A Week of Drifting · Day 7 of 7
The story. Every boat that drifts eventually touches land. Brendan’s voyage ended on the shore he had been seeking. Columba stepped out onto Iona. The three Irishmen in their oarless boat came ashore in Cornwall and walked to the court of a king. None of them stayed in the boat forever. The drift was for a season. What it gave them, they carried onto dry land.
The reflection. When your coracle reaches its edge, come ashore gently. Stand still for a moment before you go back through the door. Feel your feet. Take one slow breath. Give thanks, either for whatever found you or simply for the gift of having been carried.
Then notice what comes back with you. Often it is not a thought but a texture: a slower step on the stairs, a little more room between the email arriving and your reply, a gentler eye for the person across the desk. Do not grasp at it. It came on the current, and it will come again.
Over time, something curious happens. The drift begins to leak into the rest of the day. At a red light, in a hallway, on hold, you find yourself taking your hands off the oars for a single breath. The lunch hour becomes a doorway rather than a gap. The other prayers you love will still be there, the chair, the sacred word, the Scriptures, the chapel. This one simply blesses the hours they cannot reach.
Today’s invitation. Choose one last coracle today, any length you like. At the end of it, pause at the threshold before you go back in, and give thanks. Then, throughout the rest of the day, look for one in-between moment, a doorway, a staircase, a red light, and let go of the oars for a single breath.
A question to carry. What will you carry ashore from this week?
Lord of wind and water, here is my little boat.
I lay down the oars.
Lead me; I care not where.
Amen.
Reflection Copyright 2026 Michael J. Cunningham OFS