The Beauty of Ancient Things

I am fast falling down another rabbit hole. The early days of Catholicism in Ireland, Scotland and England. I happened upon a recording of some ancient Irish chants from the very early Medieval times. They were incredibly haunting and beautiful. 

I read that in the ancient times of Ireland, the Chieftains and then Kings had bards and poets who were part of their retinue and sat as equals at table with the King and his most trusted counselors

The Bards had much power at court. They were the keepers of the great deeds and battles. The singers of the natural beauty of the land so much loved by the Irish. They, in short, were the memory of the people. I find that so beautiful. That poets had such power and carried a nations’ memory within them. 

I suppose we might gaze with rose colored glasses at the Medieval world and pine for the magical qualities of it. And even pine for the misty time before that.

What is it we are pining for? I have often wondered. I think it might be mystery. And because of mystery, a humble view of the world.

They were very much a part of nature. Their homes were pretty much just extensions of the outdoors with roofs on top, and made with mud, straw, and wood – all taken from the world around them.

They observed this natural world so carefully because they depended upon it and were quite literally immersed in it. They discovered medicinal herbs because they walked constantly through fields of them – they pretty much walked everywhere and were on eye level with the world of nature all the time.

They even made paints with the natural world’s bounty: berries, leaves, nuts colors. Even ink was a gift from plants and words were written with a bird’s feather. Their visionary thoughts blended effortlessly with the natural world to create art – the natural world gave voice to their invisible muse – men were not so separate from the whole back then, but an integral part of creation.

They were also quite aware that creation could crush them in an instant. Disease and famine. The elements. That awareness was also a humility – a humility that so effortlessly called out to God in need for his care. A vital and bracing sense of His power and Kingship over them. I would like to feel that. It is hard to feel that in the modern world, whose progress has lulled me into a kind of self sufficiency and safety from the outside world.

Music was something altogether different. It came from within man and entered the world through him. It was a kind of magical thing to them that carried the divine other. The perhaps ‘new thing under the sun’. Poetry and music together were even better. They knew instinctively that great deeds and the grandeur of their natural surroundings must be sung. It’s an intriguing thought. 

Modern science came along and started to explain things. Medicine has made great strides in protecting us from harm. Mathematics can explain the physical properties of music. I am glad for these things. For they too in their way are filled with wonder if approached correctly. 

But something undefinable is lost when everything is explained away like that. The Medieval model is changed forever now. Except for the music. We can explain physical properties and ratios etc. but we cannot explain how music moves the soul. THAT is still a mystery. 

So, then music and poetry are my connection to the mystery – my reaching into the ancient times and longing for them as something lost amidst the progress. There is something there reaching back when I hear these ancient chants. Singing softly – don’t forget the mystery. The unexplainable things. The things that tell you there is so much more beyond the veil. 

We would do well to travel, and often, through the mists, to the ancient wisdom. I have always come home with treasure from my journeys.