The Week That Ended In Liverpool: New Family, New People, and an Old Friend
The end of this evolutionary week began with the beyond-rational desire to buy a pro-spec camera.
This had been a long time coming, actually. I’d worked myself into a frenzy with research, as your average enthusiast-but-still-laymen-photographer does.
Two weeks prior, I’d left my old mirrorless camera in the restroom of a McDonald’s in Stockholm. That’s a sentence worth its weight in OMG-ness, right? The camera was lost to me in five minutes.
As luck would have it, my brain loves to latch onto things to the point of obsession. It’s a life-long problem, and yet a problem that has proven to be one of my biggest motivators. I’ve taken risks, put myself out there despite crippling fear, and strived with my best effort.
Ohhhh but today was definitely one of those “misplaced energy” days. I didn’t know that at the time, for I was letting all that energy flow into the conviction that I needed a pro-spec camera (here’s the funny thing: all of the photos you’ll see here were taken with my smartphone at the time, and they’re actually not half-bad).
The stupendous Royal Liver Building and the rest of Pier Head silhouetted amid the morning light.
At the time, my misplaced energy overshadowed the insatiable (and more rational) joy I had for visiting Liverpool, once again, since the previous Summer. The best thing about today—no, it wasn’t the possible camera-purchase—would be seeing a great friend of mine. She had taken the train, a three-hour one-way, just to see me.
There’s this strong “something” that connects us. Born of intense rapport, both wonderful and difficult, I can’t quite describe it. But “something” like this is surely beyond meaningful and deep, when a description for such a thing is elusive.
Liverpool Parish Church against an old crow’s nest within the brisk air.
It was a cold, pure, beautiful morning. Clouds rose in the sky, regal against the blue. Thoughts of last Summer in Liverpool hovered in memory as I began my trek toward the camera store I’d located within Liverpool One, the giant outdoor shopping center in the downtown area. The prospect of a new camera eventually overtook the joy of being back here. In the moment of searching, the possibility of a purchase was the singular thought.
I had wanted to come away from that store with a purchase—a fantastic new device with which to share the world as an extension of myself. But as I sauntered through the compact place, chatted with the staff and, finally, had a conversation about the fact that a good camera does not make a good photographer, I pushed back my desire. Eventually I left camera-less. You see, at the time I had been planning on moving to New York City to live with my then-girlfriend after my contract ended. In the end I needed that money in my savings. But the conversation also helped me look at my smartphone with a deeper understanding. Honestly, it took pretty good pictures.
Pixel quality, of course, suffered whenever I zoomed in. Inconsistency with the HDR (definitely wanted that HDR on) would drop as well. So I developed the habit of treating the phone like a fixed lens…but here and there, it was nice to frame something that needed to be framed.
Similarly, a cropped photo like this one proved better quality overall with details, compared to my previous tools. There was also the sheer number of pixels with which my backup pocket camera could not compete.
Inconsistency with the HDR rendered the smartphone a “hit-or-miss” if I took only one picture of a certain scene. Other than that, I had grown used to it even now. It was a good tool.
This smartphone camera was far ahead of the pocket-digital camera I used on my 1st and 2nd contracts. Photos from that camera are found in my Edinburgh Sunshine and Autumn in Istanbul blogs. All other photos were taken with the smartphone. But here I am writing a paragraph that sounds too much like a disclosure statement—ok, back to the story!
I stepped out of the store. I was much lighter. And as such, I was swept up by Liverpool. I was unable to stop thinking about my friend’s arrival. In an instant there were bigger and better things all around me, sweeping me along for the ride.
St. Geroge’s Hall, across from Lime Street Station.
This powerful statue of young Queen Victoria stands to greet all visitors of St. George’s Hall.
I rushed in the tide toward Lime Street Station, meeting Rebecca at some time that dissipated out of importance to reveal our all-encompassing bond. We started talking immediately. We never stopped. Being ourselves was effortless as we walked through this epitome of a walkable city. The connection was unquestionable, and indestructible, emanating from the depths of the most fulfilling aspects of consciousness; that part of consciousness that is capable of connecting one’s self not only to people, but to everything. With Rebecca at my side, Liverpool was a new place all over again.
I was ludicrously happy.
The Metropolitan Cathedral of Christ the King, a stupendous church of modern design, completed in 1968. The journey from its conception to what you see today took almost 150 years
Liverpool Cathedral, just down the street from its modernly-designed sibling. This church also took decades to build, but its completion was 1978.
In looking back at the last week, it had certainly began like an epic tale of adventure. In the beginning there was Dublin, Ireland. My eagerness ran rampant upon return to this equally lovely, walkable city, full of nature and packed with history of both the ages of civilization and human resilience.
In the presence of one of Dublin’s icons, the Campanile of Trinity College.
The first day in Dublin was made by people, too. They were all too keen to welcome their distant American family member…. There’s a concoction of curiosity, elation, and grounding one feels when meeting family members for the first time, and it’s all wrapped together with elation. So I was met with the daughters of my great-grandfather’s sister, their children, and their children’s children. There was so much talk, and food, and question-asking. So much, in fact, that I never felt the chance nor the need to take pictures with them.
The day went too fast. And I didn’t want to leave. The home in Clontarf felt like my home. The ship was almost an imposter, too foreign an idea…. But, I’ll never forget that day. It was so much to meet so many people at once, but there was a much stronger feeling at play—a constant sense of belonging with strangers, borne of that constant knowledge of inherent connection.
This connection spoke of something beyond the definition of travel I knew. When I went to explore Dublin on the second day, the gentle summer air was friendlier; the food was tastier, the sights were more breathtaking, the people were more dynamic, and the history of Dublin was mightier. My perception basked in the glow of that connection. I strode forth, invigorated by the family gathering to discover as much as I possibly could in Dublin. From the Book of Kells (photos were not allowed) to Christchurch Cathedral, and all districts in between, I roamed far, wide, and then some.
The Long Room, a sight that knocked me backward at its first impression. The thrall of human knowledge and potential was unbelievable…. Completed in 1732, The library of Trinity College is especially vast, but the Long Room holds the oldest books—200,000 of them.
The Long Room also holds the stunning, legendary Book of Kells, which was viewed in parts downstairs.
The main courtyard of Trinity College.
The bridge leading to the synod of Christchurch Cathedral, whose history stretches into the Medieval era.
The extraordinary interior of the cathedral.
St. Patrick’s Cathedral, the largest church in Ireland, basking in the sun. Both this cathedral and Christchurch are within walking distance of each other, and are historically partner-cathedrals for the Church of Ireland.
St. Patrick’s Cathedral is only a few min away from Christchurch by foot.
The base of the colossal Spire of Dublin, marking the central downtown area maximally. It’s too easy to perceive its point as always lost in the clouds.
Exchequer St, one of several within the center of it all….
All of the history rocketed at me, clear as the sun piercing through the clouds. It was especially powerful because of everything about which my family and I had discussed.
The boundaries of my curiosity could not be contained. My family was more than happy to satisfy it. There was a most significant fact: my great-grand-uncles were probably involved in the 1916 Easter Rising, working with the resistance against the British. I felt all of this more powerfully than I can possibly say.
From the center of the rotunda of Dublin City Hall.
One of the four great statues in the rotunda is of Daniel O’Connell, also known as “The Liberator.” He was one of the first great Irish nationalist leaders.
The River Liffey, over which the Samuel Beckett Bridge traverses, probably the most well-known modern landmark in Dublin.
Nevertheless, Dublin and my family were only the beginning. A few days later, I found myself wandering Holyhead, Wales, on a day that was unusually warm, and brilliant.
The guy with his arms in the air? That’s my good friend Ian Hartley; he was trying to get my attention as I took the photo!
The downtown area is as pretty, small, and peaceful as any quintessential “picturesque-village” is. This is where I had a late-morning beer (which is “normal” for some in the UK) at a fine little pub with some of my good friends.
Eventually we met the locals, with all their accumulated social-magic. We chatted and laughed over solid ale. I ended up talking to what seemed like your average elderly Welsh man—with the brown sport coat, cap, slacks, and loafers to boot—except he started talking about how he worked on cruise ships decades ago as a singer. After leaving ships, he made good money for his family for the next thirty-five years by performing as a drag queen.
No; I’m dead serious. A drag queen. And this man was the last person I expected to tell me he used to sing on cruise ships before quitting to go back to land and support his family by doing a weekly drag-show. Man, that was one of the coolest conversations I’ve ever had.
There was more. Always, there was more. The temptation beguiled me, and the pressure of it stood on me. After some time I had to say farewell. But as in Dublin, the meeting of new people and their lasting impact gave me a never-ending fuel. Dublin became more there after I had met my family. The same was true now, thanks to a former drag-queen! So I left the pub for a long, long walk. My goal was Holyhead Mountain. Its image hadn’t left my mind since the morning.
This great bastion of looming rock arrested my imagination. My overall wanderlust crescendoed into rushing brightness. Aided by the earlier times with friends old and new, everything about this day was now more than its own reality.
The sunshine was too good. Clouds came and went underneath the smile of the sun upon the land, which seemed to rejoice endlessly for this rare bounty. The lush green glistened almost blindingly, edges supernova-white in the Sun.
Nature had its own music. I felt the need to listen. Everything was so alluring that its music was unavoidable. And inexorable.
The clouds, the searing-white sun, and the vast green all made music together. Here, a primordial essence began to bloom. Whatever veil existing between Nature and Heaven was thinning.
Now, as the steep path began in earnest, the music of man swam in my mind: Brad Mehldau’s Highway Rider, one of my favorite albums of all time. This is a journey, through music, in and of itself. There was an urge to suffuse it with the music of nature. One titanic ensemble, made from the mortal, the primordial, and the immortal just beyond the veil….
The great emotional power of the music came to represent the peaks and ridges and natural perfection all around. The natural perfection, all around, came to represent the ups and downs of the great emotional power of the music.
And my consciousness must have crossed that eternal veil. That’s because the moments in time lost their momentum, enough for me to know all details. This level of clarity, so ironically, obscured reality.
The divine, as inherent to the natural world, is a recurring concept among spiritual traditions. In Hinduism, within every person, and every thing, is God, or Brahman. Atman is the pure, perfect essence of one’s deepest Self, which is also part of Brahman. Similarly in Judaism, God is understood as inherent in everything, as well as cosmic and eternal. Through communion with God, one begins to know how God resonates via the Holy Spirit’s omnipresent energy. So, through transcendental experiences, one glimpses that essence of divinity deep within, breaking past their normal perceptions via their normal senses, and past their normal emotions, ideals, and attachments of everyday life.
With the help of music both mortal and immortal, I glimpsed past that veil, to the immortal divinity within myself…. Connection to all was inevitable. The concept of “interbeing” is known through experiences like these—as in becoming a part of everything. One could say that divine, primordial energy—the same energy that could be seen as the Holy Spirit, Praktiri, or any other energy source labeled by spiritual traditions—exists in the form of vibrations. What is music, but vibrations into which we can tap to feel something indescribable? Music and this divine, primordial, eternal energy are related…. And so I knew that relation on this day in Holyhead.
On the hike back to the ship, the vibrations continued. The pulse of nature near and far, still blending with otherworldly entities, held all the fullness of divinity and my limitless contentment.
The journey back to the town center was timeless. No pressure for time; no pressure for deadlines. These concepts had no meaning. Contentment, limitless through connection, was all I knew.
So let’s talk about that elderly former drag-queen again—why not?! I did ponder him much as I made my way back to the ship. His impact on the day was still fresh. I certainly carried that impact with me into the hike, and the music…. I concluded his role was just as immense, and maybe more; for as significant and glorious the sights can be, travel is about the people, too. I owe my experiences of interbeing to them, too.
Thus here I was, at the end of the week in Liverpool, immersed with glorious sights made better by this lovely human at my side with whom I shared all of my immediate thoughts and feelings—a level of connection that is source-less, effortless, and infinitely known. It just is. We just were, interbeing, in Liverpool. Everything was shining in her company. The magnitude of our connection even seemed to transcend who we are as individuals.
The River Mersey hosts some unique icons along its banks.
This is the other side of the river from that same spot.
When the afternoon finally started waning, Rebecca and I made our way to the train station. We were in no hurry. We sat at a coffee place, still chatting, still engaged, still natural, still effortless. Had the many hours really lasted for as long as we’d known? Had we noticed the many hours swiftly, deftly moving by? Was time an issue? Did it exist? Why does time exist for people who connect like the last pieces of a puzzle?
Reluctancy weighed heavier and heavier on us. We stared, knowingly. I stood, as did she. We stared some more, codifying all that had been done and said. We embraced. I wished her the very best. I could not say when I might see her again. We joked and riffed about that as well, surely to lighten the burden of our parting—but also because we were able to joke about goodbyes until we meet again.
I turned at the great arched threshold to look Rebecca’s way. She knew I would look. Her deep blue eyes were there for me. She smiled. Involuntarily I did, too. Then…I had to meet the dread of the inevitable. I walked through the open threshold as if the air would solidify and hold me back....
And I made my way out to this scene, with the memory of our day like rocket fuel shooting me to the heavens.
Lime Street Station, and the exit through which I went.
My awareness expanded far beyond my senses. There I was: permeating everything. Spread and draped over Liverpool, I might as well have been the dense gray clouds settling like the softest bedsheets. There I was: permeating everything, tapping into the divine energy within to become the divine energy everywhere….
I was traveling for the first time, I could swear it. Just like my first travel experiences, it was all wonderfully overwhelming, and the joy was almost painful.
This moment in time was when the music of The Brian Blade Fellowship roared out to me, charging forth as Apollo does in the blinding light. There were two pieces I needed to hear from the heavily acclaimed album Landmarks. Sounds of satisfaction. Of resolution. Sounds so singable that they come out of the body without effort, and echo in the mind bereft of conscious thought. Sounds inherent in the deep breaths we take to be at peace. At this moment, these sounds were my truth, and in my core.
So I went, utterly, fully aware of all beyond my normal perception. I went, utterly, fully aware of that which I had had today, and in Holyhead the day before, and in Dublin, with my family. I went weaving through downtown Liverpool with music as my angel and the history pulsing around me like a slumbering deity who may awaken at any moment to give me the wisdom of centuries and millennia.
Throughout the entire day, I had dug deep into my awareness in order to realize the present, and there it was; and I was in the middle of it, unabashedly and intensely happy because ultimately, the magic in life comes from, and is a product of, the depths of our hearts and minds.
One last gigantic portrait of the Royal Liver Building before boarding the ship.
And hey!!! I mean…I had to take this.
And so this perspective-evolving week came to a close. The precedent was set: I had learned, finally, that more often than not, travel isn’t just the landmarks and the places…nor capturing them in pictures. Rebecca made Liverpool better than itself alone. The former-drag queen made Holyhead better than itself alone. My distant relatives in Dublin made Dublin better than itself alone. Of course! People define travel, too.
My love of travel, discovery, and life had become sluggish in recent weeks. Now it was moving freer and fresher than ever before, and I boarded the ship wiser and fuller.
About The Music
“The Week That Ended In Liverpool” has a sound construed from the atmosphere of a happy ending; a final scene; the credits are rolling and we leave feeling full of satisfaction. It also has melancholy notes to it, to symbolize that which does not want to be ended so soon. I certainly wanted to stay in Dublin, visiting more with family. I wanted to know the village and the hills of Holyhead more. I wanted to be with Rebecca for however long it took our connection to dim…which may never have happened…. Though the piece has these melancholy, yearning qualities, they are wrapped in the sheer, simple joy of being, brought through interaction with anyone and anything.