Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house nothing was stirring, not even a mouse…all I could hear was the thudding of my heart as I lay in a restless sweat. Why I was unable to sleep was beyond me… well maybe it was because my mind was drifting beyond, beyond this place to the other worlds I had recently visited…

I realised I could still see myself standing on The Cliffs of Moher. I remembered the icy wind blowing in my face as I contemplated the great surge of ocean below me. I remember thinking what a terrifying but magnificent example this place was of nature’s grandeur. What great forces pushed these cliffs up to such great heights? What power the waves to erode and carve them? The ocean here the deepest blue I had ever seen reminded me of a thick smear of Prussian blue paint across an empty canvas. I wondered if I could ever hope to capture such magnificence on a canvas and knew with certainty that it would be a waste of time to try… I remembered the feeling of the wind pushing against me as I strode along the path at the edge of the cliffs. The sensation that the wind might actually knock me off my feet was real and the temptation to put my arms out as wings so that I might fly was no wishful thought. Sitting in the small movie theatre in the Information centre afterwards, my wish to fly was realised on the screen. Literally taking a bird’s eye view the camera soared across the sky above the cliffs and wheeled and turned in the eddies above the sea. Nose-diving down the cliffs and into the waves we were suddenly in the depths and privy to the secret world there. Swaying seaweed, speeding shoals of fish being chased by dolphins being chased by whales and smiling seals surfacing to watch the bird as it flew up to nest in the burrows dug amongst the green cliff tops, brought us full circle. A beautiful and surreal experience that captured my imagination about this place even more…

Suddenly I was aware that my wrists had that dull arthritic ache in them and I opened my eyes to the pine-lined ceiling in my bedroom and remembered I was still here, in my house, in my town, in my country. But were these things really mine? I’m beginning to think ownership is an illusion, a virtual reality to calm our minds and stake our claims…a mis-stake perhaps? Can we ever truly own anything?

And yet I just finished wrapping all the Christmas presents tonight. It is a job I have always loved doing at the last hour and I always play Christmas carols as I’m doing it. There is a peace and contentment in this ritual and I feel quietly pleased with myself as I wrap each present. This year I bought lots of small things for my children from the different places I visited. I’m looking forward to telling them the story and reason behind each one, as each thing I bought reflected a different part of my journey. Suddenly I feel conflicted about all of these things that I have bought. Wasn’t I just thinking that owning stuff is somehow a mistake?

So many momentos from my trip and yet I have a perfectly good imagination to take me back there if I choose…

The vision of the Drombeg Stone Circle fills my mind and I can see myself sitting on the rock sketching the circle’s stones before me. I remember thinking why did Bronze Age man want to place these stones here, in this particular place? The vivid green grass in this field and in the fields around me is glistening in the sunlight. The sea in the distance is also dancing with yellow light. I remember how the cold from the rock I sat on for over an hour had seeped into my flesh and imprinted a sense of the antiquity of this place. The sun against my closed eyes reminded me that Time was an illusion too. Bronze Age man would have felt this sun and cool air against his face as well. Could I have lived in that time also? Why did I feel a sense of familiarity here? What is my fascination for a bunch of standing rocks? Are we just connected in the need to stake a claim, to say “I was here” and “This was mine” Isn’t that what having a home is all about?

I feel a disconnect happening. I wonder about my addiction to owning things, to buying stuff, to having souvenirs from my travels, when my mind and my body is the perfect receptacle for remembering…