I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read of for Abbey friend and guest teacher Mícheál ‘Moley’ Ó Súilleabháin’s reflection and poem on Inis Cealtra/Holy Island.
Looking out over the majesty of the lake from the Graves of the Leinstermen, I see only one island with pasture or grassland. All other islands on Lough Derg are completely covered in trees. This island, with its proud round tower just visible, is Inis Cealtra, or Holy Island, a magnificent early monastic ruin with a well preserved round tower and the intact ruins of four churches. Cattle still graze on the island and the graveyard is still used by the parishes of east Clare. This monastery and seat of learning was first sacked by the Vikings in the middle of the 9th century. Brian Boru’s brother, Marcán, was Abbott of the monastery until his death in the early 11th century.
I have led friends and pilgrims to Inis Cealtra numerous times. I’ve sung Kyrie’s and Salve Regina’s in each of its roofless churches. I’ve gotten to know the only ferryman who has been bringing pilgrims and tourists to the site for decades in his open top boat. Many times I have travelled there with the proverbial ‘fire in my head’ and returned placid, pacified, and relieved. Inis Cealtra is a place of deliverance and redemption for me. Inis Cealtra for me has the genius loci of transformation. As I look down over the lake I imagine the life of the monks who inhabited that island for the better part of a millennium.
I wrote this poem in an attempt to capture an essence of this beacon of history, at the height of its powers…May it be the clarion call to return again to that which you love, ending an exile of self imposition.
Inis Cealtra/ Holy Island
Standing on the shore,
Lough Derg is a glimmering danger.
Stepping into the fishing boat clumsily,
you are the monk ferried home.
Your habits hem wet and heavy,
to the bright torch light
of Inis Cealtra.
Bittersweet is the return to exile.
To leave behind is to be taken in,
and you are part of this island
before ever setting foot
upon it again
Your right hand trails
the water’s warm surface.
Hungry for change, your praying
lately has only enflamed
old ways in your that lurk
like pike that swim
beneath you now
as you cross
Retreat to your holy island
where you begin again.
Returning lighter,
your habits hem
pressed and flowing
Step out of the fishing boat gracefully
the round tower at your back.
Strike out carrying the lightest burden,
transformed from deep inside
and ready for the relief
of love.
Adapted from a post on Mícheál's Substack
Mícheál ‘Moley’ Ó Súilleabháin is a renowned singer, poet, teacher and speaker from Limerick, Ireland. His artistic identity lives on the threshold between things. He co-facilitates retreats and pilgrimages and is the author of the poetry collection Early Music. | MichealoSuill.com and TurasdAnam.com
