dyfroedd byw

“With what deep murmurs
through time’s silent stealth
Doth thy transparent,
cool and watery wealth
Here flowing fall
And chide and call.”

~ Henry Vaughan, The Waterfall.

waterways

Varied and abiding impressions remain with me, drawn from my experience with the terrain in Wales. Parallel to the element of the land is that of the water. The north coast comprises shoreline, rivers, islands, and mountain waterways. There are as many reminders of home on the Maine coast as there are distinctions uniquely north Welsh. The latter is surely exemplified in the Snowdonia region of mountains, steep hills, and narrow passes.

Llyn Idwal

Intimate spaces and valleys can somehow lend themselves to vastness, due to their proximity to the sea and openness to the skies. The juxtaposed presence of waterways came to mind while hiking the trail along which the Abergwyngregyn falls are reached. Streams and a river trim and traverse the path as it ascends toward two lofty waterfalls. With their sound and spray, falls make themselves known from a distance; at a downward bend in the trail, the presence became suddenly more evident.

Abergwyngregyn

Arriving at the base of the falls, a feast of boulders, crevasses, and cold spray rewarded the navigation. Pools of collected and distributing water reminded me of the tidal basins from my home coves across the Atlantic. From the chilled depth of Aber Falls, I gazed skyward to the heights of the source. Though not quite to the massive scale of larger falls I’ve visited in North America, these waterfalls present common aspects. I was reminded of Montmorency, Niagara, and especially my Appalachian Trail adventures. These living waters attest to an endless persevering continuity. They never run dry. All day and all night; even when we’re all back at our jobs. The moving waters are a constant presence, assuring our finite senses of the emergence of creation from unseen depths. Perhaps it is an incalculable mystery as to how long these rushing waters have been tumbling over the cliffs of Snowdonia.

wonder of tides

Afon Glaslyn

On both sides of the ocean, I am compelled by the same traits of these living waters. One such is the timeless appearance of the forces of nature. Waterways and bodies of water are a constant wonder. Beneath reflective surfaces and still lakes are forceful currents, waves, and rapids. Capable of soothing calmness and devastation, waterways have been a mysterious presence throughout my years. Having lived my whole life near coastlines, going to the water means withdrawing from troubling burdens. Simply looking at sea currents and flowing waters is enough to assure and intrigue all at once. The fluid movements are as temporal as they are eternal. Watching the waterfalls brought to mind how a mortal person, at a fixed time, can bear witness to continuity itself. I wondered about the countless poets, thinkers, and observers through many centuries that stopped to gaze at the same mountain waterfalls that captivated me.

Anglesey, North Wales.
Above: Puffin Island. Below: South Stack.

Living with a connection to the water- especially the Atlantic- has bred a built-in reference point within, through which I relate to my context in the world. Following a couple of months of travels, I found myself at South Stack, in Anglesey, looking westward and thinking of Penobscot Bay, which has matching cliffs to those of northwesternmost Wales. The water’s edge is a demarcation of finitude. These margins are thin boundaries to keep in mind the proximity of physical and spiritual worlds.

held by the source

Nowadays, I look at the ocean, Maine rivers, and nearby cascading falls with the imagery of Wales in mind. In many aspects of life and perspective, a sense of familiarity draws together places and experiences. Beneath the physical features of waterways and shorelines are the concepts of continuity and clarity. But the profoundest unifying factor is dearness to heart.

Above: Looking west toward Maine, in Penmaenmawr, Wales.
Below: Looking east toward Wales, in Cape Elizabeth, Maine.

I’ve described physical features which tie to rich metaphors in the life of thought and spirit. Seeking and continually returning to the water is directly related to going to the wellsprings of trust as though to a lifeline. In a culture that truncates and pushes tasks and spans so closely and immediately, thereby eroding liminal spaces for recollective thought, the limitless sources of creation provide contrasting respite. Vastness, depth, and untamed forces of nature are spellbinding while also wondrously comforting.

Grander than all which has been tabulated and distilled into bulleted points is the compelling mystery of the unknown. My views of waterways are changed. In true pilgrimage fashion, I have re-approached my home with enhanced perspective. Adventures cultivate a deepening supply of insights and comparisons. Awe-inspiring sights and experiences help to soothe undetectable personal progress. Waterways and their constancy evoke timelessness. They maintain their forms and forces, while turbulence occurs inland, away from shores and riverbanks. It is as though bodies of water speak timelessly to the rapidity of the passage of time. Fluidity may imply changeability- even instability- yet an individual soul may decide to be equally pliant. “Loosen the grip,” I thought, while immersing my hands and self into the cold waters. The moving currents cannot be grasped; infinite flows through the finite. Like our ephemeral slices of time, the living waters become our possession by our participation and our reverence.

_____
* dyfroedd byw, means living waters.

noddfa

“He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High
shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say of the Lord,
He is my refuge.”

~ Psalm 91

Following a week of exploring, visiting, and joining inherited history with the present in the Bangor region, I enjoyed some reflective time a short distance eastward. Penmaenmawr, a small coastal town, is also in the Snowdonia region of North Wales. Between the high terrain concealing many of the region’s old slate quarries and above the east-west sandy shores of Llanfairfechan, Penmaenmawr, and Dwygyfylchi is the Noddfa community. In permanent residence at Noddfa are the Sisters of the Sacred Heart of Mary. The sisters extend a heartfelt ministry to the public, with their spacious Victorian house and its terraced grounds, for retreats. The word “noddfa” (pronounced nodth-va) is Welsh for “place of refuge,” or “haven.”

The composite experience of living for a week among the community of residents and retreatants, combined with peaceful environs and verdant landscape, provided the setting for a blessed sojourn. To be able to reflect within a larger journey proved to be a great way to consciously savor each day’s offering of moments. It was also an opportunity to simplify my paces before travelling south for the subsequent couple of weeks’ adventures. The repose provided spans for quiet gratitude at the center of an astonishing and dreamlike time.

Over the years, reflective respite time has become a vital ingredient in my life’s progress. Finding time to slow my steps, even from necessary employment, has become increasingly vital. And the striving efforts intertwine with the contemplative stops. Beneath representative résumés recording job responsibilities and service are parallel counterforms narrated in years of my written journals.

Penmaenmawr







Canopied sidewalks provide shelter for rainproof strolls.

For this journey through Wales to be as much exploration as contemplative sojourn, I had planned my stay at Noddfa long in advance. The idea was for the retreat to be somewhere in the middle of these travels. This helped me to leisurely appreciate and retain the many fresh impressions that accompany visiting new places. Viewing the whole of life as pilgrimage, times of unguarded repose allow me to ponder concerns other than the usual survival matters gratefully interrupted. Rather than escapism, retreats are momentary leaps from indefinite conveyors. Healthful contrasts have taught me much over the years about the kinds of solitude that promote creativity and perspective. Employment trials become seasons between the retreats, so that the intermissions seem less occasional as brief seasons punctuated between tribulations. A balance struck among contexts often smoothens the terrain, soothing and spicing the old quotidian. Curiously enough, the respite times often lead to a willingness to return to the fray, similar conversely to the cravings for peaceful solitude during stretches of constant work. Blending together the apparent opposites together is a thirst for holiness, for clarity of mind, and for meaning, is a comprising desire to serve well with my abilities and resources. And such thirst is what sends me out and away to places of tranquility and rejuvenating simplicity. There are landscapes to survey, both exterior and interior. Another motivating factor is my clear memory of previous retreats. Recollections become a cherished library. Aftertastes from a personal history of pilgrimage travels have layered into depths of recollections that in themselves inspire.

The Noddfa experience combines the essentials for a contemplative retreat. The generously proportioned house, which serves both monastic and retreat purposes, had been built in 1860 for Murray Gladstone- a cousin of Prime Minister William Ewart Gladstone. After its life as a family retreat for the Gladstones in the 19th century, the house became a convent- later evolving into a combination of both convent and retreat house. The grounds are on a slope between ocean and mountainous terrain, and the Noddfa house is amidst gardens, trails, and woods. The Sisters’ welcoming warmth is sensed throughout Noddfa, and the mansion-like house has an assuringly cozy, unpretentiously practical, and relaxed ambiance. Fellow retreatants blend into the cordial hushed tones of the place, and two fortunate cats make themselves very much at home on the first floor. All present share meals together in the enormous dining room, and a portion of the house has been made into a chapel for community prayers and Mass.

The amiable and completely undemanding environment is ideal for me. My preferred retreats have always been the “unguided” variety. The Holy Spirit is what ultimately gives life, and this can be really sensed in a peaceful environment that is free of anxiousness. At Noddfa, I found the house and its immediate grounds equally as fascinating as the nearby villages and the mountainous seaside landscape. My neighbors were as encouraging as the beautifully inviting green paths. At numerous perches, both outdoors and indoors (during rain storms), I made many occasions to write- greatly appreciative of such unfettered space and time. My notes came to the subject of refuge- noddfa- of shelter. It may well be that shelter is sought to be away from distracting noise, worries about status, sustenance, past regrets, and future prospects. But it is equally a refuge into times and settings that allow for an enjoyment of sights, tastes, and interactions that are life-giving. And from the sheltering refuge is an entrance into, rather than an exit from, the horizons that call. Indeed, the paths of Noddfa merge with the Conwy Old Road, through Penmaenmawr, and to the wide skied open seas.

In Noddfa.