I am in love with Ocean
lifting her thousands of white hats
in the chop of the storm,
or lying smooth and blue, the
loveliest bed in the world.
In the personal life, there is
always grief more than enough,
a heart load for each of us
on the dusty road. I suppose
there is a reason for this, so I will be
patient, acquiescent. But I will live
nowhere except here, by Ocean, trusting
equally in all blast and welcome
of her sorrowless, salt self.
I'm in love with the ocean as well, although I'm ashamed to say I haven't visited her in a long while. I was close last month and next month I intend to get a healthy dose of ocean air when I'm in Wales. But this past week I've been reminded of the danger and uncertainty that those who love the ocean and live close by her often endure. Although the DC area came through Sandy relatively unscathed, I've been thinking this week about those who weren't as fortunate. It's easy to romanticize the natural world until something like a hurricane comes along and reminds us that awe can entail a profound feeling of fear as well as admiration.
People often talk about the Celtic love of nature as one of the things that attracts them to that particular expression of spirituality. While the Celts did have an affinity with nature, particularly as they looked to creation as the first book of revelation, it wasn't in a naive or idealistic way. There was always an awareness that that same tree you were hugging one minute (or in the case of the Druids, worshiping among) could just as easily fall on you the next if a strong gust of wind came along.
Over the weekend, I was browsing my well-worn copy of the Carmina Gadelica and came across this poem which eerily echoes the events of last week.
POEM OF THE FLOOD
On Monday will come the great storm Which the airy firmament will pour,
We shall be obedient the while,
All who will hearken . . .
On Tuesday will come the other element,
Heart paining, hard piercing,
Wringing from pure pale cheeks
Blood, like showers of wine.
On Wednesday will blow the wind,
Sweeping bare strath and plain,
Showering gusts of galling grief,
Thunder bursts and rending hills.
On Thursday will pour the shower,Driving people into blind flight,
Faster than the foliage on the trees,
Like the leaves of Mary's plant in terror trembling.
On Friday will come the dool cloud of darkness,
The direst dread that ever came over the world,
Leaving multitudes bereft of reason,
Grass and fish beneath the same flagstone.
On Saturday will come the great sea,
Rushing like a mighty river;
All will be at their best
Hastening to a hill of safety.
On Sunday will arise my King,
Full of ire and tribulation,
Listening to the bitter talk of each man,
A red cross on each right shoulder.
Although I've read the prayers and blessings collected by Alexander Carmichael countless times over the past twentyplus years (I picked up my copy of the Carmina Gadelica on my first trip to Scotland in 1989), I don't recall reading this poem before. After I finished the last verse I found myself disappointed. I wanted a better ending, something more hopeful when it got to the Sunday stanza,some reference to the waters of chaos leading to creation or some nice, Celtic-y reassurance that the Lord of the elements will quiet the storm and bring peace.
I looked in the footnotes to Carmichael's text for some explanation of this poem but there wasn't one, which is a bit unusual. The notes in the Carmina Gadelica are often more interesting than the blessings themselves as they tell the story of how the prayer was both received and used in context, as well as explaining some of the more obscure references. Unfortunately with no help from Carmichael nor from Google, I'm left to my own devices to figure out what this poem means for me, which is actually true for any poem when it comes down to it.
So for me, the key is in that next-to-the-last line, "Listening to the bitter talk of each man." Being removed from the situation it's easy for me to want that better ending I mentioned above, but from what I've seen on the news broadcasts and heard on radio interviews with those in the hardest hit areas, what many want is the reassurance that they haven't been forgotten-- that there is someone to listen to their pleas for help. And maybe that's the first and best thing we can do for those in crisis-- listen.
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Of course, for those who want to do something more practical, there are several worthy organizations you can support with your donations. The American Red Cross, Episcopal Relief and Development, and the Global Ministries of the United Methodist Church. The latter two organizations work world wide and will support relief work in all areas affected by the hurricane.
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