Clare Mulvany 23/02/2023 Clare Mulvany 23/02/2023

Grief and Gift

Spring is attendant to spring itself. After a long sojourn in winter’s dark, first the budding, now the bloom. The daffodils seem early this year, but I have been saying that for some seasons now, as time and arrivals are being re-ordered, rearranged. Weeks seem to shuffle and certain openings jump the queue.

I haven’t know how to begin this post, for how does one learn to begin again? With every new beginning there are fumblings and fallings. But as ever, we start by taking the first step, or writing the first words, however imperfect. Where it leads, it doesn’t matter, for momentum leads us to follow with the next.

I thought I had started, of course, back into a busy university teaching schedule and my facilitation world; the noise and joy of that. But then, BOOM. Life offered perhaps the greatest rearrangement of all, death, and grief has entered into my bones to shake and remould the very shape of me.

You see, just under two weeks ago (as it only been that long?), one of my dearest, most beloved, most cherished soul friends, passed away. She was my mentor, my guide, my anam cara, my soul companion, who I thought I would be walking along the creative path with for many years to come. But life and death did their own shuffling, and now our path has shifted. Her, in my heart now, pounding it to life, to love, in an ever deepening spiral of opening and gratitude. I want to write about her one day, and sing of her vast and glorious depths, but that will come. For now her passing has blown me right open, and into that chasm I dance and cry and paint and move and laugh and surrender. Grief is teaching me to step into it like a precious gift, unwrapping the layers, finding gems, even finding the parts of myself I had jettisoned to the abandoned corners of my heart. Even in her dying, she is giving.

And through all of that, spring is still attendant to spring. I pick daffodils from my back garden, and bring them to her grave. The birds chatter, busy building nests. My tears move to mist, move to rain, move to ocean. Through the mist, an emergent rainbow. Everything becomes something else. I take a step closer. It is a movement towards. Towards what, I do not know, but towards. She always pointed me there. I am here to follow.

**Hello. I'm Clare**

I'm a writer, educator and facilitator, living in beautiful West Cork, Ireland. I love to share resources and learning to help harness the regenerative power of words, place and story. I hope my work offers nourishment for mind and soul. Thank you for being here. Clare x

New Writing Workshops

One Day workshops in West Cork.

Live a New Story (May 27th) and Writing Wild (June 24th) are coming to Schull! Bookings via Arran Street East.

Clare Mulvany 21/12/2022 Clare Mulvany 21/12/2022

Wreath of Foraged Ritual

The ground had turned crisp and the hedgerow glittering with its own deep wintering. Into the early morning cold, our breaths made whispering shapes. Siobhan and I had made a foraging date to collect greenery to make some wreaths. It is something she does every year, and this year, she invited me along.

Siobhan is a very busy director of an Irish non-profit. Lots of our conversations circle the topics of strategy, fundraising, leadership, values and the constant challenge of trying to run social organisations. I learn lots and am constantly inspired by her drive and dedication. But on this morning there was going to be a different form of circling, and already it felt like those topics, somehow softening in this steady, wintery ground, could wait.

‘First you must find the right Sally’, explained Siobhan. Sally, or willow, is the perfect malleable branch for twisting and shaping into the wreath frame. Among these West Cork hedgerows it is abundant, and each of us carefully snipped a few rods to make some rings- enough, but not enough to impact the overall growth of the tree. Getting the balance right is the currency of the forage. I say ‘thank you’ aloud to the willow as I take my share.

Next, a few metres up the road, we find the long stands of evergreen ivy, which we will use later to wrap around the sally rings. Like verdant strings, the ivy will bring a reminder of the eternal cycle of life, and of the nearing Spring green, soon to bud. The ivy is in berry too, in brilliant bursts of inky black. A few pods of them will bring texture and seasonal colour to the wreath. ‘Thank you’, I say to the ivy.

And so our wintery forage morning goes, noticing the glistening in the trees, hearing the crunch of frost under foot, noticing the rising and falling of our misty breaths, aware of the robins and the wrens. Thank you to the moss. Thank you to the holly.

Soon our bags are overflowing, our hands near frosted themselves. So we sit in the car, sipping hot coffee from my flask, and tucking in to some cinnamon rolls Siobhan had made the previous evening. ‘Peak life’, I joke. It is a phase I use when I’m having one of those moments- those simple moments which no money can by, the kind of the wealth which hold both the ethereal and eternal in a joyous dance, ‘It doesn’t really get better than this, does it’, I turn to Siobhan laughing. It really is the simple things.

I think it might be a function of getting older, but the older I get, the less I care about things and the more I care about time; the less I care about presents, the more I care about presence. Here in the crisp and clear, was the gift of both time and presence; which felt like the very essence of the nature of a gift itself. ‘Yes, peak life’, says Siobhan, and we laugh.

…

Back home that afternoon it was time to make the wreaths. As I laid all the greenery and berries on the back patio, a little robin joins me. I throw him some seed, and a few of the red berries, and he sticks around, his companionship both comfort and delight. He is watching my every move, waiting, I imagine, for a wandering berry. But I wonder if he is somehow in on the ritual, sensing the gift of it too.

The first circle is the trickiest. I find a pliable rod, shaping it into a loop, then a ring. It pops out a few times, until I get the tension and the torc just right, and secure that first circle with twine. As I do, I wonder how long this tradition of wreath-making has hold. The circle of the wreath represents the cyclical nature of time. With no beginning and no end, one season falls into the next, and the next. Here in the midst of winter is also summer and spring, just a spin away in the great arc of time. And so we are offered metaphorical forage too; as chance befalls us, so too will change. In the depth of our own dark, is the seeds of the light. The circle can always spin.

After the first ring, everything else is weave. The ivy wraps, the moss is tucked in the gaps, the ivy berries give structure and depth. I decide to make three wreaths, two with berries as their headlines, one with heather and some garden herbs. Colour themes start to emerge and I notice more detail: the silvered backs of the rosemary and sage. I prick my finger on some holly. The smell of dried fennel seeds stirs something culinary inside me. My senses are alive. Yes, this is presence. When I am finished, I throw a few extra berries to robin, then find some lengths of ribbon in my Christmas decoration box, make a final bow for each. I hang one of my front door, one on my back door, and the other wreath is for a neighbour. Across the threshold, the foraged wreath- symbolic of cyclical time, makes an announcement each time I now open the door: the real gifts is in the ritual, in the making, in the presence. As I close the door behind me, my senses come alive.

Siobhan and I already know we have a date next year. She’ll bring the buns, I’ll bring the coffee, nature will bring the magic. Hopefully robin will stick around too. It may seem far away now, but spin the circle in the great arc of time, and we’ll be there in just the snip of a few seasons, which, of course, the circle always knew.

Available Now

**An Intentional Year**

Focus on what matters most, and create an intentional 2023. Guidebook and an Intentional Year course now available

08/07/2016 08/07/2016

Creative Islanders: Miceal Murray

The Creative Islanders is a blog series showcasing creative and social entrepreneurs and practitioners in Ireland who are stepping into their dreams, purpose and passions and choosing to do 'business as unusual' while being based in Ireland. The series aims to be a 'behind the scenes' look into their creative practices, process, motivations and mindsets, shining light of what makes people tick, and how, collectively Ireland is alive with creative possibility.Next up in the series is Miceal Murray, a forager and cook who has recently founded ‘Taking A Leaf’, a new business running creative food events with a focus on wild and local foods. Inspired by the celtic cycles, Miceal has created a series of seasonal dining experiences and coupling them with music and art. With over 25 years in the cafe and restaurant business it was time for him to step onto his own path, combining his passion for sustainable enterprise with his love of nature and the wild. Miceal is also a Thrive School participant. And so with great pleasure I hand over to his lovely and kind self…What keeps you in Ireland?What keeps me in Ireland is the sense of home I get from here. It's in my bones. Being from the country the connection is strongest felt from the landscape and the wild. And it is specifically the Irish landscape and whatever magic emanates from it. It seems to hold a mystery and a richness that I can’t find elsewhere. Obviously there is beauty all over the world but I find something else here; something hard to put into words. It is a distillation of many things, history, stories, art, music and memory. And of course my husband, family and friends.What makes you tick? What motivates you?A deep and heartfelt desire to live more in tune with the natural rhythms of nature and self, and to express these in a creative and meaningful way. It is also the desire to live in a way that is more connected to nature in an urban setting.Why do you do what you do?I think that part of me might shrivel up and die if I didn't. It keeps me vital.What do you do just for the love of it?Discovering new things, be it music, food, books, magazines or places. Plus, jumping over a wall or crawling under a hedge to get to a new patch of land.What does the creative process teach you?Be open to change. I can visualise an idea or concept but to actualise it I must be open to change. Ideas can change or they can grow into something completely new, or they can be shelved and returned to at a more appropriate time.What were some of the key moments along your own journey that helped you to get where you are today?I learned so much from a wonderful lady called Judith Hoad. She is a teacher, healer and author and she introduced me to so many plants and explained their medicinal and edible properties. She inspired me to think differently.Where do you find inspiration? Any hidden gems?Inspiration comes from all sorts of places. I recently watched a film called "Juliette of the Herbs" it stayed with me for days, as did "Embrace of the Serpent". Although the content doesn’t directly inspire me the magic of the characters involved does. But you can’t beat a good walk to get you out and get the juices flowing.How do you get through tough times? What sustains you?It is pretty simple really: get outside and walk the dogs.What key lessons have your learned about doing business or being a creative practitioner along the way?It is strengthening to know that everything changes and nothing is constant. Whatever you are going through, whether good or bad, it will come to an end and change into something else.Do you have a morning routine? Ideally I like to do an early Astanga class. It really sets my day up and I am more determined to get on and get stuff done. I have an on/ off relationship with meditation but this too helps. But most of all walking the dogs first thing through the very wild Liffey Valley park gets me going. What books have inspired you?The Global Forest by Diana Beresford KrogerWhat advice do you wish you had received as you were stepping onto your own creative path?Make lists. And then make more lists.Be kind to yourself if mistakes are made. I am learning all the time and am very new at this game so I have a long way to go and many mistakes to make.And what advice would you give to your future self?Work less, garden more.What is coming up next for you?On the 13th of August I am completing a cycle of dinners inspired by and connecting with the ancient celtic festivals. So this time it will be Lughnasa and the beginning of harvest. Simple local food with foraged elements. After that I will be collaborating with the composer Hilary Mullaney to create an immersive dining experience. Also a series of walks to get people out and introduce them to some plants.