September 22, 2024 Sunday, 6:20 AM Iona Time
Autumn officially enters our Northern Hemisphere today. I have found a quiet space just below my sleeping quarters to pray and journal. It is still very dark outside—though it may be that there is a heavy fog. The light in this room is very bright and hampers my ability to see out the window.
The window is open a bit. I cannot feel the outside temperature. I am surprised how warm they keep it in here. I have come here expecting brisk Fall air.
Kris, a Quaker woman, has come into the room with me. She obviously knows this space. She came here to see the sun rise. She has moved her chair closer to the window to have a closer view. We have exchanged a few, mostly necessary words, as she too wants to pray in silence.
There is no way to dim the light, though I am now able to see the red sky. The sun is beginning her rise. The sound of small birds can be heard through the open window.
I have opened the window wider to give us a better view. The reds and purples behind the black of the mountains. The sea is draped before them. The peace and love of God abound.
This view beckons one into silence. Better to watch and become one with it all then to write in this moment. My writing is a distraction.
After a pause, I begin to write once more.
As we watched, Kris kneeling at the window’s edge and I seated back and away, the purples and reds faded into the open sky, merging with the blue above. There was no mist or fog this morning – only a natural darkness that gave way to the ascending light.
I feel so blessed to be here, grateful to Kris for directing me towards this beautiful sight. In truth, we moved in sync to expand our ability to see more expansively. The raising of the window and the removal of a plant broadened our view.
As the light grew, what seemed one massive black mountain was exposed as layered formations—not one, many—folding one into the other. I counted seven hills.
A half hour passed, Kris gathered her belongings and moved slowly from the cherished space. I used the opportunity to move closer to the window. I sensed my time here was not done.
While I cannot see the sun, I am very aware of her presence. Thanks be to God.
Two wild geese crossed my path—honking and squawking as they pass. It is Sunday morning.
Rise up and greet the day—come into the presence of God—within and all about you. Amen.
I sense I have much to learn. I am here in God’s kingdom on earth—God’s house—majestic and serene.
There is a picture across the room from me. There are words scrawled artistically in what I believe to be German or Dutch. Three figures—one a face, that could be male or female; one an older person whom I first identify as female and later realize is male; and the third a younger Asian woman who is playing a violin. I do not know whom they represent. They inspire each in their own way. In small print, written in English at the bottom of the painting it is written: “What is man that you are mindful of him, the son of man that you care for him?” Psalm 8:4. It is signed Kat ’97. And now that I am up closer, I can see that below the three figures, there are birds—one Starling like and the other much small and lighter in color. The whole thing appears to be a charcoal drawing. It is captivating.
The sun has come into my view. It is full and bright orange—difficult to look at.
The door opened and in came Marvin. Marvin is from Glasgow. Apparently, this room has the best Wi-Fi. We spoke briefly.
A black bird has taken his place outside the open window. He is quite the squawker, chatting up a storm. Upon a closer look, there are actually two up against the stonework of the Abbey.
What an amazing morning already!
I am here.
I am becoming as one
with the people and the place.
Thanks be to God!
September 22, 2024 Sunday, 2:50 PM Iona Time
Busy morning – breakfast at 8 and kitchen duty from 9 to 10 (chopping broccoli heads and peeling and slicing carrots). At 10:30 there was a Eucharist Service. I arrived at 10:15. It was a full church—a very lovely service—solemn and spirited—very devout. The prayers were spoken with intentionality. The utterances were not just words. There was a sacredness to the experience. It was very moving, especially the time after communion.
The reading was from James and John Bell gave a sermon on that word. We will be hearing more from John Bell in the days to come.
After the service, we had an hour or so before lunch at 1:00. I visited in the gift shop and then walked up the road for a short bit. There are many tourists on the island today. I don’t know if that is the norm or because it is Sunday.
A word about our meals. They are hearty and configured from a variety of vegetables and fruits, nuts and seeds. The only mealtime when they serve meat occurs on Tuesdays.
Meals are quite interesting as there are people here from all over the world. Many languages are spoken. This is a place in which all are welcome.
There is much to do here, though I have decided to pace myself. Less walking today to rest up for the Tuesday pilgrimage for which I need to sign up to go.
I am gravitating towards the silence. One must secret away to find it. This is more of a social space—a gathering place for like minded seekers. Many who are here have come multiple times.
At lunch today, I heard myself saying to a volunteer that I came here for the thin spaces and the combined women’s and creation spirituality. What I realized earlier today is that I don’t need to be on Iona to experience the thin space. Whenever I am in the fog or a mist, I am there. I was there on the night that Vivian died. I am not here for the thin space. Something else has brought me here.
As we talked, and I mentioned my encounter with the “Nun Bird”, she told me about the Nunnery that is here on Iona. It is an ancient ruin. It gets far less attention than the Iona Abbey, though it also has a rich history. I remembered seeing it as we walked here to the Abbey on Saturday. I made a mental note to return. Now, I feel it is important for me to go there and stay awhile.
It is too late to go there today. It is 3:50 and we have a sing-along at 5:00. After the music time, our group is meeting for a picnic of sorts. The St. David’s people are currently off on a walk to the beach. I opted out of it. I am not much feeling the groupie thing.
There is much to write about—the travel here—first impressions of Iona—the need for silence—the strange tension of being here and not so much here—a familiarity, not unlike being at the shore along the coast of Rhode Island or in Maine or New Hampshire, Peggy’s Cove in Nova Scotia. It is beautiful here, no doubt. It is beautiful as well in any one of those places.
We have had beautiful weather since coming to Scotland. I have heard that the temperature is going to change. There are signs of that right now. It is cooler than it has been.
It has turned out that there is Wi-Fi here at the Abbey. They are more modernized than our tour guides were aware of. There are shared bathrooms and showers—all unisex.
Things are starting to quiet down now. There are less tourists. Clouds are coming in. The sun is behind me, slowly lowering itself to signal that day is nearly done. I think it may be time to end my writing session for today.