NeuroDivine

The Triogue Crown

Along the Triogue Way I walked,
Beneath the autumn sky;
The robin sang from hidden bough,
The jackdaws wheeled on high.
A goldcrest flashed its crown of gold
Among the branches bare;
A little sign of holy grace,
A Presence passing there.

The blackbird poured its liquid song,
The wren its anthem raised;
And dunnock in the hedgerow shade
The God of life still praised.
Beside the stream the mallard called
Across the flowing tide;
While all the living world seemed glad
To flourish at my side.

Then children's voices filled the air
From playgrounds bright with cheer;
Their laughter mingled with the birds
And made one chorus clear.
The young at play, the birds in flight,
Each witness gave that day:
That life moves onward, fresh and strong,
Though some must wait and stay.

Yet onward still my footsteps led
Towards the waiting chair;
Where nearly four long hours would pass
In silence settled there.
But still the goldcrest's crown remained
A light within the heart;
As though Christ walked the Triogue Way
And would not now depart.

While measured pulses marked the hours
And stillness held its reign,
The choir of birds and children sang
Beyond the glass and strain.
And sitting still, I heard them yet,
Those songs from earth and sky;
Proclaiming life beyond the chair,
That love can never die.

Reflection

By the Banks of the Triogue

To walk along the Triogue River in autumn is to enter a world alive with movement and voice. The blackbird pours out its liquid song; the wren raises its sharp, joyful anthem; jackdaws wheel against the sky, and mallards call across the water. For the sensitive, observant soul, this sensory landscape is not background noise—it is a living, breathing choir.

Among the bare branches flashes a tiny spark of gold: the goldcrest. Smallest of all our birds, it darts lightly through the grey hedges, bearing upon its head a vibrant crown.

In Celtic tradition and Benedictine attentiveness, nothing in creation is purely accidental. The goldcrest, with its modest size and hidden beauty, reveals itself as a sign of grace—a miniature, wild Monstrance carrying the Divine Presence into the quiet spaces of our walking. It reminds us that Christ meets us not only in grand sanctuaries, but on riverbanks, under bare trees, and along the ordinary paths we tread each day.

Into the Stillness

Yet the walk along the river does not end at the water’s edge. It leads, as paths so often do in life, towards a very different space: the waiting chair.

To move from the lively air of the riverbank into the sterile stillness of a dialysis room is to experience a profound transition. For nearly four hours, motion gives way to restraint. The natural rhythm of footsteps is replaced by the measured, mechanical pulses marking the passage of time.

For the neurodivergent mind and the weary body, such places of forced stillness can feel heavy, confining, and over-measured. The world outside keeps moving—children laugh on playgrounds, birds remain in flight—while inside, one must sit, wait, and endure.

The Presence That Stays

It is precisely here that the mystery of the Eucharist and the memory of the walk converge.

The grace encountered along the Triogue does not evaporate when the clinic doors close. The goldcrest’s crown—that tiny symbol of Christ’s light and real presence—remains embedded in the heart. It acts as a bridge between the wild freedom of the river and the quiet endurance of the treatment room.

When we sit in the chair, unable to move, we carry the song of the river with us. Beyond the glass, the world continues to praise God; inside the room, that same praise becomes an inner sanctuary. The Christ who walked the river path sits with us in the silence, steadfast and unwilling to depart.

Living Beyond the Chair

To live with long-term illness or to navigate the world through a deeply sensitive mind often means living in spaces of waiting. Yet faith assures us that our lives are never confined to the chair.  

The chorus of birds and laughing children whispers a truth deeper than physical limitation: life moves onward, fresh and strong, and love can never die. In every moment of stillness, in every measured hour, the grace we saw in the hedgerow remains active within us.

Whether along the riverbank or in the stillness of the room, the Holy Three walk with us—offering light for the journey, presence in the waiting, and the quiet assurance that we are held in love.

A Closing Prayer

Lord Jesus Christ,

Who walked the paths of earth and knows the weight of human waiting:

Grant us eyes to see Your light in the smallest creation,

And grace to carry that light into the quietest rooms.

When hours are measured and strength is tested,

Remind us that Your love holds us fast,

And that no chair can separate us from the joy of Your presence.

Amen.