Beauty of Legacy 

I stepped through the doors to see the walls lined with books as the light delicately danced through the windows. The ceiling rose high as the rows of books greeted it with tall ladders leaning against them. Past figure heads of knowledgeable men seemed to guard each section of books as people shuffled by gazing upon the interior of the Trinity College Library. Such wealth of knowledge seemed to bring the room to a feeling of intimidation and awe. The walls a dark wood with the smell of old pages. The books rested on the shelves, but seemed aging with time. The knowledge contained within the showcase library pushed me to think about influence and legacy. Each figurehead represented someone who influenced other people’s patterns of thought. With all the countless pieces of wisdom, I wondered if my writing would ever do the same. Even as I passed by the Book of Kells, I thought about the impact of the scribes interpretation of the gospel. Each drawing representing a story that has long since been written. A depiction of Celtic and monastic understanding that interpreted God’s word in such acute artistic visual detail. A book that has endured many plunders, raids, and even time periods. Now it is wonderously displayed for thousands of people to pass through and view it. An impact the scribes perhaps did not realize they would leave in this world.

The historical adventure continued as we ventured to an exhibition about Yeats and to the archaeological section of the Natural History Museum. The inside of the building captured my attention as ceiling opened up high above me. Pieces of history were stowed behind clear glass as people pressed their noses to see the objects. Items of gold, metal, pottery, weapons, statues, and ancient rocks were on display. It seemed interesting to me the fascination of what was, to understand what is. There was a skeleton of a rather tall Viking on display. Vikings brought such ruin to Villages in Ireland. I wondered how hard life must of been for them to have to fight and plunder in order to survive and conquer. What captured my attention the most were the bog people. Bodies that were excavated from beneath the earth that were preserved within the packed layers of earth. Historians figure that many bodies found in the bog were murdered. It certainly was creepy, but I imagined what their life was like. Their hands seemed to tell its own story of labour and living off the land to survive. We know nothing of their lives, only clues based on objects found around them. I pondered at what point did civilizations forget to pass down pieces of history and understanding of the life they once lived.

After a quick lunch we rushed over to see a play at the Abbey theatre that was witty in nature but tragic in the end. I was entertained by the banter and let my laugh echo across the room, but was shocked by the impact it seemed to leave. I watched as the story unfolded where the main lady let her mind run her mad. The tragic sudden end left me with an empty feeling. As peers exchanged thoughts about the play, I had a sick feeling. The ending brought flashes of images that are all too real. My heart is not desensitized to the understanding of suicide. No one else seemed to be effected though, and I tried to figure out why it seemed to bother just me. We walked along the boardwalk afterwards and I let my thoughts swirl around. I suppose I choose not to be desensitized to death or suicide. Even after watching a play, I could not just quickly recover. I walked quietly until my thoughts turned to the vibrancy of the city of Dublin. I recognize the dark things of this world, but I let my mind focus on the beautiful things. The beautiful things that make life worth living. My only wish is for everyone to see the beautiful things beyond the darkness.

After good conversation over dinner, people mosied back to the hostel. Still stir crazy from my thoughts and the need to be outside, I paced until people wanted to go out again. I was pleasantly surprised to end up in a pub later that fulfilled my dreams of Ireland. The song “Galway Girl” echoed  across the crowded room from a man on guitar and a lady playing an accordion. My heart moved to a feeling of absolute joy. I sang along with the song and tapped my feet. The pub was lively and I was content living in the moment. From the candles in the Jameson whiskey bottles to the different languages being spoken in the room, I let the moment just be. Not thinking of anything past or future, but in the now. For it is the now that shapes the legacy I leave. It is the now that makes life and traveling so beautiful. The more I travel, the more I understand that life is what you make of it. It is in the now moments that I can choose to live completely in, so that I may see the beauty in it. The beauty in the now is what leaves such wonderous legacies.


Bethany Jane


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