Wonder in Ireland

It’s a world class garden, ranked as one of the top five in the world. Yet as I stood by it, trying to take it in, I kept thinking about what a friend had pointed out to me weeks before. Our sense of wonder is so muted. We try to control beauty, with our manicured lawns and tightly trimmed trees. But what about the beauty of the world, unkempt, as it is, or at least, as it’s been?

Don’t get me wrong. The Powerscourt Garden outside of Dublin is magnificent. I enjoyed the blend of art and nature, wandering and reflecting. When I exited, I found my way through a small gate, following a sign for the “River Walk.” Being from San Antonio, I had no choice but to see where it led me.

I walked through the woods, trees tall all around me, until I reached a path that hugged a slowly flowing river. A fox heard my feet on the path and bounded into the brush. Then, I came to three horses, looking over a small fence. I looked back at them, wondering what they thought of me, this strange man with only two legs and a mane on his face.

The horse in the middle looked different from most horses I’d seen. It took me a moment to figure out why. Its belly was swollen. As I looked at its belly, I saw a ripple. Then about 20 seconds later, another one. And then after about a minute, another one. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. This mama horse had a baby in its womb! And the baby was kicking!

I was transfixed. All of a sudden, there was nothing more important in the world than me being present for the birth of this foal. Seconds before, I didn’t even know if baby horses kicked in the womb. I’d never even thought about these horses before, nor had they thought about me. But now, in a single interaction, I had become invested in them.

I went back the next day to see if the horse had given birth. And I went back the day after that, too. But the foal hadn’t come, and I was disappointed. I had to leave Dublin and get back to the States. I didn’t want to miss this moment. How could it happen without me?

And yet, I also knew that of course this would happen without me. That so much in the world happens without any of us. Life goes on and on and on. Sometimes, we get to participate in it.

It’s such a humbling realization, and perhaps one that flies in the face of curating a garden. What do we really design? What do we really control?

Maybe this is what I love about awe and wonder, that it reminds us of our own smallness, not separate from the world, and not in dominance of it – but in relationship with it. These horses may not have felt connected to me, and they might never think of me again. But I felt connected to them, in a way that made my ego feel smaller but my existence feel bigger.