On the West Cost is a healing spring attributed to St. Brigid. Here, the faithful are cured of all illness. Around the sixth century, worshippers of the Goddess cast curses and prayers into the same spring. Religion is born of something much older, traditions continue under progressís guise. Some say that the Book of Kells is subversive, it intertwines the sacred and profane.
I no longer revere the rosary, carved from that sanctuary, my grandmother brought with her to America. Newer religions falter to reversions of older ways. Even the book is a hieroglyph woven from cultures that continuously attempt to conquer each other. How can I reconcile tradition and progress? I spend days at Trinity deciphering the pictograph. It is a meditation, a prayer, and a lesson in the course of historyís ironies. The past is still with us. Gods merge. Whatever Janus I encounter at the top of this hill will be no less than holy. Why was I sent towards this task? Divinityís complexity can never be transcribed.