The Achill Island Essays 1
Arrival
By the grace of God I am a Christian man, by my own actions a great sinner, and by calling a homeless wanderer of the humblest origins, roaming from place to place.
The Way of a Pilgrim
February 29, 1996
Dooagh, Achill Island
Ireland
I've waited many years to write these words. 40 years ago to the day, almost to the hour, I was born in a London hospital. 15 years ago, as an up and coming 25 year old, I stood on an Achill Island beach with my mother and young family and decided that this was where I would spend my 40th birthday. 4 years ago to the day, I was a very unhappy 36 year old, walking through Banff, Canada, wondering about the meaning of life and the point of my existence.
That morning in Banff, February 29, 1992, I realized that I was confused, uncertain about the future, and altogether unhappy. I had achieved a great deal; an executive level position, financial security, a loving family, the respect of my peers. But I honestly did not know where I, or the world, were going. The only thing I knew for certain was that on February 29, 1996, I would be sitting on a rock on Achill Island. I resolved that I would embark on a pilgrimage of sorts. A journey through 4 years of life that might help me to understand who I was and my place in the world.
I want to write about the things that I have learned along the road from Banff to Achill. I arrived in Achill 12 days ago; the start of 40 days of solitude and reflection. My pilgrimage ended this morning as I sat on a rock on Keem Strand, a secluded Achill Island beach, and watched dawn break on a cloudy Irish day.
Unlike the anonymous pilgrim quoted above, who travelled with only a knapsack containing some dried bread and a bible in his breast pocket, I routinely packed my cameras, journal, credit cards, passport and occasionally my guitar. I sought out opportunities to see parts of the world usually hidden, or of little interest, to outsiders. When my work took me away from home, I would take a few extra days to explore a part of the country or the world I had never seen before. I also tried to pay close attention to what was happening at home and in the day-to-day routine of my work.
From the Casino in Monte Carlo to the shanty-towns of Guatemala City I saw the gulf between the filthy rich and the filthy poor. From the Sydney tar ponds to a Clayoquot Sound clear-cut I witnessed first-hand our wanton destruction of the environment. From a Newfoundland outport to a lengthy queue in a Scarborough unemployment office I sensed the despair of people who had no idea what the future held in store for them.
I sat in plush corporate boardrooms as multi-million dollar deals were made; played heavy metal rock guitar with street kids; stood alone in silence in a Guatemalan torture chamber that had been turned into a shrine; and felt the tension in Los Angeles as the jury was sequestered in the second Rodney King beating trial.
Amidst the angst of the past four years I looked for signs of hope. I sought out people who could teach me how to live life in the last decade of the 20th century. It should come as no surprise that I didn't find them amongst our political or religious leaders. Captains of industry, futurists and pundits left me cold. I found hope and wisdom in the group of women I met from Ballymon, a working-poor suburb of Dublin, struggling to provide a better life for their children; in the human rights activist in Guatemala City, who fought on against injustice in spite of the "disappearance" of his brother a couple of months earlier; in the two smiling, bubbly little girls in a Central American orphanage who were too young to appreciate their precarious situation; in the Toronto street kid who stopped me on the way into a shelter to tell me that he got his first job.
While I visited many dark places along the way, I also enjoyed many beautiful experiences. I stood with my son on the Bolivian altiplano as the sun was eclipsed by the moon in a South American sky; walked with my daughter along the banks of the Thames and the Seine; gazed in awe at the magnificence of the universe with a dear friend on a bitterly cold Saskatchewan night. I enjoyed quiet moments with my wife and the intimacy of a loving marriage.
And what conclusion have I come to? The best I can do is to quote the final entry into my pilgrimage journal, written just before dawn this morning:
And the meaning of life? After 15 billion years of evolution, and 3 million years of human history, we are what the universe has evolved into. Our place in the universe is to be that little flicker of self-awareness, that emerging mind of the cosmos. We are, as Carl Sagan says, "star stuff". But we are star stuff that thinks, and is aware of itself and the rest of the universe. That's the meaning of human life.
And the purpose of our individual lives? First, it is to be in awe of the magnificence of the universe that we are. Put simple, our purpose is to love. Love each other. Love other living things. Love the earth. Love the universe. Love ourselves. Second, it is to transform. To bring conscious attention to our own transformation and to our transformation of things. We are to create things not out of random chance, as has been the universe's habit, but by reason and intellect. But we need to train our reason and intellect to ensure that our transformations are creative, not destructive.
These thoughts are not original. Theologians and philosophers have been promoting such ideas for years. But now they are also my thoughts, and the conclusions I have come to after all these years.
It is said that Albert Einstein was once asked, "What is the most important question you can ask in life?". He answered, "Is the universe a friendly place or not?". The answer I've come to is that, by and large, the universe is indeed a friendly place. Unfortunately, the part that humans have control of is in a bit of a mess at the moment. In fact, the universe that we are creating is not-at-all friendly. Not to the world. Not to other living things. Not to ourselves.
In the essays that follow I will elaborate on what I've seen and experienced, and on a few strategies that might help us to survive in a chaotic world.
March 1996
About the Photograph: A welcoming committee on the road to Achill Island.