Loving the exquisite ache

Statue of St Kevin and the blackbird at Knock

I recently came across the beautiful Celtic story of St Kevin and the Blackbird.

When St Kevin prayed in his hut with arms outstretched, the room was so small that he had to put one arm through the window. One day, while praying in this manner, a blackbird came, landed on his palm and started to build a nest. St Kevin did not want to disturb the new life that was taking shape in his hand and remained in that position until the little blackbirds were hatched, raised and ready to fly away.

Christine Valters-Paintner reflected on the story in the following poem

St. Kevin and the Blackbird

(after Seamus Heaney)

Imagine being like Kevin,

your grasping fist softens,

fingers uncurl and

palms open, rest upward,

and the blackbird

weaves twigs and straw and bits of string

in the begging bowl of your hand,

you feel the delicate weight of

speckled blue orbs descend,

and her feathered warmth

settling in for a while.

How many days can you stay,

open,

waiting

for the shell

to fissure and crack,

awaiting the slow emergence

of tiny gaping mouths

and slick wings

that need time to strengthen?

Are you willing to wait and watch?

To not withdraw your

affections too soon?

Can you fall in love with the

exquisite ache in your arms

knowing the hatching it holds?

Can you stay not knowing

how broad those wings will

become, or how they will fly

awkwardly at first,

then soar above you

until you have become the sky

and all that remains is 

your tiny shadow

swooping across the earth.

A number of lines from the poem keep mulling around in my head:

• How many days can you stay open
• Are you willing to wait and watch
• Can you fall in love with the exquisite ache in your arms
• Can you stay not knowing

As an artist and a craftsman one of my biggest challenges after all these years is to yield to the material I am working with. On those occasions when I truly listen to the wood, clay, stone or steel I can be certain of the fact that something truly beautiful will emerge. Something much larger than me. When, on the other hand, I try to force my will and ideas onto that with which I am working, the result often appears stunted and preconceived. It lacks spontaneity and creativity.

If this is true in the workshop, then even more so in living my life. I set goals, structure my days and act. The unannounced that wasn’t on my agenda or part of my original planning is frustrating and highly bothersome. I am no St Kevin, no sir. I turn my palm to let the irritating twigs and string fall on the ground and with my hand quickly drawn back through the window I open the door to step into my days. 

My attitude is summed up fairly well in these quotations:

What screws us up most in life is the picture in our head of how it is supposed to be. 

                                                                                   ~ J. Cole

... I had mistaken her for an interruption.

                                                                                   ~ Gregory Boyle

Too often I miss the gift in the unexpected, the nuisance, the interruption, the unpleasant.

“Can you fall in love with the exquisite ache in your arms?”

Part of that falling in love might be reading an old Celtic story.

George