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Anam Cara

John O'Donohue , Джон О'Донохью

The crevices where thoughts grow

Long before the longing in the bone

Sends them toward the mind’s eye,

The artistry of the emptiness

That knows to slow the hunger

Of outside things until they weave

Into the twilight side of the heart,

A gaze full of all that is still future

Looking out for us to glimpse

The jeweled light in winter stone,

Quickening the eyes that look at us

To see through to where words

Are blind to say what we would love,

Forever falling softly on our faces,

His gaze plies the soul with light,

Laying down a luminous layer

Beneath our brief and brittle days

Until the appointed dawn comes

Assured and harvest deft

To unravel the last black knot

And we are back home in the house

That we have never left.

Acknowledgments

I tender my gratitude to Martin Downey for his friendship and understanding over long years; Sheila O’Sullivan and Ethel Balfe for their care and companionship; Kim Witherspoon, Alexis Hurley, and all at Inkwell Management; my editor, Trace Murphy, at Random House for his belief in the book and for his courtesy and kindness. Heartfelt appreciation to my great friend Lelia Doolan for reading the text at an early stage and delivering a surgical critique tempered with encouragement; Loretta Roome for her care for the text and her impatience for its ideal form; Wendy Dubit for her careful reading, her warmth of heart, and sharpness of eye; Dr. Gareth Higgins for his critique and his dignified capacity for friendship; Colen Fraser Wishart for the shelter of his monastic soul; Swami Nicholas Roosevelt for all the great voyages; the artist Catherine Clancy, whose spirit and passion open new windows and whose conversations continue to sing in the mind; the poet-farmer Noel Hanlon, whose imagination and love make the world warmer; Professor Laurie Johnson, whose friendship is a treasure; Professor Helen Riess, whose wise and kind presence creates pathways to retrieve what was lost; Caroline and Dan Siegel for our discovery of kinship and affinity; Pat O’Brien for his presence and friendship; David Whyte, my brother at these frontiers; Jacki Lyden for her love and all the doors she opens in the mind; Jennifer Vecchi for her elegant gentleness; Ellen Wingard for the affinity and belonging; Anna Maria Haughian for her love and prayer; Pat Moore for his kindness and seeing. And to the circle of my family that shelters, strengthens, and opens the spirit: P. J. Pat, Mary, Dympna, Eilish, Shane, Katie, Triona, and Peter; to my mother, Josie, whose life and love continue to bless us all.

In memory of Gabriel Joyce, whose wild, clear spirit was always a call to true presence. In memory of John Devitt, who often cast his erudite and elegant eye over my writing. I miss his enriching presence, his passion for beauty, intellect, and refinement of spirit. Never expecting death to come so soon, I am lonesome for all the conversations we never had. And finally, in memory of my lovely uncle Pete, our second father, whose heart loved the mountains and whose voice and passion blessed courage and adventure; and my father, Paddy, the holiest man I ever met. His quiet facility for presence altered space, his gentle eyes always in love with the invisible world.

Certain phrases in the text derive from the following sources:

In the Interim Time: “The old is not old enough to have died away and the young is still too young to be born” is from Gramsci.

In “The Eyes of Jesus”: “Back home in the house that we have never left” is from Meister Eckhart.

For Citizenship: “Turn anger into anxiety” is from James Hillman; Turn anxiety back into anger” is from Robert Bly.

About the Author

JOHN O’DONOHUE is the author of several books, including, most recently, Beauty, and the international bestsellers Anam Cara and Eternal Echoes, as well as two collections of poetry, Echoes of Memory and Conamara Blues. He lives in Ireland and frequently travels to the United States to give lectures and conduct workshops.