Years ago, renowned Irish sculptor Oisin Kelly hand‐cast his interpretation of the Tree of Life.
His artwork hung in my mother’s den for years.
Its recent re‐discovery offers new meaning in a life battered by Big Change.
In Kelly’s detail work, I spy more than a simplistic image of the Garden of Eden story.
I see a strong center, rising in bands up from the ground, each aiming skyward in search of new air.
I count the threads of strength — four — and find my favorite number. Is there a message here?
I find a solid base, anchored deep in the earth but not buried there. Holding there for a strong foundation from which to rise.
In these branches, I see possibility. Make that possibilities.
I discover multiple limbs stretching out and up, seeking further growth.
I count bud after bud of either leaves or acorns, I do not know. Maybe some scarabs (of the mystical Egyptian kind?
I spot finger‐like growths stretching past boundaries, hungry for something new.
Curious about the sculptor’s artistic life, I discover (thank you, Wikipedia) where he’s cited in “Glanmore Sonnet” by Seamus Heaney:
“These things are not secrets but mysteries
Oisin Kelly told me years ago
In Belfast, hankering after stone
That connived with the chisel, as if the grain
Remembered what the mallet tapped to know.”
I read these words and know instantly why I was drawn to this Tree of Life.
The message comes as clear as Kelly chiseling the stone that became his creation above: take a six‐week sabbatical from RoadBroads.
After weeks of intense, unending work, it’s time to chisel out the final mysteries of my sister’s life and estate. These revelations promise critical conclusions, both of which demand my focused time and energy.
Thus, I return to this blog in late February.
Call it a different kind of birthday present.
What better blog return than the day your life finishes its annual solar return?
In six Sundays, I’ll write here again.
That’s the day after Leap Day.