Have we become too attached to the word no? Published in OM Yoga Magasine

The inspiration for this article came after many years of having found myself repeatedly on the receiving end of no.

Thoroughly frustated by such great insult and injustice, today I am grateful. These experiences have lead me to explore both cause and consequence of perhaps one of the most profoundly deep and multi faceted words in the English language, all the while coming to terms with my own usage of the word, past and present. I dedicate this to none other than myself: - may we never stop evolving.

Have we become too attached to the word no?

 A few years back in the summer of 2018, I was living in a small town called Glastonbury. Glastonbury as you may already know is no ordinary town, because this is the land proclaimed by many to uphold great spiritual mysticism, healing energy and magic. Situated upon significant earth energy ‘ley lines’, Glastonbury is host to a whole array of ancient legends, ranging from the arrival of Christ, powerful goddesses and fairy lore. People from all over the world come to visit Glastonbury in search of its healing and spiritual practices, or simply to take home a crystal or two from it’s thriving commercial high street.
During my time here, I connected to the energy of a particularly well-known goddess called Bridie. It was said that in pagan times, Bridie, the 'white goddess', presided over the British Isles. But aside from her goddess origins, there also existed a Saint bearing the same name. It is still a mystery to me quite how the two correlate, but somewhere along the way, goddess Bridie had become known as the Christian Saint Brigid from the little Irish town of Kildare.
Non-the-less, St Brigid (or Bridie) is known as the patron saint of protection, childbirth, black smiths and the bards. Bridie’s energy is said to be very prevalent in Glastonbury, especially in the old industrial quarters over-looking the Tor. There you will find an unassuming hill called ‘Brides mound’, where her Christian chapel once stood and it was here at the foot of the hill where I set up my home.

Robin said that an Irish visitor had once promised to send the church a St Brigids cross specifically made with Irish reed but it had never arrived. I agreed with Robin that a ‘St Brides church’ should indeed have a St Brigids cross and that if I ever had the chance to ask someone from Ireland to send over a cross, I would do so.
A month later I was staying with my dear friend Ali when one morning I awoke to a very good idea! That I would travel to Kildare, harvest the reed, assemble the cross and bring it back safely to St Brides church. Three weeks later, I packed a rucksack and headed off for the Emerald Isle.   

 I took the ferry to Belfast and in a mixture of walking and getting the bus, I covered 120 miles in five days, reaching Kildare on the morning of day six. In my itinerary I carried a bivvy bag, light weight sleeping bag, change of clothes, flask and snacks. I didn’t think much about my shoes, because as far as I was concerned, I was just going on a long walk not a challenging mountain trek: - so I literally just wandered off in my every day fashion boots. After all, in those times of old - no one splashed out on trek shoes; they didn’t even exist! Unfortunately however it didn’t take long for me to regret this oversight and just a few hours into day 1 painful blisters had developed.  I took a lunch break in Lisburn and hobbled off to a shoe shop to find a cheap pair of trainers. But these were just another pair of silly shoes, which I later found out had zero rain resilience. Oh the misery of wet shoes + blisters.

I had quite a nice walk that day, despite walking mostly alongside the very busy A1. Towards the end of the day someone stopped to give me a lift into Hillsborough, a town which I had spied on the map to camp out the night. This proved to be an excellent choice and I ended up hiding behind a bush in the grounds of a walled castle garden. After an uncomfortably cold night I made it my priority to buy a better sleeping bag the next day and by the mid-afternoon I arrived in the boarder town called Newry. It was pretty wet and miserable at this point so I headed to a Cathedral to warm up, have a sit down and pray to Mother Mary for protection. And it was here that I had my first sighting of St Brigid on the stain glass.

After pottering around some more, I went into the Cathedral shop and purchased a St Brigids prayer card and medal for my travels

Brigid, you were a voice for the wounded and the weary.
Strengthen what is weak within us.
Calm us into a quietness that heals and listens.
May we grow each day into a greater wholeness in body, mind and spirit.
Amen.

Wondering where to camp that night, in the late afternoon I hit the road again, armed with snack pots from M&S. My idea was to keep heading towards the boarder on foot whilst keeping on the lookout for a nice bit of secluded green. As the evening wore on and the sun started to set, I still hadn’t found anywhere. I even knocked on a few doors of houses with gardens but no one had answered. I finally opted for a shabby sheep field where I kicked off my shoes and was halfway unpacked when I suddenly thought that this was not the right place. I packed up again despite the exhaustion and pain from angry blisters and continued on. I hadn’t got much further when I heard the voices of some ladies behind me. They belonged to two local women, Sandra and Anne, who where out on their nightly power walk. They asked about the camping gear that I was carrying, so I explained about the pilgrimage and if they knew of a good place to stop the night. They were half way to directing me to a nearby forest when Anne asked if I wanted a bed for the night! So off I went for a steaming bowl of porridge, to dry my shoes and spend the night in a warm fluffy bed.  Soon after I met Anne and Sandra the heavens opened in the most spectacular down pour. Had I stayed in that field then all my belongings would have been drenched. Surely Mother Mary was with me.

 The next morning I was very excited, for today was the day I would cross the boarder into Ireland. Anne and her husband Shaun checked my walking route and suggested that I go via the ‘hill of Faughart’, a holy place known as the birthplace of St Brigid. Now my route wasn’t the tourist la-dee-da type which allowed for checking the sights... I was on a covert mission of the greatest speed and efficiency using only a basic google maps route finder to keep me on the straight and narrow. I decided however to take this advice and detoured slightly for the hill of Faughart as recommended. Around late morning I arrived at the hill and found a small graveyard and remains of an ancient chapel with healing well. I stopped a while to refuel on an snack bar, when two friendly ladies came by praying the rosary. They were extremely devoted to St Brigid and were very taken by the quest to Kildare.  They really wanted to help in some way so they took me off to a beautiful barn café for a large cup of earl grey tea. After setting me off in Dundalk I was sent on my way with a large selection of prayer cards, talismans, some money and a generous bag of fruit. Betty was particularly worried about me so we exchanged number declaring should I ever run into tough times that I should ring her immediately and she would come to my rescue wherever I would be.  

  
I decided to take a bus to the next town to save my sore feet as they were now starting to blister in other places from the change of shoes. At the ticket office my bus was due and I hadn’t yet changed any money into euros. Luckily the kind driver let me on for free (buses can be quite infrequent in places). I hung about in the next town ‘Ardee’, which seemed like another nice pace but I was in too much pain to explore. Feeling the urge to move on and set camp for the night, I caught an onwards connection to a place called Slane. I hadn’t gone far when I happened across a private housing estate with a huge lawn and dense bushes on either side, ‘Perfecto’ to hide out the night. I was a bit anxious about the weather as it was forecast heavy rain the next morning, but my plan was to wake early and jettison out of there before the rain hit. I stashed my bags and limped back over to the town centre. In a local shop I found some instant noodles, hot water and a can of baked beans to pour over the top… yum-o. I limped about some more and found a nice grassy lawn at St Patrick’s church to tuck into my feast and enjoy the last of the warm sun.

It was around 8.00pm, and at some point I was aware that a girl had walked straight past me and into the church that I had assumed was locked, and then I started to wonder whether the church might be open all night. In the hope of finding a better place for refuge, I limped to the roadside noticeboard to look for a churchwarden’s number. There was none, but a dog walker advised that the priest only lived in the house opposite, so of course I went to knock on his front door.
After the initial shock of finding an English vagabond on his doorstep, Father Stephens quickly warmed to me once I explained the pilgrimage. And immediately agreed to me spending the night in the church. Behind the altar was a door leading to an office space, where I was made up a comfortable bed on a sofa with pillow and duvet. There was also a little kitchenette, a toilet, wifi and Father Stephens even made me a packed lunch for the morning.
Before I went to sleep, I prayed to Mary and wept at the altar in sheer gratitude, before collapsing into a deep sleep. In the morning heavy rain started early at 5.30am and I again felt so much gratitude for this shelter. Now each day that I approaching Kildare, I was anxious to harvest the Irish reed with which to make the St Brigids cross from. Father Stephens had advised of a nearby river to try my luck, so I donned my waterproofs and headed down to the river bank.
I walked barefoot. My shoes had immediately water-logged and the material was rubbing my blisters raw. Now I didn’t really know what Irish reeds were, but I thought I had a fair idea from what I’d been told and seen so far. There I spied not far away, a clump of large reeds ripe for the picking. Not knowing these reeds were the extremely extra large variety, I was overjoyed and waded into the water to fetch them. When I headed back to the church to collect my things, mass was starting and I joined in with the service. The priest introduced me to the congregation and explained about the pilgrimage. Afterwards a lovely lady came over and gave me a blessed rosary from the holy town of Medjugory... My collection of trinkets was growing nicely.

 After the service, I bade farewell to St Patrick's, the rain was still heavy and the pain of blisters was now unbearable, so I finally bought some blister plasters from the chemist on the main road. I had to wait for my feet to dry before I could apply them, so in the next town Navan, I headed for the nearest Cathedral to patch myself up. To my dismay the Cathedral was closed for a funeral so I ducked in at the Cathedral shop to see what I could find out. Inside was a great guy called Michael who said I was welcome to use the back room to rest up, he even brought me over a hot cup of tea. He also loved hearing about the pilgrimage and found it an inspiring journey which at that point was making the hardship all the more bearable. After parting company, I started to walk the final leg of the day to a town called Trim down the side of a busy road which was the fastest route. The grass verge was so wide, I honestly felt quite safe but a commuter lady certainly didn’t. About 3 hours into my journey I was again bare foot as the plasters had slipped off in the wet and the pain was again unbearable. At this point, the rain was getting heavier and was forecast all night, so my plan for the evening was again to look for a sheltered hidey hole somewhere... although I didn’t seem to be having much luck in finding sheltered hidey holes….
 "Oi, what do you think your doing walking bare foot on this busy road, come over here!". It was a very, very angry lady. To be honest her shouting was pretty rude and I did just want to ignore her, but I felt to cross over and ‘do what I was told’. The lady as it happened was the headmistress of a school in the town I was travelling towards and thought I was some silly lunatic kid putting myself in grave danger for no reason. Once I started explaining my pilgrimage to Kildare in search of the eternal flame of St Brigid, she softened and offered me a lift into the town. She also gave me 50 Euros making me promise to get a hot meal and BnB for the night.

I found the most lovely hotel and settled in with a large microwave meal and hot shower. The room was gorgeous in a Victorian style and the heating was on full blast so everything dried out nicely. It continued to rain throughout the night and the next morning and you can’t imagine how thankful I was for that beautiful room.
Today was the last day and night on the road and I had the furthest ground to cover. I decided to email the Dean of Kildare Cathedral to arrange a blessing for the cross that I was yet to make. But sadly, his response was that he’d rather that I stayed away from the service due to Covid times. I had however heard that St Brigids ancient fire pit was still in the cathedral grounds, so my intention was to perform some sort of ceremony there anyhow to mark the visit.  Anyway, time was getting away and I realised that I had missed the only morning bus out of town so the kind landlady took me by car to the next town Enfield. I think I was the most cheerful on the road today despite the rain, as it was my last day. I did have a fair distance to cover on foot and I was walking so slowly because my feet were in such poor shape. The roads were nice country lanes and the nicest scenery, but this was farming land and there were no shops what so ever for miles around. In the early afternoon I stopped to check the map and a car pulled up next to me. It was an elderly man who had stopped to see if I was okay. He was off somewhere but insisted that I should wait for his return because he really wanted to make me a cup of tea, so how could I refuse. 

While I was waiting, across the road a young woman came out of her driveway to ask if I was okay. I mentioned that I was waiting for an elderly gentleman and she said, "Well that’ll be me dad".  So we three went into the farmhouse for tea and baked beans on toast. The farmhouse looked like it was well over 100 years old with no renovations - it was so cool. He did offer a bed for the night but it was my last day so I decided to crack on. Several hours later I started to think about my final sleep. As I walked, I kept checking out churchyards with shrubs where I could hide but nothing appealed (I had grown fussy). I was getting desperate come 8.30pm so I decided to start knocking on a few doors to see if I might be allowed to camp in a garden.  I tried a few placed that didn’t answer but then one did and it was lovely lady Gronya, whose husband agreed it would be okay to camp.