Travel back in time as Kathleen weaves together tales of her own Anam Cara Journey. From
Iowa to Oregon to Ireland – and lifetimes past and present – what emerges is a blueprint for all wise women seeking a deeper experience of self, the other and community.
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My anam cara journey began in earnest when I was first introduced to the goddess by a man well into his 60s – my ministry school mentor and Bible teacher. “You ask so many questions that you won’t find answered in the Bible,” he said. “You need to research the goddess and pagan religions.”
Although I had considered myself a feminist since receiving my first subscription to Ms.
Magazine in 1974, I was clueless about what came before the patriarchal religions. Riane
Eisler’s groundbreaking book, The Chalice & the Blade, ushered in a mind-blowing and heartopening concept of the long-ago partnership society based on gender equality, not superiority of one sex and suppression of the other. Something deep inside of me popped open as I came face to face with a longing and desire that I could not previously identify. It was a longing for freedom.
But from what? A deep desire to decide what I wanted in life. But what did I want? A yearning to live my aliveness. But what does it mean to be alive?
Sometimes I felt like my soul was so full of questions, I was ready to explode. While my consciousness was expanding, the feelings around the questions would mostly – and sadly – force my soul to implode. When would what was hidden there be free? What would it take to break through the surface of safety and security, to lean into vulnerability, not to avoid it?
How would my world be different if I lived my aliveness in a culture that valued having
“power with” instead of “power over?” Could my soul be reborn, allowing me to thrive and flourish in a world that works for us all? Where is the lost, forgotten or dormant part of me that already knows the answers?
Eventually, the answer arrived in the flash of a single moment. Freshly out of ministry school in 1996 I was reading an article that referred to John O'Donohue, the Irish writer and theologian. “Nice Irish name,” I thought; my mother – Mary Kathleen Connolly McKern – would be impressed. But what impressed me was the Gaelic term anam cara, translated to mean
“soul friend.” I bolted upright. “That’s it,” I thought, “the purpose and name of my ministry!”
Curious about the pronunciation and wanting to be accurate, I phoned the local Irish Cultural
Society. The fellow who returned my call said that the proper pronunciation is AWN-um
CAR-uh and added that in the Irish language, the accent is almost always on the first syllable.
That tidbit of information gave me a measure of confidence in what would be the first of many journeys to Ireland, the Celtic isle of my ancestors. It is the birth place of anam cara and the place where I conceived The Anam Cara Journey. Not only would I find the answers to my soul questions; I would help dozens of women reclaim lost parts of their souls, ultimately coming home to themselves.
A year later, John O’Donohue’s ANAM CARA: A Book of Celtic Wisdom was published and became an international bestseller. It became my Irish bible. On lucky page 13, John writes:
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In the Celtic tradition, there is a beautiful understanding of love and friendship. One of the fascinating ideas here is the idea of soul-love; the old Gaelic term for this is anam cara. Anam is the Gaelic word for soul and cara is the word for friend.
What might a community based on soul friendship be like?
Years ago, my husband and I explored the idea of living in an intentional community. Each month, we met with a lovely group of families for a potluck dinner and fireside chat. With the soft hum of children playing in the background, we adults shared intimately about our desire to connect, to share, to co-create. My husband was ready to commit to this lifestyle, but something held me back. After much soul searching I realized that I first needed to know how to live in soulful community with myself, then with my new husband and his two young children, and eventually with a wider community. Just as Gaelic puts the accent on the first syllable, I needed to put my soul’s evolution first. Only then could I expand my awareness and become socially intimate with others. This was the first stirring of life that would eventually birth the anam cara women’s circles and the “soul book” you are now holding.
Soon after reading Anam Cara, I met with my mentor and proudly announced that I am an
anam cara: someone who will help others connect with their soul by being a companion to them for a designated period of time. It could involve helping them through a crisis, or exploring the geography of a landmark birthday, or even reclaiming their aliveness.
He liked the term, and felt it right for me, but he suggested I use another – something not so obscure and hard to pronounce. I left feeling deflated and a wee bit discouraged. “Okay,” I thought, ‘anam cara’ might not be the name of a ministry, but it can be the name of a circle of women I mentor.”
In 1997, I extended an invitation to the women who had regularly attended the moon ceremonies I'd launched in 1995. They were the ones with whom I felt a soul connection in sensing their attraction to my Celtic spirit. They understood the term anam cara, the concept of soul friendship.
The idea of a nine-month journey seemed like a wonderful connection with the Divine
Feminine and the universal gestation period necessary before birth. But it also aligned with how the academic year has always resonated with me. Every September, I want to buy new pencils and a fresh notebook, and then launch into a new phase of research, discovery and learning. Plus, I like summers off. (As you will see, though, The Anam Cara Journey can start at
any time of year.)
Soon, seven anam caras gathered monthly on Monday evenings. Between meetings, each woman would have a private mentoring session with me. Together, we'd explore her aliveness and aspirations, eventually reclaiming and birthing an aspect of her soul that had been dormant. I am forever grateful for their patience, candor and occasional kicks in the butt. I was flying by
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the seat of my pants, yet knowing that something from deep within my soul was taking root – something I would eventually share with the world.
In the spring of 1998, as an outcome of the first anam cara journey, I created a nonprofit religious organization called Heart & Soul Ministries. At least, that’s what the outer world thought it was called. The original file folder still holds the label that says “Anam Cara, A
Gathering of Soul Friends.” Every Friday evening, we'd meet to celebrate the soul through ritual and ceremony, drumming and chanting, meditation and dialogue, music and play. We considered ourselves interfaith, honoring all religions and spiritual practices that share the belief in Oneness, the idea that we are connected to all sentient beings.
We hummed along for a few years, but the community never quite connected the way I'd imagined – most likely due to my overly open spirit. We were so alternative and eclectic, there wasn’t anything tangible to grasp onto. We also tended to attract spiritual rebels who were disgruntled by traditional church and seeking something more acceptable to their restless spirits. That meant I also became an occasional target for those with religious wounds. The more time I spent trying to please people, the further and further I was taken from the anam
cara vision.
But during this time, 1998-2002, I would also visit Ireland for the first time, and return alone for a month-long pilgrimage of the soul that lead to the first of many sacred site tours. That first visit, though, is what solidified my calling to the anam cara.
On a clear, crisp autumn morning in 1998, I was herded with a small group of tourists into
Newgrange, an ancient ritual site in Ireland. It was the first anniversary of my mother’s death.
Her only regret before dying was that she, Mary Kathleen Connolly McKern, had never journeyed to Ireland. I vowed to go for her someday and take something of her with me. In my pocket on that auspicious day was a treasured lock of her snowy white hair, which I intended to release in her honor. Little did I know that this symbolic gesture would ultimately introduce me to my own anam cara spirit at Newgrange.
Newgrange is an ancient ritual site – more than 5,000 years old! - located in the lush Boyne
Valley, about an hour’s drive north of Dublin. It is best known for a phenomenon that occurs every year, precisely at the Winter Solstice. A few days before and days after December 21, sunlight penetrates the 62 foot passageway and illuminates the air-tight central chamber.
Standing guard at the entrance is a massive kerb stone. Etched into it is the rare marking of a triple spiral design.
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I felt drawn into the leftmost spiral, which was somewhat larger than the others. But my eyes were having difficulty following its path, and before I knew it, I was already traveling the curve into the center of the second, lower spiral. I started feeling a bit dizzy – even more so when I realized my eyes had moved up from the second to the third spiral. Again, my eyes traveled the deep grooves, returning to the first spiral, back into the second and third, and back to the first again. And again. And again. Although my body appeared to be stationary, my soul was circling and circling, around and around, spiraling through time and space.
Called back to reality by our guide, I ascended the steps just below the small roof box that would serve as entrance to the Winter Sun. I stepped inside. Still feeling the motion of the triple spiral, I knew I was walking on hallowed ground, re-tracing the footsteps of ancient people who were deeply connected to the rhythms of Nature. Newgrange predates the Celts, the builders of Stonehenge and even the creators of the pyramids in Egypt. Silently I prayed to the spirits for permission to be there. I felt a rush of relief and peace, a feeling of being at home.
The central chamber is very small and surrounded by three smaller alcoves. I felt drawn to the one at the “top” of the chamber, the one that receives the direct light at Winter Solstice.
Hidden inside was another triple spiral. There was a force of familiarity that both startled and comforted me. Our guide, Claire, began to share information about the three chambers, pointing out the floor plan’s similarity to the Christian cross.
Three side-chambers or recesses open out of the main chamber to the left (west), right (east) and straight ahead
(north), so the whole tomb has the shape of a cross with a very elongated shaft, the passage being the shaft and the three recesses the arms and head. It need hardly be emphasized that this cross or cruciform shape was built
more than 3000 years before the birth of Christ.
©Claire O’Kelly, Concise Guide to Newgrange
Chills ran through me when she identified the top chamber as the likely burial site of a
Neolithic priest, or, as the guide whispered, “…priestssss.” My body began to tremble and tears began to well up. Soon Claire turned off the lights in order to simulate a prehistoric winter morning. Then, very slowly and gently, using the modern forces of electricity, the light began to bounce off the side walls and eventually illuminate the central tomb. My tears were nonstop now. Were they tears of joy? Of remembrance? Or fear?
One day I would learn that they were all three: joy, remembrance and fear – tears of many
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lifetimes merging with this one, beckoning me to come home to my anam cara spirit.
Upon exiting the tomb, I released the lock of Mom’s hair. I could hear her soft laughter in the brisk Irish winds that late October morning. It seemed as if a chapter of my life had closed – and another, opened.
After we returned home the thoughts of what had awakened in me were nagging at my mind and spirit. I needed to return, alone, which I did in May of 2000. I spent a month seeking and discovering various tenets of Celtic Spirituality, both Christian and pagan.
Home base for my month-long pilgrimage of the soul was a rustic pagan community nestled in the wilds of rural County Cork. (Note that “pagan” simply means “country dweller,” someone without a formal religion.) Early on, my host, Bev – a wild and witchy man with a heart of gold – invited me to attend the first ever Pagan Federation Conference at An
Creaghin, near Omagh in Northern Ireland.
We arrived safely after a frantic, six hour drive with Bev at the wheel of my mid-sized rental car. Keep in mind that the Irish drive on the opposite side of the road than we do in the U.S.
The driver's seat is on the opposite side as well. Sitting in the passenger seat felt way out of place – this, on top of jet lag!
We dined on bread, butter, cheese and fruit in a cozy cottage as people dropped by to say hello. There was a young couple with a baby who wanted to raise their child “close to the earth.” I met a 60-something Druid who had lived in the woods for several years, alone but for the nature spirits. A man who creates with wood and leather gifted me a little book of Celtic blessings. There was a business woman from Dublin, still in her work suit and heels. It was an amazing cross section of people, all gathered to explore and celebrate the pagan spirit.
The three-day conference started a half hour late, without an opening ceremony or keynote speaker. Various workshops covered topics such as ceremonies for rites of passage, extraterrestrial goddesses, Celtic shamanism, crop circles, ritual tools and organized religion.
Between these sessions and lunch, we were to gather outside at Beaghmore Stone Circle for an elaborate ritual, complete with costumes and memorized scripts.
Light, gentle rain had continued all morning, which triggered a lengthy discussion about the pros and cons of doing the ceremony outside. Some thought we would ruin the grass. Some thought it would be too uncomfortable. My host, Bev – annoying to some, yet seen as a wise elder by most – was committed to being outside. I thought it wise of him to suggest we pray to the rain spirits, asking them to kindly allow us time for ceremony.
The rain subsided – and did not resume until just after we were finished.
(Since then, I have always used this prayer practice on my Ireland tours, asking for kindness from the nature spirits, always with great success!)
We began the ceremony by making two lines, each person facing another, then each pair
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joining hands to create an archway. The High Priest and High Priestess, in elaborate costumes, entered first. We all followed behind, holding hands while walking slowly to a solitary drumbeat.
As we entered the ancient circle of stones, my tears began to flow again, just as they had at
Newgrange. Through this deep sense of belonging and profound connection to the elements,
I felt something ancient emerging from within. It wasn’t what was happening around me. It was what was happening through me.
The ritual was highly organized and formatted, and filled with music and drama. (It was also a surprise performance for twenty or so tourists who watched us from a hillside!) We were anointed with healing waters, then encouraged to leave something of ourselves inside the circle. I plucked a hair and gave it to the spirits of Beaghmore. I recall a deep sense of peace as I headed back inside for lunch.
That afternoon, I enjoyed a talk on the goddess given by Ricki, whom I had earlier sized up as the business woman from Dublin. She was now dressed in flowing attire, looking very much a goddess. She invited us to share our experiences of opening to the Divine Feminine.
One woman, who identified herself as both Christian and Pagan, spoke eloquently about
Mother Mary as a goddess. This both shocked and surprised me, and I felt like there was an opening for me to finally speak. I raised my hand as I slowly rose from what I thought would be the invisible safety of the back row.
I introduced myself as a minister from the States. I let everyone know that I was not Catholic, nor from Ireland, nor necessarily pagan – yet I immediately felt included. I shared my growing realization that Mary was an expression of the Divine Feminine, not a mindless puppet chosen to give birth to the messiah, and as a virgin, no less! The chuckles that rose when I said this gave support to my supposition and boosted my confidence.
I bravely shared my thoughts on the blending of Christian and pagan traditions, pointing out that I was pleased to hear Mary referred to as a goddess. Another woman, a Canadian immigrant to Ireland, agreed. She said she felt a more acceptable blend of Christian and pagan in Ireland than in her native country. Similarly, in Ireland I felt no judgment or negativity like I sometimes do in the States. I shared that some pagan friends at home say I'm too Christian, while Christian friends don't even broach the subject, let alone hear my take on the rich blending of two powerful expressions of the Divine.
Ricki sought me out after her workshop and excitedly recommended a book, Mary Condren's
The Serpent and the Goddess: Women, Religion & Power. She vanished for a few minutes and returned with the book, placing it in my hands. I thought it was a loan, but she insisted that it was a gift. Over the next few days I devoured it, excited by and grateful for the light it shed on the Irish evolution of pagan to Christian, and back to a blended form of paganism. I understood that time is a continuum – and that We Are One, regardless of religion.
Late that afternoon, a Celtic Shaman talked about divination, the art of perception by intuition. He urged us to go by our own experiences. “In other words,” he said,
“do not necessarily accept that a certain tree is healing for you just because a book said so.
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Have your OWN experience of the tree.” He also urged us to “listen to the story of the land.”
Later, he led us in a shamanic journey to the Beaghmore Stone Circle. He advised us to not talk about our meditation for at least three days. This would give it time to gestate and take root, and would avoid impressions that could alter the original message.
(My meditation inside the stone circle was of being surrounded by three women: maiden, mother, crone. I was squatting as they held me up. I gave birth this way, a blend of pain and power - power with life giving, not power over through life taking.)
The rest of my pilgrimage unfolded beautifully. I was initiated as priestess at a Beltane Fire on the night of April 30. I visited centuries-old cathedrals, sometimes singing aloud to the ancient graves. An art community invited me to a fire ceremony celebrating a significant planetary alignment. When the circle was cast I was asked to speak for one of the four directions and felt very honored to do so.
At one point I spent two nights at a renovated school house, which was now a rustic yet elegant B&B. The owner, a devout Catholic woman, was fascinated by my reason for being in
Ireland. She said she had the perfect book for me to read.
She returned with her well read copy of Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom. I told her how much I loved the book, assuring her that I had already read it. She kept insisting that I borrow it, while I kept politely declining.
That evening, I went for a walk and returned to find the book neatly placed on my bed pillow.
This was a little more than coincidence, so I decided to reread some of it. I was up for hours, once again devouring every sentence. It was thrilling to be reading about the anam cara spirit while in Ireland!
After hearing the stories and observations from my pilgrimage, people at home began to ask if I might lead a tour some day. A spiritual friend offered to assist, and together, we designed and led my first sacred site tour in Spring 2002. Two years later, I co-led a tour with a minister friend who had years of experience in leading tours all over the world. Two years after that, I was a solo leader for the first time.
My third tour group left the U.S. on April 24, 2006. It was my mother’s birthday. It was also the day after my last day as minister of a church. I was in a fragile state of mind – seriously burnt out, confused, and depleted on many levels. Despite this, the tour unfolded beautifully.
As a friend in County Clare often says, “Ireland has a way of gettin’ into ye.”
Yet after sending the group off to the airport for their trip home, I returned to my Dublin hotel and promptly burst into tears. I was lost, confused and in a daze. I had no idea what my next step would be in the bigger picture of my life and ministry. All I knew was that I had a bus ticket to Glendalough, where I would go on retreat for three days. Their website claimed it was “a remarkable place that will still your mind, inspire your heart and fill your soul.” Mind, heart and soul; what an enticing triple spiral of possibility, I recall thinking!
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Glendalough is a sixth century monastery nestled in the glacial valleys of the Wicklow
Mountains south of Dublin. Its literal meaning is “valley of two lakes.” I stayed in one of five self-catering cillins (the Irish word for hermitage) for a glorious three nights. My cillin’s name related to the Holy Trinity. Was this another triple spiral connection?
I shared prayer time every morning and evening with Sister Kathleen and a Catholic laywoman from Dublin. We bonded in a deep and joyful way. Each morning, they coached me on where to roam that day. Each evening, they asked about my day, wanting to know what I had seen, felt and heard, both around me and within. I felt my soul awaken in a new way, softer and very familiar.
Feeling slightly brighter and lighter, I said my farewells and caught a westbound train to
Galway. I recall feeling carried in a non-linear kind of way. From the Galway train station, I took a bus to the ferry docks where I began a journey to Inis Mor, the largest of the three tiny
Aran Islands hovering off the west coast of Ireland. I reflected on what it meant to be carried
– my recent journeys by bus, train and now ferry; and how we are all carried for nine months within the safety of our mothers’ wombs.
Inis Mor is home to dozens of ancient monuments and early Christian ruins. It’s mostly made up of barren limestone rock and small green fields surrounded by stone walls. Locals are fond of saying that the island is nine miles by three miles, and has 10,000 miles of rock walls.
Whether fact or fiction, it’s obvious that rocks and stones are too many to count.
Over the next five days, I walked the little island, wept and slept, wrote in my journal, ate, colored Celtic knots and re-read ANAM CARA: A Book of Celtic Wisdom. Ever so slowly I began to re-connect with my own anam cara spirit.
Inspired by John O’Donohue’s words, “The senses are generous pathways that can bring you home,” I decided to create my own retreat. The five senses became the focus, one for each day there, concluding with the sense of touch. As with the other senses, I stopped throughout the day to ponder what it felt like to touch a leaf, a stone, a stray cat or even my own face. And, as this last day came to a close, I took myself to the water’s edge to say my goodbyes – to the sky, the Atlantic, the wildlife and the stones. Enjoying a picnic dinner with no other human in sight, I savored all my senses on this mild May evening. How can there be so many colors of green, so
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many shades of gray, so many, many rocks? I marveled. I began to pray aloud, asking that the greater meaning of this retreat – and the next expression of my ministry – be revealed to me.
What now, God, what now? John O’Donohue’s reference to rocks came to mind: “Stone is the
tabernacle of memory.”
I gazed at the shoreline. The tide was out and had left behind millions, perhaps billions, of rocks and stones. I kept getting the urge to go in search of a special stone, but instead I sat.
The urge grew stronger, and still I resisted. My suitcase was too full already! But, like the waves and the tides, the urge kept returning, stronger and louder each time. Finally, I stood and walked out toward the water.
It wasn't easy, traversing the rocky beach. The stones were of all shapes and sizes, some wet and slippery. Yet I walked so far that when I looked behind, I could barely see my picnic spot.
Not a living soul was in view. It was just me, the Irish landscape and the occasional calling of a cuckoo bird.
At one point I looked down and noticed a stone that was lighter in color than most others, nearly white. I wondered if this was the stone I was to seek and find. I picked it up and first noticed its smoothness. When I turned it over, I saw something that made me gasp.
At first glance, I thought I saw a spiral. On closer inspection, I saw an image that was made up of concentric circles – three, leading into the tiny dot in the center. It looked like a target of some sort. Did I find the stone, or did it find me?
Standing upright, rock in hand, I raised my fist to the sky and said, “Okay, God, this isn’t funny. What do you want me to do with this?”
I blessed the stone, thanked the ground that held it, and returned to my picnic spot. It was the perfect ending to a perfect retreat. There were lots of questions stirring in my soul, and, in that moment, no answers. But that would soon change.
The next day, I took the ferry back to Galway and the train back to Dublin. I was again aware of the sensation of being carried, only now I was carrying something myself. Something precious that I did not yet understand.
Upon arrival in Dublin I treated myself to an elegant dinner – a solitary event, yet my table felt full of Irish spirits. I thought of the stone with its concentric circles. I thought of the
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stone at Newgrange with its triple spiral. I thought of the stone circle at Beaghmore. Three connections to stones were about to reveal something to me.






I took out a piece of paper and drew a primitive triple spiral. I started thinking in terms of three.
 A noun is defined as a person, place or thing.
States of matter are solid, liquid, gas.
Water can be ice, liquid or vapor.
First trinity: Maiden – Mother – Crone
 Second Trinity: Father – Son – Holy Spirit
 Third Trinity: Above – Below – Within
 In numerology, 3 is the number of creativity.
 In magic, 3 is the number that binds.
 Hinduism: "Tri-murti" godhead consisting of Brahma, Vishnu and Siva.
Ancient Ireland ruled by Triarchies: Bards, Ovates and Druids
Ancient Scotland organized the tides – 8 per day, each lasting 3 hours
Independence – Dependence – Interdependence
 Peace – War – Unity


Sun, Moon and Stars
Yes, No, Maybe
My mind was joyfully churning while pondering so many ways we resonate with the Number
Three, especially the blueprint provided by Mother Nature. A pregnancy is divided into three trimesters, I thought. Upon deeper reflection, I wondered about resurrecting the idea of an
anam cara circle of women, traveling together a nine month journey into the teachings of the triple spiral.
Somewhere, many years ago, I read that the spiral was the oldest marking on a cave wall. Not a circle or box or even a dot, but a spiral.
The ancient ones knew that life is neither linear nor finite. Life is a continuum through time and space. How did they know we live in a spiral galaxy? My guess is that they could see it in the heavens, under the darkness of the new moon – a night sky without contrails, satellites or city lights. The ancients likely saw the spiral pattern in
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nature – in a seashell, patterns in rivers, smoke swirling above a sacred fire, even in their finger prints. Through their spiral art work, perhaps they were leaving us a message about the life/death/rebirth nature of all things: that life isn’t start-to-finish but a spiral journey. I recalled O’Donohue’s words, “The Celtic mind was never drawn to the single line. (It)…had a wonderful respect for the mystery of the circle and the spiral.”
More than 5,000 years ago, the architects of Newgrange carved massive spiral designs into stones, including the repetitive use of the triple spiral. Suddenly, patterns of thought came rushing into my mind.
 The first spiral would represent the ability to stand alone, with courage. Within that first spiral, we’d explore our arrivals, aliveness and aspirations.
 The second spiral would be about co-creating, interacting with the other. It would hold the meaning of visibility, vulnerability and viability.
 The third spiral would be about community, reaching out to a group. The supporting words would be renew, reveal and rebirth.
The three spirals/trimesters would lead us to the number four, representing the stage of our being. I would help my anam cara sisters reclaim an archetype that had been present since birth but sitting dormant and unclaimed. (See the introductory material on “Tools” for more information on archetypes.) In our tenth month, we will have re-claiming ceremonies, celebrating the long-awaited integration of an aspect of our soul.
This is what had unfolded for me in claiming the archetype of priestess at the Beltane fires in
Ireland on April 30, 2000. How I wish there had been an Anam Cara Journey program for me as I explored the archetype of priestess!
It takes a great deal of courage to stand alone in one’s authentic power. The trick is remembering that the ability to stand alone doesn’t mean we are alone, nor do we have to be lonely. It’s remembering our roots, deeply embedded in Mother Earth, rising up through our bodies and connecting with Father Sky. We then draw down blessings from above, simultaneously drawing up blessings from below. When the illusions of opposites connect in the heart, it is there that we courageously stand in our authentic power.
Creation is not and cannot be a solitary act. There is power in one, but it takes two to create.
When we enter the second spiral, we are tossed into waters that require us to give and take, to listen and to speak, to move and be still. In other words, the second spiral takes us out of our comfort zone by engaging “the other.” At risk are a sense of duality and the illusion of separateness. The opportunity, however, is to grow in consciousness in the presence of another.
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As the first spiral delivers us into the second spiral, the second moves us into the third. There we open to community – true community, not pseudo-community. Community must emerge. To be in harmonious community, we must remember to stand in the courage of our individual roots, while remembering to enroll the other as comrade, an ally, the anam cara.
With this blueprint in hand and my copious notes, in September 2006, I called together the first group of women wanting to explore the teachings of the triple spiral. I can still picture each woman’s altar at the claiming ceremony nine months later and her confidence in naming and claiming a lost part of herself. Another circle formed the following September.
Just a month into this second journey, I had the opportunity to hear John O’Donohue speak at Trinity Episcopal Church in Northwest Portland. It was late October 2007. I felt giddy, like
I was going to see a rock star or some other celebrity.
Yet I had to chuckle to myself when he advised us not to seek gurus or dabble with self-help books. “Read the mystics,” John declared. “They had no hopes or dreams of being a published author, or being on the Oprah Winfrey Show. They wrote because they had to write.
They had something to say that originated in their souls.”
The following day, I was among fifty or so people attending John’s all-day workshop. Ever the eager student, I plopped myself down in the front row. We explored the various trinities in our own lives. We each wrote a love letter to our heart. We were encouraged to remember the first sound we ever heard: the heartbeat of our mother as we formed in her womb. We were challenged to remember the first time we saw our mother's face. It was all about hearts and mothers.
Right before we split up to work on our letters, I had a moment alone with John. “Thanks for the assignment,” I said, “Today marks 'ten years and a day' since the death of my mother,
Mary Kathleen Connolly McKern.”
“Oh, Jeeeeeesus!!!” he excitedly replied.
Once we regrouped for sharing, I was the first to raise my hand. John nodded at me to speak.
Trembling, and a little unsure of myself, I said, “The first heartbeat I heard was not my mother's.” John gave me an inquisitive look, then a nod to continue. “The first heartbeat I heard was that of my grandmother when I was an egg forming inside my mother when she was forming inside of my grandmother.” This definitely captured John's interest. He leaned closer. My confidence grew.
“Today,” I continued, “I discovered a Sacred Trinity of feminine heart beats. I am Kathleen
Marie, my mother was Mary Kathleen and her mother was Katherine Mae.” I could see John's heavenward-eyes exclaiming, "Oh, Jeeeeesus!” I kept on: “I did not have children, so I wonder what will become of this Trinity when I pass? I pose that as a question to ponder, not one to
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be answered, just yet.” John shifted his gaze and then his papers and suddenly leaned on the lectern as his Irish eyes penetrated my soul.
He asked, “Are you a writer?” I nodded. He nodded back. Then he said to the group, “Some day we'll read her writings and think, 'We heard Kathleen first! At Trinity Church in Portland,
Oregon!!!'” He then thanked me profusely for sharing and encouraged me to keep writing.
I sat down and began to weep from a place of tenderness in my heart and a knowing in my soul. It was like coming home to my true self. Then a woman from the back spoke into the hand microphone. “Kathleen,” she said, “I was one of your students in a class that changed my life. Your heartbeat continues to touch the hearts of many.” I stood up and recognized her from a world religions class I had taught for the Mature Learning department at a local community college. She continued to speak glowingly about my work in the world. A little bit embarrassed, and with some angst about taking up too much time, all I could do was give her a little Buddhist kind of bow, which she returned. “Oh, Jeeeesus,” said John. “When the bowing starts you know something important is happening!!!”
At the end of the day, John spoke of his next private retreat in Ireland for an intimate group of anam caras. It would begin April 29, just three days after my 2008 tour concluded. It would be held in Ballyvaughan, the sweet little village in County Clare that I jokingly say will be my home some day. I felt a strong calling to go, but first I had to write a letter of intent, which I did that very night.
October 27, 2007
Autumn Greetings,
Today it has been ten years and a day since my mother’s passing. I spent the day with you, John, at the Awakening Heart workshop held at Trinity Church in
Portland, Oregon. Together we explored the geography of our mother’s hearts and faces, recalling the first sound we heard —the heartbeat of the mother. The first heartbeat I heard was that of my mother’s mother. The egg that became me formed inside my mother when she was a fetus forming inside of her mother. Through this awareness, a sacred trinity was revealed…
I am Kathleen Marie…
I am the daughter of Mary Kathleen..
I am the granddaughter of Katherine Mae…
As I shared this idea with you and the group, I posed the question: Since I did not birth children, what becomes of this sacred trinity when I cross the veils? I cherish the spark in your eye and the catch in your breath as you saw me, heard me, and understo od me. “Just be with the question,” you advised.
And so I am, dwelling in those delicious waters, awaiting yet another revelation of God in the form of a sacred trinity.
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As we both know, a trinity is not a static, solid thing. It is continually in motion — as am I, as is this body, as is all of life. The motion that is calling me is to join you in Ballyvaughan for the April 29-May 9, 2008 retreat. As I sit in my home office, I gaze fondly upon a miniature road sign that says “Ballyvaughan,
27km.”
It’s a daily reminder of the beauty of the West of Ireland that so deeply stirs my heart, and beckons me home —again and again and again. As I often say in prayer —I am Alive, I am Awake, I am the Holy One, I am the Presence of the
Living Christ. The words are, I be lieve, an echo of God’s glorious voice, whispering softly into my ear, “Welcome home, welcome home.” That home is within, as I know God dwells in my heart and in the heart of humanity.
After sharing many of my travel experiences, people began asking me to take them to Ireland, serving as their guide. This was an astonishing request, one I had to hear dozens of times before I got that it was, in truth, God calling me, and my mother’s spirit reminding me to share my love with others.
I have successfully guided four sacred site tours to Ireland, calling together groups of twenty anam caras, and will lead a fifth tour April 16-26, 2008.
After each pilgrimage I stay on for retreat to nourish my heart and soul
—most often to Inis Mor, one time at Glendalough. It would be a dream come true and a timely journey into my interior landscape, to spend my next retreat time with you and other likespirited “mystic humanoids” at Ballyvaughan.
That month-long solo pilgrimage in 2000 did acquaint the soul of Ireland with my soul. A delicious dance began. Sometimes a waltz, often an exotic tango that you fondly refer to. It is time now for their union. To birth a sacred trinity made up of Ireland, Kathleen and God. I cannot experience this while leading a tour, and serving as someone’s minister. I will not find this in a book, or even at one of your U.S. workshops. I do believe I will discover (re-discover?) this in the Spring of 2008, joining you and others roaming about the West of Ireland. I love the idea of walking about some of the wildest areas of Ireland. Once, many years ago while in meditation, an Old Crone came to me and said: Kathleen, you are trying to give birth quietly and cleanly. Remember, birth is noisy and messy. I welcome the howling wind and the muddy causeways, as much as I welcome the soft sound of the Cuckoo just returned from Africa, and the tenderness of the soft moss beneath my feet.
Before I wrote this letter, I took a beautiful late afternoon walk in search of autumn leaves. This for a talk I will give tomorrow morning at my church, addressing the “shadow.” The colors of autumn that startle our senses are in truth the colors of death. (Am I quoting you???) We do not hesitate to say aloud —Look at this magnificent display of autumn! What would it be like to shout to the world —Look at this magnificent display of death?! These are the juicy realms in which I dwell, and so love about the Celtic spirit. The eternal revolving door of birth/death/rebirth.
For many years my ministry was focused on weddings, helping couples come together into “the gentle nest of belonging.” In my Celtic wedding script, I quote you rather than scripture. Your work has inspired me on so many levels! Since
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leaving the church job, I have returned to ceremony work, now officiating more funerals than weddings. I find deeper meaning in celebrating a life that has transitioned. I also perform baptismal blessings for couples who want a spiritual recognition of their child outside the confines of traditional church. The holy water i s often a mixture of water gathered at St. Brighid’s Well in Kildare and
St. Patrick’s Well near Ballintubber Abbey.
I have a vision of one day co-creating a spiritual community simply called
Church of God in Nature, where we blend tenets of Celtic Spirituality with the teachings of New Thought masters like Emerson, Cady, Holmes and
Goldsmith, along with mystics of the likes of Julian of Norwich. Her description of Jesus as mother is very alive in me!
If we believe that we are truly All One, then I believe there is a One Way for us to share God —and that is through nature, the changing seasons, the Sun, the
Moon and the Stars, and the anam cara, soul friend. No religion or holy man or holy text has ownership of Nature, nor ownership of the soul.
Celebrating the “old ways” with “new thoughts” is, I believe, a fabulous way to help heal our ailing planet. It is my calling, and my destiny to co-create in these realms.
Just now I looked up and gasped when I witnessed the most brilliant sunset. It beckoned me away from the computer and brought me into that real affinity of belonging you speak of. I belong to the sunset, to the autumn leaves, to God.
And they belong to me. As I deepen into Samhain and the death of the harvest,
I plant the seed of knowing that come Spring I will be reborn, again.
Regarding shadow. Recall the 23 rd
Psalm —“…even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death.” Even death has a shadow. Which means in death there is light, because only light can cast a shadow. I want to reconnect with my shadow and my light. I want to see beyond illusion to what is real. I want a deeper relationship with God, discovered through my human senses.
I want…
I hunger…
I desire…
And so it is I mail this letter on Friday, November 2 nd , All Souls Day, and Day of the Dead. In Portland, Oregon today the sky is sunny and the air crisp. So much aliveness in this portal leading us into darkness! In the seasons of the soul, having traveled 56 times around the Sun, I ease into the autumn of my life. I do this with grace, guts and glory, and the anticipation of a resurrected
Spring, with you, in Ireland.
Blessings,
Kathleen McKern Verigin
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I’ll never forget mailing that letter to John. Even more profound was receiving the email saying I'd been accepted into his retreat. John read my letter, heard my calling and then called me himself.
Sadly, our meeting again was not meant to be. Just two months later, John O’Donohue died suddenly in his sleep. I screamed when I read the email bearing this horrific news. I had known at my core that I was destined to be with John at that retreat. How could I have been so wrong? And how could he do this to me, and so many others who valued, respected and yearned for his teachings? Especially his unique and profound observations about the anam cara as the one who helps people walk the path towards death.
I went ahead with my tour, as planned. I stayed on in Ireland, this time with a small group of like-spirited O’Donohue devotees. We shared a thatched roof cottage in Ballyvaughan where
John and his groups had stayed.
We felt his spirit with us as we read his work each morning and night. We walked the same landscapes he spoke of and so generously shared with those lucky to have been on his retreats. Locals were still in shock over John’s sudden death but found some comfort in knowing that some of us were there.
On a clear and windy May 2008 morning, I stood weeping by John’s grave. Through my sorrow I made a vow: “I am a writer, John. I’m writing about my Anam Cara Journey and promise to share it with the world.”
I then took off my precious
Connemara bracelet – one I had been wearing daily for two years – and neatly tucked it into the earth above John’s body. It nestled there neatly among numerous other mementos, trinkets and icons, “in the gentle nest of belonging with my
anam cara.”
September 2008 brought together yet another circle of powerful women, among them one of the anam caras from the original 1996 group. It was helpful to have her witness how the nine month journey had matured – and it was stunning for me to witness her expanded spirit take flight.
That spring I was blessed with a chunk of money from a car accident settlement. I used it to spend a full month in Ireland on my own private writing retreat, again in Ballyvaughan.
By the fall of 2009, each new anam cara received a notebook with chapters and blank spaces for journaling. It was obvious, and a wee bit intimidating, to see that a book was indeed forming. The women were mirrors to my soul as the journey took more twists and turns.
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By September 2010, an expanded notebook was available to the next circle of anam caras. This version had more clarity of direction and purpose. It was artistically formatted by another one of the original anam caras who would also repeat the program, this time in more depth. It was filled with colorful graphics, numerous exercises and generous amounts of white space.
At their initiation ceremony in June, I asked them to sign the front of my notebook. For finally, I had named and claimed the archetype of Writer.
Welcome to your anam cara journey, though it actually began long before you picked up this
“soul book.” The divine idea of you began in the mind of the Creator, who then selected the perfect man and woman who would enter into an ancient act of co-creation and bring you into the world. And you arrived with much more than a torso and limbs, body and brain.
Within you is the blueprint of the spiral galaxy. Within you is the mystery stone with concentric circles, reminding you that soul learning happens from the inside out.
Within is your own anam cara spirit, ready to expand and grow as your roots go deeper and your soul takes flight. You already carry the wisdom of the triple spiral and how it expresses uniquely through you.
And, you know that by devoting nine months of your life to focused spiritual growth, you will emerge with a greater understanding of your own anam cara spirit, the spirit of the other and eventually of community.
Congratulations for entering the journey into the Teachings of the Triple Spiral. Much will be asked of you during the next nine months. But you will not travel this path alone. You will be well supported with this soul book, by your anam caras and by your soul’s longing to be alive and thrive, awake and aware, and as always in the “gentle nest of belonging with your anam cara.”
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