May 18, 2012. Blog #8

It’s been 2 weeks since I last focused on technology and blogging.

When I last wrote, I had just arrived on the sacred isle of Iona. As I was checking in at the St Columba hotel, a man and his wife who were also checking in, asked me in a friendly manner, “Are you UCC, they are the only ones who come here, aren’t they? I was disconcerted by this exclusive expectation, was I out of place, the only one not UCC? I asked him what UCC was. “Oh, it’s the United Church of Christ, they all come here”. I said, no, I am not entirely comfortable with this denominationalism; I don’t think that is what Jesus had in mind when he told us to follow him. His wife said, “that’s true, but we go for the community”. I agreed that that is needed for us humans, we all seem to need spiritual and social community. With my ecumenical, interfaith approach, it can be hard to find community.

During the course of the week, I enjoyed the silence and beautiful wild island of Iona, here in the Inner Hebrides, off the west coast of Scotland. Praying and worshiping with the small local Iona community of a few hundred residents in the ancient Abbey founded by St. Columba in the 6th century revealed a clear ecumenical focus, open to all faiths and spiritual seekers. This island has been bathed in prayer and monastic contemplation for 1400 years, a continuing magnet for spiritual pilgrims to this day. It was easy to dwell in contemplation and conscious awareness of the divine, bursting forth everywhere, looking out onto the sea and many rugged islands from the window of my room, walking the paths and beaches, or finding a wind sheltered tuft of dry turf on upland crags called “dun”s on which to recline, breathe the fresh sea air and gaze at the ever mutating chaos of clouds. At night, the waxing and full moon shown with silvery brilliance over the isle of Mull, to the east. With no cities and few villages, there was no light pollution, so the stars and constellations were especially vivid. I did find remaining in silence among the various friendly pilgrims and vacationers to be taxing.

The small island, 3 1/2 miles long and 1 1/2 miles wide is filled with walking trails, low mountains, vast green sheep filled uplands, and surrounded by sandy beaches or cliffs of granite. Collecting shells and variegated stones smoothed by the sea is irresistible. The sky is constantly changing with cold north wind bringing in ever new layers and dramatic cloud formations and rainbows. The only sounds are the wind, the surf, and the bleating sheep. It was new lambing season. Everywhere there were tiny new lambs shyly gamboling across the turf and greenish bog, ewes standing guard. Wonderful contemplative walks and outdoor beach time, clear blue and gray moving skies, little rain and lots of sun, old Celtic stone circles on hilltops. At the end of the day there were 2 pubs on the island for a wee draught of locally made single malt scotch or Scottish Tenants beer, listening to the Gaelic speech or thick Hebridean accents, in luminous long twilight.

At the end of a week, I took the ferry, bus, ferry, bus, train to Glasgow. The next morning, I took the taxi, train, and bus to Kippen, a small village not far from Stirling, Scotland, where the intact fortress of Stirling castle hovers on a crag overhead. Here also is where the Wallace memorial, soaring tower that looks like Mordor from the Lord of the Rings. William Wallace was “Braveheart”, Mel Gibson played the role. This is William Wallace country where historic battles were fought that changed Scottish history.

Outside of Kippen is Dighty, the small cottage like monastery of the Ceile de. I stayed with the sisters in the guesthouse for 6 days, practicing the prayer, contemplation, and chanting of Celtic Christian prayers and meditation.

The day after I arrived, I was invited to join with a small local branch of the Scottish Ceile de for a full day of teaching by Fionn, of a specific series of Celtic mythic legends of Cuchulain. In this ancient story, it was instructive how Cuchulain, child of both Celtic god and human, the ultimate unbeatable warrior, representing all of the elements of the Celtic ideal hero, admired by every woman etc. who never lost a battle or a hunt, failed three times when invited to enter the faery, “other world” where his outer world powers were of no use to him. At the end, he died foolishly when he refused a humble invitation from a humble maid, who turned out to be the “Morrigan”, the celtic goddess of war, death, and decay. One of her totem guises is the carrion crow who picks the eyes and entrails from the fallen warriors on the field of battle. Beware, the unknown visitor. Before his final battle, he sees the aged “woman at the ford” (in the river), washing the blood stains from his shroud. Fionn explicated the psychospiritual messages of the tale. One valuable “take home” message for me is the hubris, how foolish we who believe we are successful and whom the outer world admires and rewards, with overtly or secretly proud egos (I am somebody special) can fail to risk the necessary surrender to the tasks of the inner journey of psyche, soul, and spirit. We may refuse the divine invitation or the subtle call of our soul, or we may resist, overlook, miss the portals to the inner encounter that is essential for fulfillment of our individuation.

After the day’s teaching, we celebrated together the feast of Beltane, originally celebrated on May 11th. This is the day that gradually was transformed into May Day, with spring fertility frolics, bonfires all night, on every hillside, and dances around the Maypole. In our contemplative celebration, we sang and chanted paeons to the sacred marriage of heaven and earth, masculine and feminine, and emergence of the new life, the budding grain, flowering apple tree, lambs in the meadow, and the divine child, the Christ within each of us. Each of us took twigs from a Rowan tree collected by Fionn, on Iona, and fashioned them into a cross, bound together by red wool yarn.
We used these crude crosses, with their conjoined vertical and horizontal as reminders in our Run and contemplations of our own seeking to embody this sacred marriage of heaven and earth in all we think, say, and do.

Sister Ita and Fionn’s hospitality and kindness were extraordinary, and I felt the rhythm of their contemplative life grow inside me. However, the early morning contemplative prayer, called Run, at 7:00 AM, noon ritual, 5:00 PM and 9:00 PM, each 45 minutes to and hour was wearing:-). The life of a monk, with scheduled meals, rituals, prayer, chores, and silent inner contemplation is a lot of work! I felt my fatigue at the end of these 2 weeks on Iona and at Dighty. Also, the chill wind continued with unseasonably low temperatures, many trees still unleafed on May 16th.

I have just departed from Dighty, the monastery outside Kippen and returned to Glasgow. Up until yesterday, I had not figured out where I was going next. I was drawn to northern Scotland, Findhorn, Pluscarden Abbey, Isle of Skye, Lewis Island in the outer Hebrides where a giant stone circle the size of Stonehenge is rarely visited. Also, trips to England’s lake country, the Cotswalds, Wales, or especially Cornwall in the SW of England drew me. But the cost of living is high and it is cold. It was surprising how I had to wait for the inner impulse to head for sun and beach.

Two people that I spoke to mentioned Ibiza, Spain, for a sunny Mediterranean island. But checking into it, I found beautiful beaches and water, but overrun with tourists and hotels. Greek Islands have always held a dreamlike quality to me. I had visited Crete when I was 20 years old, recovering from dysentery contracted in Egypt. It had been remote, slow paced, and salutary. So, here in Glasgow, taking care of some practical tasks, I used my IPad to research options extensively the past 2-3 days.

Tomorrow, Saturday, I take the train to Edinburgh, overnight, and catch flight to London Heathrowe, Athens, and Herakalion, Crete on Sunday. I will overnight in hotel on the beach there and take a bus the next day to small village of Ierepetra, on the SE coast. I have leased a small cottage a kilometer outside the village, by the beach for 4 weeks. It overlooks the Libyan Sea, facing Africa.
Still I am following my nose, not knowing what I will find there or what comes after. It’s been unnerving these past weeks not knowing what I wanted to do, where I was going, until yesterday morning. A renewed vision has emerged, grateful for the inner journey and the outer landscape of beauty and pilgrimage, and anticipating a place to stop and be with myself, without need to move
on, to slow my pace to the rhythms of tropical sun.