Why I Came to Ireland

I now empathized with the wretched, green Grinch when his heart swells three, or as the Irish say, “tr-hee,” times its original size as he stands triumphant on top of Mount Krumpet. Ironically, my epiphany occurred not on a mountain, but within the depths of an ancient tomb. Engulfed by loud silence and gentle breaths, my heart expanded as my eyes trailed the thin, moving light within the tomb. Surrounded by my classmates and the ceaseless labor of my ancestors, every freckle and pore of my pale skin absorbed air rich in knowledge and moisture. Though my nostrils yearned for the crisp, light air of the luscious, rolling hills behind Newgrange, my stubborn mind decidedly ignored them in order to appease my eager soul.

As the bus pulled into the visitors’ lot at Newgrange, I thought I was at a botanical garden, not an ancient tomb. But after a stroll along a lattice-covered walkway, an expedient tour of the museum, and a stomach-wrenching bus ride down a narrow country road, I stood facing an immense mound of earth covered in stone. Following the excited tour guide, I clambered up the hill, regretting my early morning decision to don skimpy black ballet flats instead of boots. Thinking back, the skirt wasn’t my best choice, either. Regardless, I eventually found myself adjacent to the tomb, marvelling at both the structure and the picturesque countryside extending far past the tomb in every direction. After the tour guide gave a brief overview of the known facts about the site, my classmates andA I crawled down a narrow passageway to the center of the tomb. It was there that we were immersed in darkness and shown the path of sunlight that would occur each year at the winter equinox. As the dainty light fell upon the damp rock and travelled its way across the time, I wondered how such a simple civilization managed to accomplish such a feat.
  
As cliché as it may sound, this is what I live to do. Standing in near-darkness in a 5,000 year old tomb, I was overwhelmed by love and appreciation for my field of study, art history. I finally understood why my professors have claimed that art history can’t be studied from books. How can mere words and a grainy image possible compare to full immersion in the place? Simply put: it can’t.

The rocks on the side of the tomb are all indigenous