Quoted By:
I don't know if this counts, but it's some existential creepiness.
I explore ruined chapels, churches and abbeys here in Ireland with my dad, to record them before they disappear forever, just as a hobby. Most are just shells of tiny country chapels, some are huge crumbling abbeys and monastic sites. They're usually out in the middle of nowhere, out in the country or in farmer's fields, open to the sometimes harsh elements, wearing down walls and gravestones. The ground is almost always overgrown, especially in the untouched ones the Office of Public Works never got around to. Covered in leaves, twigs, vines and sometimes broken glass and charred places where youths burned fires.
While my dad is off taking pictures of the exterior of the place and such, I stand in the shell of the place under the open sky, ceiling long vanished or some small, cloistered room and think, that at one point several hundred years ago, somebody long dead, who I'll never know, stood here going about their daily life or praying. Someone probably sat in this place where a pew used to be, someone who might very well be buried in the adjacent graveyard, or gone forever, somewhere else. People who would never have concieved that I would be standing in their place, long after the place had fallen into ruin and was all but forgotten, taking pictures and thinking about them.
It's really eerie to me.
