I have been avoiding this story for several days now, but sitting in the shadow of the Kilkenny Castle just seems to feel like now is the time.

One morning, I think it might have been my first morning, the day after I met the old fellas in the pub. That evening had been long and exhausting due to having one too many Jameson while Stephen regaled me of his travels, adventures while in the service and only a small bit of history about “The Troubles”.

This story is about the next morning and I’ve taken this excerpt from my leather bound journal:

“I wandered down the street after my breakfast in awe of the architecture; kind of a permanent state of being for me as of late. I walked past an open iron gate with only a perfunctory glance inside. But after another two steps my feet just stopped. I don’t have any words to describe the powerful feeling that gripped me at that moment, other than to say I was drawn back to the gate.

I stepped across the threshold and inexplicably, my eyes welled with what felt to be a thousand tears. Perhaps one for every year of St. Audoen’s Church’s existence. It was so powerful a feeling of…sorrow (?) mixed with a sense of….comfort (??). Even now, as I write my journal stains with freshly dropped tears. The feeling is a part of me now; one that may never leave my soul.

I wandered through the ancient corridors fighting the force building within for fear I might break down completely. Each time I rounded a corner, however it was as though something in the far recesses of my soul was gently telling me, “It’s OK”. But not ok as in don’t cry, but ok as in “You’re home now”. That’s why I say it was comforting. The feeling echoed what Stephen seemed to have picked up on in the pub the night before.

I have felt so deeply lonely for so, so very long now. Decades I would say. So it was comforting.

I stepped into the outer court yard, well…not a courtyard really, the roof had long since fallen away, but the four walls remained. I let the feeling wash over me for a time, but I still wasn’t prepared to completely let go. Perhaps I’ll get there; hopefully before I go home. It’s clear I’m not there YET because as I sit and write I’m still not ready to let this force take over and let those flood gates open.

I took some photos once I’d regained my composure and stepped back through to the main church. I wandered the garden and finally made my way towards the iron gate that drew me in almost 90 minutes earlier! Upon stepping back through the gateway, the feeling slipped away.

And I was lonely.