Irish legend has it that if one sees a rainbow, at the end of the rainbow will be a pot of gold, guarded by a Leprechaun. And if one has the luck o’ the Irish, they may be able to seek it out and claim their fortune, as well as being granted three wishes from the Leprechaun if you capture him and let him go. The trick is, to find that proverbial end of the rainbow. History is full of rainbow legends and myth. It’s part of the history and culture of the Egyptians; the Sumerians; the Norse; the Greeks; the American Indian; and even the Australian Aboriginal tribes consider the rainbow a giant serpent. And of course, as all Christians know, the rainbow symbolizes God’s promise to mankind to never again destroy the earth using flood waters to kill all living things.
But what got me to thinking about all this was the fact that I saw a rainbow this morning on my drive to work. It had been raining, the sun was just peeking up over the horizon, and as its rays hit the moisture in the air, the water droplets created a prism that released a spectrum of colors that arced across the landscape. What a perfect way to begin the day, my eyes beholding such magical beauty.
Being of Irish blood myself, I couldn’t help but think of that pot o’ gold, only to realize that I had already found mine, in a metaphorical way, that is. But to find mine, I had to travel on to westward, across the vast expanses of the Pacific, and it wasn’t a Leprechaun I found guarding the pot, but an Anghel. That’s where things got turned around, though: instead of capturing her, she captured my heart, and the pot she was guarding was full of the love that we now share.
Irish, or not, I am truly a lucky man to have been blessed with such a fortune. One day soon, I will travel on to westward again, only to return to the eastward carrying that pot of love and the Anghel that so carefully guarded it for so long, waiting for it to be found by the one she had so long been in search of. And on our return to these shores, it is my hope that she will discover her pot o’ gold which she so much deserves, as well as those golden apples of the sun (from W.B. Yeats, a great Irish poet) that we will forever pluck.
