“My fiftieth year had
come and gone, I sat a solitary man, an open book, an empty cup, upon the
marble table top.” Yeats.
Sitting in an Irish pub in Galway, Ireland, I thought of
Yeats, sitting in pubs writing poetry and contemplating life. It was in this
enchanted land, where Yeats spoke of fishing.
He says;
“I went out to the hazel wood,
because a fire was
inside my head,
And cut and pealed a
hazel wand,
and hooked a berry to
a thread,
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.”
Yeats is fly-fishing. If you get hung up in literalism, and
want to argue he is not really fly-fishing and matching the hatch because he has
hooked a berry to a thread, then you are missing the point. I hope, quite simply and more importantly, that regardless of his fly fishing techniques, we can understand that he is more than fly-fishing.
We know he is more than fly-fishing because
as we learn from this enchanting poem, the trout turns in to a glimmering girl
and calls him by name. Again if you get caught up in literal interpretations or come from a strict "religious" back ground, you will be disappointed, that the fish did not turn into a tablet with the ten commandments etched in stone. I personally prefer the "glimmering girl," but if you need to hang on to that stone table, go ahead.
The poet then decides that, “Though I am old with wandering, through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone.”
As we read these words, we see a different set of spiritual values in
the poet. He is not merely seeking a trout; nor a young woman for that matter. He is seeking “some-thing” else and
he will seek this “though he is old with
wandering.” Many fly fishers never realize, that it is
"some-thing" else they seek, while they fish.
As I sat, considering my own life and culture I realized
that most often it seems to move at a cadence that is too fast to seriously
probe the depths of the interior, poetic and mythological life. As I write, I
realize that many of us do not have the time to even ponder several lines of
poetry. We live in a different culture, demanding immediate gratification and
information. As fly fishers, we often just want to know what fly works and
where. Never mind this poetic nonsense. Spiritually, we also, often want the simple, quick answers.
Sitting solitary in this Irish pub, without rush, I feel how
this place, perhaps, this whole culture is more of a “thin place” than back
home. Celtic spirituality speaks of “Thin Places,” those special places, often
geographic, where, if we can find the right cadence and enter, we might be more
vulnerable to the spiritual/poetic interior life. Even the hotel we stayed at set the tone of a
different set of values. Across the hall
from our room, the words “Yeats Suite,” were on the door. I wonder what
percentage of the people of our culture ever heard of Yeats or could even recite
a single line of poetry.
It seems that much of the culture I come from in America is
flat, void of depth, musing, and life. My culture feels “thick” with bland, rationality,
literalism and is lacking myth, poetry, and magic. In America, even the Christian church, often
only parrots the shallow “answers,” rather than deeply pondering the questions.
In Ireland, people speak of a whole other enchanting world
of fairies and Hawthorne trees. These stories are so powerful that they have
arrested housing and road developments, because some still fear the
consequences of messing around with the spiritual world. Apparently, in Ireland, you don’t mess around
with a Hawthorne tree and the little fairies. Roads have been diverted to go around certain Hawthorne trees out of
respect to the "little people."
While touring down a
narrow road along the green hillside the bus driver speaks of a leprechaun, he
spied on the side of the road. He slows down to a stop. Caught up in the enchanting
moment, I could not stop my rational mind from searching the area, quite
extensively, I must confess, looking for “some-thing.” I ask myself, what this is inside of me;
perhaps all of us, that even as rational, adults, hopes to “believe” in more
than the concrete, world around us.
Besides stories of enchanting fairies, trees and
leprechauns, there is the story of the “Salmon of knowledge.” Legend has it that whoever catches this fish
gains wisdom and becomes (not a millionaire, a manager or a CEO), but rather the
greatest poet in the land. The old stories in Ireland still reflect what they
value. How sad that in corporate America, and even often in our personal development, poetry
and myth are, for the most part, not of value. We do not have a defining story.
How sad that poetry and myth are
not valued (let alone understood), in churches across the country. Could
corporations and churches ever function at the slower cadence needed that would
allow entrance into another world. Could
we slow down enough to deeply contemplate the meanings of whatever stories,
myths, and poetry we still might posses? How sad that Jesus spoke in poetry, parables,
symbols, and paradox and we often fail to understand. How sad that the defining
story here, is to consume and buy things. What a tragedy that we lost our story that
helps define who we are and explains our deep inner experiences of life, including those while we fly fish.
Yet, we do have some wonderful fly-fishing here and that art
with the slower pace it demands, offers us some hope. While fly-fishing with its own unique
cadence, I think there are times we can possibly experience a “thin place” on
our rivers. We can start by slowing down our cast to a slower cadence and
regaining power, grace and art.
As I walked the Dream Stream, yesterday I thought about my
trip to Ireland and our different cultures. As I walked I slowed down my pace,
carefully searching the water. It was
then that I saw a Brown, just down along a particular bend, big enough, to
easily swallow a few leprechauns. Perhaps
some of you saw the same fish. And,
perhaps some of you, also, saw the leprechaun.
Regardless, at least you are looking and enchanted by the
possibility. It is a start and a
possible way out of our flat culture and the flat culture of our churches.
