Camera Shy

The following photographs were taken in Dublin without the knowledge of the subject.  Most were taken secretly, my camera at my waste and my thumb pressing the trigger every chance I got.  A couple were taken more deliberately. You almost wonder in the faces of some of the people if they know they are being photographed; their eyes seem to be directly facing the lens.  This is all about capturing a moment in life when people least expect it.  I remember seeing a photography exhibition of a photographer who hid a camera in his jacket and took pictures of people on the bus, this is what I thought of while doing this experiment. I tried to get as close to the action as possible to really answer the question: What do you do when know one is looking?

Newgrange

I stand in front of Newgrange, the massive circular mound of earth that is flanked with stone walls all the way around.  I imagine the Neolithic people who built the structure some 5,000 years ago.  What spiritual or political figure might have dedicated the monument when it was completed.  I am transported, back in time, a spectator in the ceremony.

“Welcome my brothers and sisters!  This morning the final stone has been laid, and our monument to the spirit world has been completed.  Each of you have put your blood and sweat into the construction of our shrine.  Some of you have inherited this task that your fathers started, and others have died before they finished what they began.  It is my great honor, bestowed on me by the great gods of the stars, to honor the cycle of everywhen which we all take part. 

The stones that form the foundation for our great monument come from the mountains to the north.  Like the strong base of the mountains, these stones form a base for our structure.  The mountains reach up into the cosmos, where souls of our great shamans live among gods which rule the processes of earth.  Our monument sits atop the substance of the mountains so that the souls that pass through it may be transcended into the cosmos.  The round stones are from the river that passes between us and the Boyne.  The goddess of water shapes these rocks with her mighty torrents.  We honor her as the lifeblood that feeds our crops and ourselves.  Through water, all life is shaped, and through rock all life is formed.  The spirit of these two forces enclose the tomb inside. 

The stone laid in front of the entrance has the everywhen cycle inscribed on it.  These interwoven cycles represent the cycles of life, death and rebirth.  Together, they create everywhen, a continuous cycle with no conceivable beginning or end.  It comprises time and space into one energy, and nothing (not even the gods) is free from it.  Inside the tomb we honor death, but we also honor life and rebirth.  At the winter solstice, a time that marks the death of the harvest and the rebirth of a new year and crop, the great star will shine inside the tomb and illuminate it.  The energy will lift the spirits inside into the cosmos, to join our great spirits of the stars.  This, of course, is reserved for only the greatest of our shamans, so they’re spiritual journey may continue onward from this world.  The younger souls will continue their journey on this place, dying within this cycle like our crop, replenishing our land and being rebirthed in a new age so that one day they may also transcend to the cosmos to continue their spiritual journey. 

I now will also continue my journey into the cosmos, as I sacrifice myself to our new monument, Newgrange.  May you all feast well tonight in celebration of our new achievement.  Let Newgrange persist for millennia, to serve as a humble reminder to future ages of the great scale of everywhen.  Let us not forget that the interwoven lattice of everywhen connects us all, and when one may feel lost they need do nothing else but look inside, for within each of us we are connected to all that is around us.  To Newgrange!”

The entrance to Newgrange in 1905, before any major excavation.

Trigger Happy

I walk up and down the streets looking for something to photograph.  I am getting tired of the same old shot of buildings and streets.  It seems that each photograph is the same, just in a different place and I want something new. I have an idea. I close my aperture, turn on the auto-focus, turn up my ISO and quicken my shutter speed.  I hold my camera at my bellybutton with my right hand, thumb over the trigger.  I nonchalantly walk down the street with my camera at the ready.  A man is walking toward me, hair frizzy and long, I make a subtle adjustment to direct my lens and click a picture.  The sound of the shutter is drowned out by the ambient noise around me.  I keep walking and he never knew he was being captured.  A few people lean against a building, I turn my camera to the side and snap a few pictures.  There is something exciting about this.  The uncertainty of what kind of shot I got and hoping no one has heard the click up my camera as the lens points directly at them.  It excites me and refreshes me from the same old shot; you capture something different, when the subject is oblivious to their attention.

The Big City

The sidewalk size has tripled to account for the massive number of people, which has quadrupled.  Like most Irish cities, it surrounds a river with a bridge every couple of blocks.  Statues of historic figures are all throughout the city, forever shamed by the pigeon poop that runs down their faces.  Flower stalls sit side by side, the owner scowling at the other when a customer chooses the other stall.  Street performers lean toward the theatrical: people dressed as statues or a man frozen in time fighting against a storm, his tie up-side-down from its normal position and his coat flaps flipped up while his frizzy hair pushes behind him.  Big stone buildings, reminiscent of DC architecture hold public institutions like the post office and Trinity College.  Some of the oldest pubs in the city stand two or more stories tall with intricate detail in their molding and up to four or five bars inside.  The city is saturated with historic significance: Kilmainham Goal, a jail which housed numerous political prisoners throughout the Irish revolution and civil war; the stomping grounds of many of famous writers such as James Joyce and Oscar Wilde; the Book of Kells, an illustrated book of the four gospels of Jesus Christ that is now housed in Trinity College; and much more.  This is Dublin.  

A Garden in the City

A tall light green fence lined the parameter.  There was a pond on the right surrounded by a herb garden as you walked in and to the left, rows of rhubarb, onion, carrots, the ever-popular “rocket lettuce” (which we call arugula), and many more plants covered the ground.  Two small greenhouses held tomatoes and “French peas.”  Beyond those two raised beds made an accessible working area for the disabled and on the opposite side bamboo grew on either side of the path leading to the children’s garden.  A small hut made of bamboo housed the pizza oven that they made from clay and straw.  More rows of potatoes grew further back and a row of raspberry bushes grew beyond that.  Opposite of these lay a massive pile of seaweed, which they brought truckloads of from the nearby beach to use as fertilizer.  A small shelter provided protection from the rain in which we enjoyed hot tea, some butter and jam on a scone and freshly made cake.  All sitting on a main road in a more residential part of town, it was across from a bus stop that was between the library and a church.  This was Ballybane Organic Community Garden. 

Taking a Ride on the Rugged Side

Sweat drips down my face as I roll up the sleeves of my flannel.  The road gets progressively rockier and each bump is a pain for my already sore bottom.  I have made it up a steep hill that seemed to only get longer with each downshift of gear.  Surrounding me are the stone fences that I have grown so used to, they go on for miles and miles, and I think to myself how far they could get lined up end to end.  To my right is a slow decent full of the rocky grazing fields before it meets with the Atlantic.  To my left I see the lighthouse, the highest point on Inis Mor and my destination.

           

My legs are tired and burn with each pump of the pedal.  I relax for a second when I approach a small descent.  The bike shakes and I stand on the pedals to reduce the vibrations sharply running up my body from the frame.  Leaning my weight further back the bike goes faster and faster.  Large rocks serve as tiny jumps and I start to forget about the burning sensation in my legs.  “Woohoo!” I yell for only cows and donkeys to hear.  I pedal up the next small incline to descend again, the adrenaline makes me want to go faster and faster. 

The road levels out.  The lighthouse looks slightly behind me.  I get out my map.  I notice that I missed my turn; do I turn back?  I can see the long downhill rocky road before me leading right back to the main town area where the hotel is.  I can either pedal up to the highest point on the island and take the main road back, or pursue this downhill mountain biking adventure.  I pedal forward.

A Resentment

Take this ye path
to fill you fools with gold.
Don't look back,
no one wants to see ye.

Rape my arse,
like you raped so many.
Find ye back here,
and ye will be hated.

Take my fingers,
and cut them off.
You need them more,
to make ye smile.

Find a pot of gold,
and keep it for yeself.
We don't want it,
keep it all for yeself.

We know you will anyway.

The Redemption of General Butt Naked

“General Butt Naked, is that his real name?” I think as I sit in the theatre waiting for the film to start. Sure enough, it is. The name is feared in Liberia, and during the civil war, only ten years or so ago, if you heard “General Butt Naked is coming!” you ran like hell. Butt Naked and his troop of young boys raped, looted and ruthlessly murdered every man, woman and child that go in their way.  How did he get the name? Simple, that’s exactly how he fought, butt naked.

Butt Naked, who now goes by his real name Joshua Blahyi, preaches to a congregation as sweat rolls down his face and massive arms.  He screams “Praise Jesus!” to a group inside a makeshift chapel.  He is in a refugee camp in Ghana, fleeing for his life after admitting guilt to “no less than 20,000” casualties during the war. But it isn't the government who is after him, it’s the other men put on trial for war crimes who aren’t ready to face up to their hellish deeds.  Joshua had just asked for forgiveness the day before from three of his victims who were in the refugee camp and now in the congregation: a woman, who’s husband he shot; her child, who he blinded in one eye with the butt of his gun; and a man, who’s entire family he killed.  They all forgave him, but the woman tells the camera that “it’s hard to forget.”  She says that she sees the same strength in him as he preaches that she saw in him that day he came into her village as Butt Naked.

I was shocked to hear how freely Butt Naked confessed to all his past deeds, and I often questioned the genuineness of his apologies.  The film will both anger and confuse you leaving you with a pile of mixed emotions that makes you throw up your hands and say “oh well.”  The filmmakers did such an impressive job that the film almost felt staged. It gave me a much better sense of how emotionally and mentally dysfunctional Africa has been left by its former mother countries.  The exploitation of Africa’s people and natural resources has left the continent in a state of civil unrest.  It’s like a child, that we have spoiled and abused at the same time, leaving the people just as lost as you will be at the end of this film.

Panorama

Just past the city center, up a steep hill lies this view of Cork.

A view from Lady's View in Killarney National Park.  When the Queen of England visited Ireland with her 100 person posy, this is the spot where her lady's enjoyed the best view.  Notice the storm on the left side.

Outside of Dingle down a small side road lies this view of the Atlantic.  Farm land posses the left side while a trailer park sits on the right.

This is the view we worked so hard to see.  At Sleigh Head after a long bike ride the waves crash against the beach below.  Behind me is a large hill filled with sheep and an upright stone at the top, the tip of Sleigh Head.

On our way back from Sleigh Head we cut through the mountain so we could get to Dingle faster.  This is a view from the top.

On our way from Doolin to Galway we stopped to help a lady retrieve her camera that she dropped in a crevasse.   Rocky landscape littered the terrain.

Organic

Open                                     and                                       willing

The                                   cycle                                       which

runs                                   through                                    me

runs                                   through                                    us

all                                    Taken                                       by

 the                                   beauty                                     of

  life                                    We                                      are

    of                                    one                               thought

 moving                         forward                              in

      one                            instance                            But

        close                         your                             walls

   and                           you                           are

           cut                         off                          Unable

             to                       feel                     anything

  but                   the                void

that         consumes    you

Unable    to       see

anything but the
box you have

 trapped

  yourself

   in

 Take

   a second

     to see yourself

     from the outside

     You will find that you

    are    not     alone   as   you

    think    It         only     takes      a

        second     to         doubt      yourself     but

       it            takes          forever            to          find

              your           way             back                Open           your

            mind               and             your             body                will

             follow              Like                  a                        river                we

      individually                   flow                at                          a                different

     pace                               and                   in                 different                  currents

   but                        together                      we                       flow                           as

        one              

Galway

Canals cut through the streets flowing into the large river that breaks the city in two.  Swans collect in packs in the harbor and boats sit in mud when the tide is low.  Young people with piercings and skateboards roam the streets, among hippies with dread locks and baggy colorful clothing.  The usual Irish men with their traditional wool caps drink a Guinness in the pub.  The pedestrian road, Merchant Street, is lined with shops and constantly busy with people.  Wonderwall being played by a busker fades away as the drumming from another musician starts to be heard. The open-air market sits outside of the church in the main part of town where merchants sell handmade wool sweaters, woodcarvings, jewelry, hippie clothing, paintings, and fresh produce.  Indian food can be smelled from food trucks as one walks through the market.  A food truck reads “Food for Peace” in which an Irish man serves only vegetarian food among his Hindu decorations. Wooden barrels full of olives and cheese sit next to a sign reading “the only bison in Ireland” at one stand.  When night falls Merchant Street surprisingly gets even busier as what is probably mostly out-of-towners flock to the pubs.  A fire dancer waves her fire around to the beat of a drummer that sits behind her.  You cannot walk three feet without being stamped for free entrance and a drink to some nightclub. It’s mad, but the city is beautiful; we are in Galway.

People of Cork

Inside Currach Boatbuilders two builders stop to talk while
cleaning up for the day.  The man on the left told
me they build mostly for individuals.

Three of the builders talk next to finished vessels after a days work.

The English Market is an upscale permanent food market.
Among butchers, bakers, and cheese makers sits this fish stall.

The front man at Bresnans Victuallers, a family butcher in the
English Market, walks over to help interested customers who
stand out of frame.

I noticed this man a few days before I took this picture.  He
stands on a small street using nothing but his powerful voice
singing Irish songs to attract the attention of passerby's.

This nun waits by a bus stop.  "I hope I didn't break your
camera," she adds after I take the picture.

City Living

Cars whiz by, buildings outnumber trees, and concrete replaces grass.  People barely acknowledge you as you walk by and giving a friendly greeting is usually ignored.  The more I live in the city here in Ireland I find myself become more irritable and more easy to be caught up in drama.  Trivial things become necessary to keep my attention and it takes a conscious effort to remember that its all about having fun.

At home I surround myself with people who are caring and thoughtful.  I can walk outside and immediately be in the grass, and trees tower over the streets.  I am easily at peace, centered in my own mind and spirit.  It becomes more and more clear to me that we are affected by our surroundings.  The fast pace life of city living, where the exchange of currency takes precedence over almost everything reinforces a nature within us that is obsessed with possessions and puts more value on things than relationships.  Buying clothing becomes our new meditation. 

When I leave the city and visit small towns like Dingle or Cobh where the blue skies with white puffy clouds create a backdrop for mountains full of green grass I feel at peace.  I am reminded of the grander scale of life and it humbles me.  Simple things like exploring the town or finding a good place to eat become more meaningful as I can once again enjoy the finer things in life.  A plastic, hollow world evokes hollow emotions.  But a world with weight that is connected on every possible scale evokes a fulfillment in the mind and body.