Unknown Sanctuaries

Tomorrow we head out to the Isle of Iona, the Holy Isle, and set foot upon the land that St. Columba stepped upon after his leaving from Ireland. I must say I am excited and nervous about going to such a remote place though I have heard that many other spiritualists make pilgrimages there. We should be in good company and the events over the last few days seem to point towards a blessed time.

Just before we left Edinburgh Scotland we participated in a Sunday morning mass at St. Cuthbert’s church and received blessings by the acting bishop. Today we endured some pain for a tattoo symbolizing our eternal love for each other, and just a little over a week ago we ourselves left the green shores of our second home Ireland. Along the way we have been blessed with friends and confronted past issues, while walking away from those who would rather belittle rather than befriend us; I would say we have been prepared but can you ever be fully ready?

It is going to be an awesome experience and one most likely without some of the more modern conveniences, though we won’t know that until we get there, and I am actually looking forward to it. We have shopped for main staple items, done our laundry, and even informed loved ones of our temporary departure from the world.

Many people we have come across, during our brief discussions, have told us how beautiful and spiritual the place is and I look forward to what may happen upon that Holy Isle. I will walk upon her shores with no expectations but with wide open eyes so that I may see her in her full glory. I would say that afterwards I would be a changed person but that would be exactly what I do not want – an expectation, so I shall just go forth.

I keep thinking of St. Columba and wondering what must have been going through his mind. What thoughts he had, reservations, and what sort of hardships did he endured. I know whatever I experience will not be comparable to his time but in comparison to the time it will be just as reclusive. I do know this – whatever happens it will be on an island with a long history and beautiful scenery just as everyone thus far has explained.

I am just too damn excited!

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.

Sojourn into Exile

So we left Dublin behind, on the tips of the waves, and we journeyed towards a new foreign land. I am quiet as I sat there remembering what a friend told me about our landing spot – Hollyhead. According to him it was the last place the British Druids made their final stand before falling to the Romans. Three times the Romans tried to take it and three times they were thwarted. Many years ago I had written a poem called “The Battle of Na Morna” where I describe such a stand; I shall have to fish it out when I return to the states.

Then I began thinking about the famine ships, the ones which brought so many Irish to America during those hard times and I wonder what they would have done to have the accommodations we had experienced. What it must have been like to stand for hours at a time with no place to relieve themselves, or to get something to eat. Just an hour earlier, on this vessel, we had a big breakfast and I wondered how long some of the Irish endured empty stomachs on their dark journey.

In a weird sort of way I feel as if I am going to another place that will feel like home, given the history, and how I will experience the run of emotions there. Although we are only there for a very brief time, I am excited. I cannot express the excitement of this part of the journey, going to a place I have yet to visit, and seeing the new sites and places. It feels very much like the first time we went to Ireland.

As I gazed across the vast stretch of the Irish Sea I saw no land. It is incredible when one looks at a map and thinks how small a distance it is, and yet the reality is the exact opposite. The waves were low and it caused me to ponder how different it must have been to sail before modern times. I remember studying how the Irish used these skin covered boats, currachs, and would cross more in the north where the distance between the isles was only a mere 12 miles. It must have been a dubious task to navigate across such an expanse.

Upon landing in Hollyhead we boarded the train right away. As quick as we landed we were whisked away from Wales and heading towards Edinburgh. Three stops and we would be at our destination. But before we made it I had a run-in with a very drunk Brit who had been listening to a conversation I was having with a bloke who was Scottish.

He and I were discussing how smokers had been pushed out of the pubs, along with restaurants, and yet they extorted a huge tax from us for their greedy endeavors. The Brit decided he would chim in and yell at me, moving towards me and into my face and shout, “Damn Americans think they can push their way into every place in the world. You Americans don’t rule the world and can’t push into England!” I was taken aback and tried to reassure the man that it was not what I was saying and that a misunderstanding had taken place. At this point the Scottish bloke moved away and looked at the ground, disengaging completely even though he knew that was not what I had said. I ended the confrontation by simply walking away as the Brit yelled at me, “Welcome to England!”

It stole my mood, took my energy and left me wondering not just about the hidden fury the Brits may have, but as to why the Scottish bloke did not even stand up for someone who had not said any of that. I was very quiet the rest of the journey to Edinburgh and I began to watch every little word I spoke. Then I remembered I was no longer in the land I call my second home and that hospitality held no place where we now were.

It made me ponder what other Irish experienced along their Green Martyrdom, or exile, and what sorts of conflict may have arisen for them as a result. Then we checked into our hotel and were greeted by one of the most cheerful people we had yet to meet, Charlene, and she helped to ease my already nerve by offering us complimentary drinks. Then she went out of her way to make sure we could get around Edinburgh and were able to see some of the sites it had to offer. My day had started out horrible but ended on a great note.

But I still ponder the very question of why.