Aching

I miss Ireland so much it hurts.
Really.
I never even imagined it would be this bad.
I keep trying to rack it up to my last semester in college and the weirdness and vulnerability I feel here. But it's not just that.
I miss so much! I miss wandering and being by myself without actually feeling alone.
I miss the sunlight and the intermittent rain. The fog, the mist, the trees, the green, the pier. The houses. The people. The pubs, the music, the beer.
EVERYTHING!
I wish it were easy to fix, that I could just cry really hard or something and let it all out and let it all go, but I can't cry about it. It just aches, dully.
I wonder if it'll ever go away. I just don't think a place has ever held on to me like that. Does it mean I need to go back? The BCA does offer post-bac and MFA programs...
but will it be the same without the same people?
I don't know. Maybe I just need to deal with the fact that it's over. I'm here now and I have to figure this thing out. I know I do, I just can't help but feel a spot inside my chest sting a little whenever I think about it all.

Wind

In Mass today, Fr. Phil (who says lately people have been calling him "Dr. Phil") spoke about the Transfiguration. He related it to Elijah on the mountaintop waiting for God and finally finding him in a whisper.
I thought about (surprise surprise) being in Ireland. One day in Irish Studies we made our way through muddy cow pastures following a Mass path to the top of Cappanawalla. There at the top, the valley was spread out before us, and the sun and wind were intense. I stood on the edge of the mountain. The wind wasn't harsh, but it was incredibly powerful. If I leaned forward, it could almost support me. And I related that feeling to God. Gentle but powerful; a strong support when you're falling on your face.
Father said at the end of his homily, we will go up the mountain to feel God but we do have to go back down again. To live our lives.
There aren't any mountains here. Sometimes it's harder to feel God's presence.