”
  
• “Be honest now—do you ever mean what you say, or say what you mean?”
  “Which would you prefer?”
  “Both.”
  “In that case I truly mean and believe that ‘Guinness is good for you' and I've been meaning to say that my glass is empty and I'd love a refill. Is that honest enough for you?”
  
• “You know, it must be the Irish in me, but I'd much rather fail gloriously in what I do than succeed in a mediocre manner.”
  “Ah well—in that case—congratulations to you on both counts!”
  

And so it goes—grins and gleanings of insights and little wisdoms at “the best pub in the world”!

W
INKS, NODS, AND WHISPERS TINGED WITH
wonder and awe. These often seem to characterize Beara and the people here who celebrate its diverse layers of realities, perceptions, and meanings. Nothing is what it appears to be in this wild and beautiful place, particularly from the point of view of neophyte blow-ins. Either you accept this and learn or you don't—and thus invariably learn very little and ultimately leave.

This was particularly the case with a very hidden place way off the main road to Allihies. We heard about it initially from one of our very first historian-informants, Jim O'Sullivan. He appeared at the door of our newly rented cottage a couple of days after our arrival and very kindly and unexpectedly offered to help us “get adjusted” to Beara and its oddities. We invited him in for tea, and he sat by the window, neatly dressed, hair combed to perfection, and politely professorial in demeanor. For the next hour or so he presented us with a remarkable array of information and insights on “this unique little finger of land.” Also over the next few days he introduced us to a number of individuals such as Gerard (“Gerdie”) Harrington and Connie Murphy, who became invaluable informants on Beara history and traditions.

Somewhere in the middle of this preliminary initiation Jim mentioned the existence of a place—a center of meditation and learning—visited by a wide array of seekers, thinkers, and Buddhist practitioners including some very notable Tibetan
rinpoche
monks (who are believed to be reincarnations of important Buddhist figures) who offered occasional retreats and courses.

“But is there enough interest in Buddhism here on Beara? Where do the people come from?!” asked Anne.

Jim laughed. “Oh, you'd be amazed. People travel in from all over Ireland, all over the world for that matter. Especially when Sogyal Rinpoche comes here. He was born in eastern Tibet and he's said to be the incarnation of a teacher to the thirteenth Dalai Lama. He wrote that very famous book—
The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying.
It's said to be a condensation of over twenty-five hundred years of Buddhist teachings. You've heard of it?”

A bit of an embarrassed silence here, followed by a grunty “Er…no…”

Apparently Sogyal Rinpoche is one of the most renowned Buddhist teachers of our time and is the spiritual director of this Beara center—known as Dzogchen Beara—in addition to an international network of over a hundred meditation centers around the globe.

“His network is called Rigpa—the Tibetan word for ‘informed awareness'—or so I'm told,” said Jim.

“You're kidding!” gasped Anne.

“No—that's what he calls it, I think…”

“Sorry, Jim. What I meant was…I'm sensing some fascinating synchronicities here on Beara. AWARE is the name of the nonprofit organization I founded just over ten years ago. Its main purpose is to increase the independence and quality of life of people with vision loss. Check it out on our Web site—www.visionaware.org—and let me know what you think…”

Jim nodded and smiled. It was one of those smiles that reinforce the old adage “there are no coincidences.”

 

A
PPARENTLY THE
D
ZOGCHEN
B
EARA
Center was actually the dream, and eventually a reality, of Peter and Harriet Cornish, who bought a run-down farm of 150 acres here in 1973 on one of the most spectacular cliff-ramparted headlands on the peninsula. Their intent was to create a spiritual home with hostel-like accommodations and even a series of small cottages for people of all spiritual traditions and denominations. Having succeeded, they gifted the center to a charitable trust under the guidance of Sogyal Rinpoche.

“Do they still live there—the Cornishes?” I asked Jim. “I'd like to meet them.”

Jim paused. Wrinkles appeared across his forehead. He coughed quietly and then said, “Well, that's a little difficult. Peter still lives there and doesn't see many people now since Harriet's death in 1993. But apparently, the way he arranged her last few days in a hospice in Cork in a room decorated with Tibetan tankas and with her favorite
ngondro
chants playing—it inspired an idea to build a unique ‘spiritual care' center on the cliff top here near the dormitories and the main meditation center…Just a minute, I think I may have…”

Jim delved into a small briefcase he was carrying. He'd already given us a few brochures, but now he pulled out a small booklet. “It's the only one I have at the moment—I'll get you a copy. But I like this bit. ‘When we find we have chronic illness, or we are told we have only a few months to live, our lives can change dramatically. There is usually a need to find meaning, resolution, peace, and hope. This search for meaning can be a transformative experience for both the person who is sick or dying or for those they will leave behind. This process may or may not be rooted in a spiritual tradition…but the process can unfold itself to ultimately rewarding stages.'”

The room was very quiet for a few moments and then Anne spoke softly: “Beautiful. And that's what they're creating up at the center?”

“Yes,” said Jim, “slowly. Like everything they do there. They seem to allow things to develop at their own rhythm and pace. Someone once described it to me as ‘spiritual farming'—planting idea-seeds, fertilizing them a little, and then letting them grow according to their own timetables. He also said something I'll never forget: ‘Always be generous. Give yourself away because what else are you here for anyway?'…But listen. I'm not really the person you should be talking to. I find the place magical—a magnificent place to go, if only to sit quietly on the cliff tops or in the meditation room when it's empty with all those huge vistas of the sky and ocean. But I'm hardly a Buddhist—although there's no proselytizing and that kind of thing there. You can attend workshops and whatnot if you want to—or you can just go there to be quiet. Matt Padwick—he's the one you should talk to. He's kind of in charge of most things there.”