Blessings and Spirit

The last few days in Edinburgh have been very enjoyable and revealing. Over the course of the last three days we have witnessed horrid tales of early Edinburgh, the Haunted Vaults, and witnessed local drunks harassing a young girl. The act of exile has been harder than I would have imagined and this new land has dark corners mixed in with bright souls. It can cause one to wonder if the Scots themselves suffer from a sort of schizophrenic nature brought on by the subjugation of English rule.

With the vast diversity of international people mingling with the locals it seems to create an atmosphere rip for fights, robbery and downright abuse. Had Jill and I not gotten into an argument a young girl may have been accosted by a drunkard who had solicited her for sexual needs. She was 11 and very frightened, asking us what bus we were going to take. When we told her she spoke of how that was before hers and she would be along on the streets, her grandma too drunk to accompany her to the bust stop, so we opted to take a later bus.

I kept my eye on the drunks and kept my body between her and the fellows, feeling if they saw me it would deter them from any action. Before we knew it, others showed up and one gentleman even threw fruit at the drunks to chase them off. It would seem a few angels were among us. After she got on her bus and was safely gone, we boarded ours and a poor baby was very disgruntled and crying. I couldn’t help but react and played peek-a-boo with the wee waif. In no time at all she was smiling and giggling, which brought joy to all around her, and I felt happy at being given the chance to interact with a being who did not judge me by words but action. She was so adorable.

The next few days were filled with history lessons, of the haunted variety, and optical illusions from cameras and lights. In-between these excursions we visited the Scottish art museum, the National Gallery, and went to mass at an Irish church of St. Cuthbert. The bishop came over and spoke with us a few moments, commenting on how he liked Seattle but didn’t know much about it, and welcomed us to his congregation. At the end of the service he blessed us for our journey ahead. I feel as if I am now ready to step forward on the rest of this leg of the journey.

I can only imagine at how St. Colm Cille must have felt as he left the green shores of Ireland for the isolated isle of Iona.