We are in the air after a long delay at the Glasgow International Airport. It is likely we have missed our connection. We have no idea what time we will arrive home.
Tanya and Kathy picked me up at 2/3 St. David’s Place at about 9:50 AM. We drove to the airport. It took about an hour or so. By the time they checked in their car and we walked over to the terminal, it must have been noonish. It took a bit of time to go through security and to get into the departure area. We all grabbed lunch and waited to see our gate number appear on the screen. Right from the start, there was notice of a delay. We did not know why nor were we ever told why. At one point when we were at Gate 29, we could see fire trucks down below. Not sure what that was about. It was a bit unsettling.
Finally, at about 4:15 or so we were allowed to board. It appeared on the screen that we were 56 minutes out from our Iceland destination.
I think that there was an announcement just now about transferring on to a bus to go to a hotel. That is concerning news. I am going to hope those arrangements are not for us.
I am anxious to get home. I have things to do. I miss my home, the children, and Carol. This has been a long time to be away.
Overall, this has been a wonderful experience. I am glad that I got on board even if it wasn’t what I was planning originally. There is much for me to sort out. There are things that I need to pass by both Jo B and Constance. I am inclined to begin a serious conversation about retiring as a deacon.
I would do so now, though I have a commitment as regards my book. I want to offer the four retreat programs. I want to get to work on my website.
I also have a commitment to St. Mark’s, though I do not feel as attached to that endeavor. Unless something happens, I can see myself withdrawing from there in June or July. I know it will be short of the expected three year commitment.
I felt really good about reading my book aloud at Iona. I received a positive response. I have a good feeling about it. I may want to spend more time writing and being creative.
On that note, I need to prepare for landing. We are beginning our descent.
For the most part, I am doing very well. These early evenings alone in a room with no television to distract me are lonely. I could go out and find a pub of sorts. I don’t think that is a good idea. I am not 100% sure about the neighborhood. Btissam isn’t here for me to ask about it.
I can use my phone to check out the news and read material that I have there. Right now, my phone is across the room being charged.
I sent a text to Ann asking about Ronnie and Colleen and Aimee and her family. I am certain that they were in the path of Helene last week. I haven’t heard from her and she hasn’t been responding to the texts that I send to her and Carol. I hope nothing is wrong.
Let me give you the run down for today.
I did sleep well. I got up and dressed and struck out to find a place to have breakfast. I came across a couple who appeared to be lost. They were from Canada. I know they were travelers because they were lugging their suitcases. They had gotten off at Haymarket Station and were walking to their hotel. I suggested that they go on Google Maps instead of WAZE. Hopefully, they got where they were going.
The route for me was rather circuitous. It avoided Princes Street. It took me up some very steep stairs. They were on the dark and gloomy side just below the Edinburgh Castle. I will check no stairs for tomorrow’s walk into the city.
There is no doubt that this leg of my trip would be so much better with a companion. It is doable and not the same.
I’ve been texting with Ann and Carol separately while journaling. Now, I am ready to change for bed and play a bit of Solitaire before going to sleep. It is about 7:45 PM.
I’ve had my allotted portion of scotch for the night. I chose not to drink with my meal earlier.
September 30, 2024 Monday, 7:30 PM Still Scottish Time
What a day this has been!
I began at Café Neero where I went to meet the bus for today’s tour. Our guide and bus driver was named Graham. He is a real Scot, born and raised here. He did a really fine job.
We covered a lot of territory in the course of eight and a half hours. We first stopped at The Forth Bridge, Queen’s Ferry Crossover. There are three bridges there. Graham gave us a bit of history. We got out and took pictures, then we went over the middle bridge that he referred to as the broken bridge.
Next stop was Dumfermline Abbey. We were there for about an hour. It is where St. Margaret is buried. It also has a connection to Robert the Bruce. On the drive, Graham gave us a history lesson. He had a lot to say about Mel Gibson and his movie Braveheart. Mel got very little of the history he portrayed correct. For one thing, it is likely that William Wallace and Robert the Bruce never met. For another, kilts had not yet been invented in the time of William Wallace.
The real hero today was definitely Robert the Bruce, King of Scotland. When we left the Abbey, we drove to the battlefield that was instrumental in the War for Independence. There is a monument to Robert the Bruce there. Sterling Castle is visible in the distance.
Sterling Castle was next on our itinerary. It was very impressive. I actually liked it better than the Edinburgh Castle.
In both Sterling and in Dumfermline, I would have liked to have time to wander in those villages. They looked interesting to me.
Our last stop before returning to Edinburgh was Rosslyn Chapel. By the time we got there, I was very tired. We could not take pictures inside the chapel. That was too bad because there were a few images that I would have liked to have captured. Chief amongst them was the picture of the Transfiguration of Jesus. Jesus was not white with blue eyes. I bought a postcard. It doesn’t do it justice.
The masonry work is out of this world. It is worth the visit.
Upon our return to Edinburgh, I decided to go closer to my accommodations to eat. Due to the rain and cloudy conditions, I suspected it would get dark pretty fast. I went to a restaurant that I had seen in my travels called Shakespeare’s.
It was more of a bar. I found a table and settled in quite well. I took pictures of my meal and the dessert for posterity. I felt as though I had successfully negotiated a milestone in my life. It was quite fun.
Sticky Toffee Pudding
What I discovered today was that the quiet area of Saturday night and Sunday became quite vibrant on a Monday workday. There were many people out and about. It had a totally different feel to it.
I also noted that there were a number of Middle Eastern establishments in the area. They were also open today.
These factors allowed me to feel much more comfortable with my surroundings.
Tomorrow, I will explore the other end of The Royal Mile and go to the Holyrood Palace. People on the tour today said that it is an essential tourist thing to do. As long as my knees and right hip hold out, I am game to venture forth.
Tomorrow, at 8:00 AM EST, my sister Mary will have her hip surgery. Prayers for her tonight. Blessings on her doctors and those caring for her.
Mary let me know, after I inquired, that Colleen and her family are all fine subsequent to Helene. Helene was a pretty violent hurricane that struck parts of Florida, Georgia, Eastern Tennessee and Amesville, North Carolina.
I must say that I am glad that I made this trip.
I heard from Tanya tonight. They are in Edinburgh. She invited me to go out with them tomorrow night. It is way too late for me. They will come to pick me up on Wednesday morning to head to the Glasgow Airport.
On that note, I will get ready for bed and retire at my usual 8:30 PM bedtime.
Thank you, O God, for a peaceful night to a full day. Amen.
October 1, 2024 Tuesday, 7:40 PM Scottish Time
I have had a very full day. It was capped off by a visit at St. Columba’s Church as I was leaving The Royal Mile for the last time. A member of the church was there playing the organ. It felt a bit surreal. It was a perfect pilgrimage ending.
They had an exhibit set up around the church with a theme “Your Voyage Tale.” The question was “What is your story? How will you travel well?”
There were five aids around the church explicit to St. Columba and for pilgrims to the church to contemplate. I took pictures of each one. There was a fountain of sorts at the entrance to the church. Guests are invited to put a little boat into the water. The whole exercise is called Immrana.
There was a pamphlet with a timeline of Columba and St. Columba’s Church, beginning with the 5th to the 11thcenturies and forward to 1938 when George Macleod founded the Iona Community.
I do not think that this church being open this afternoon was a coincidence. It was definitely a Godwink.
St. Columba’s Final Prayer is “Love one another with a true heart and be at peace. If you keep this course, God will strengthen and help you.”
Earlier in the day, I had breakfast at a hotel restaurant on The Royal Mile. After breakfast, I walked down to the Palace at Holyrood. It was a lovely walk, early enough that there were not a lot of tourists out yet. When I got there, I discovered that it is closed on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. That peculiarity began today, October 1st. I walked around the area a bit. I decided not to try to climb to Arthur’s Seat.
I went back to The Royal Mile and stopped to visit The People’s Museum. It was interesting. After leaving there, I took my time while walking The Royal Mile. I stopped to see St. Giles Cathedral. That is very amazing architecturally. When I left there, I went to the Greyfriars Kirk and took a few pictures. From there I went to the Scotland Museum and spent a few hours.
I had my meal in Edinburgh at a place called “One Bar All.” It was next door to the Sheraton Grand Hotel.
I am tired tonight. I have a lot to process. That will have to come with time.
September 28, 2024 Saturday, 12:00 Noon Scottish Time
I am on my own in Scotland for the next four nights. At this hour, I am onboard an express train bound for Waverly Station in Edinburgh. It is a cloudy day. Visibility at the moment is less than a mile.
The train is very crowded. The riders were very gracious, extending to me their assistance. Some riders are having to stand. Those around me made certain I had a seat and a place for my luggage. The Scots are a friendly lot.
We have just pulled into Pullmont Station. I briefly saw a memorial sign for a disaster that occurred there in the 1980’s.
Visibility has improved, though the speed of the train and the way I am sitting make it difficult to sightsee. I risk becoming car sick or triggering a migraine.
We are now at Lithgow Station. Out of the window, there is a structure that could be a church or a castle. It has a modern gold steeple. I will need to explore further.
I think the next station may be Haymarket, though I am going to go on to Waverly. I need to stow my luggage for a couple of hours. I cannot get into my room until 3:00 PM. Btissam is away for a few days. There are instructions to follow on the Airbnb site.
I might as well wander about and get a feel for where I will be staying for the next few days.
September 28, 2024 Saturday, 7:20 PM Scottish Time
St David’s Place is where my Airbnb was located.
I have settled in at my Airbnb destination. It is cute, clean, and has what I need for four nights. The only drawback tonight is that it is cold. There does not seem to be any heat on. Hopefully, the extra comforter I found in a cupboard will be enough overnight. If not, I will contact Btissam. She is away taking care of her ill mother.
I can hear noises from the attached apartments. Nothing that is out of the ordinary. It is something I will need to adjust to and factor in as the way it is.
I did end up continuing on to Waverly Station. It did take me a bit to get acclimated and feel comfortable in my surroundings. Once I did, I left my luggage in a storage place and then looked for a place to eat. I came across St. Jame’s Place which is a high-end indoor mall. On the fourth floor there, I chose to eat at Gordon Ramsey’s restaurant called Street Beef. I had a seat at a table from which I could look out and watch the people on the mall. I had a hamburger and fries and a bit of Talisker Whiskey and a Fevertree Ginger Beer. It was all good, though once again the amount of scotch leaves a lot to be desired. Before picking up my luggage, I bought a bottle that should see me through four nights. I don’t intend to spend money on such a small amount of drink. That is a disappointment.
The walk from Waverly Station to here was about 25 minutes. It was harder than I would have thought. I did make it here in one piece. It reminded me of the time I went to Washington, D.C. to testify before a congressional subcommittee as regarding the homeless mentally ill. I had to walk quite far from the train station to where I was being put up in a communal situation for the night. I was only there overnight. I remember how surreal it all seemed. That was 1982-83.
Here I was once more in a large city, trapsing along with my luggage to a destination unknown. At least, in this situation, I had a cell phone.
I am alone tonight in a strange city in a foreign country. It seems remarkable to me—quite unbelievable. It is a very big step in my new life after 75 and without Vivian or anyone else in my life—no community, no family, just me.
On that note, I will get ready for bed and have an early night. Hopefully, I will be able to sleep.
Our time here on Iona and at the Abbey have come to an end. We will say good-bye to the first group to leave the island at breakfast. We will have a longer farewell with those who join us on the second ferry which leaves a tad later.
Each day getting here and being here has been a journey in itself. The pilgrimage effect—immersion in a community experience, the silent times, the shared moments both in silence and with storytelling, the walking about—has touched my heart and soul.
The Abbey Community extended the invitation and we, the pilgrims, made our choices in the moment, in the way that best suited our style and means of being with our God.
While inside the Abbey, there was always a flurry of activity, one could also find niches that afforded privacy and quiet. It was in one such place that I bonded with Kris.
The work we were assigned each day engaged us in the family life of the Abbey. Through the chopping of vegetables in the Abbey kitchen, I grew quite fond of Norman from Oban and Thea and Ary from the Netherlands. My only regret was that I could not speak their language. The onus was always on them to speak English.
There were others with whom the conversation was more casual, though not less significant in a spiritual way. All our encounters, whether it be with other human creatures or the animals, the plant life or the stones on the ground, the sea or the elements of the sky, make us who we are. The invitation is there to receive and we choose to embrace the moment or simply move on.
I came here with no identifiable expectations. There was probably more tentativeness and cynicism than openness at first. I am aware of those times when I trodded cautiously, protectively, though I asked God’s blessing to purify my intent and to keep me on a right course. I am certain God answered my prayer. I am not leaving the place untouched or unchanged. God is here and God’s ability to fashion us in her image permeates the air. It only, God only, requires our assent, whether it be begrudgedly or not.
When we say, “Yes,” the heavens on earth open to us. That is perhaps the magic and mystery of the thin space. And it is more obvious here on Iona. In this place, this tiny little island, the sea and land embrace, night and day cycle in and out, the clouds and the blue open skies dance and play and deliver hope and joy as well as hardship and sadness. One can be in community as much or as little as one chooses. One can be in communion or not. There is always a choice. God is always by your side waiting for us to choose.
There was no fog or much of a mist—that which I did expect to see. In spite of that, I did learn to see with intentionality—to look beyond the obvious and appreciate who and what God has made. God is not finished with any of us. God is not done with me.
This land that was formed millions of years ago continues to exist. People have come and people have gone. It has been made sacred both by God and those whose lives have graced these grounds. People have come as pilgrims from at least the time of Columba. There would have been druids before him. All came to the land with intention—to seek and learn and become one with earth and sea and sky, with the natural world created by God.
This is the time before sunrise in which darkness and light exist as one. They embrace briefly and then part to allow the cycle to advance. It is nature’s way of saying their yes to their Creator.
As dark as the sky appears in this moment, peace abounds. God is in the stillness of this night becoming day. Thanks be to God!
It is pitch black outside at this early hour. At the moment, I am the sole person in this space. Kris has been here. Her belongings indicate she is near and will return for the rising of the sun.
I say that I am the sole person because I in no way want to suggest that I am here alone. I definitely am not. The blessed energy in this room informs me of beings in communion with me.
Kris has made her return to her place by the window. She has opened it. There is a breeze that we have not known in these many mornings. It is hardy and it sings a song of vibrant air stirring about beyond our protected space.
I believe we will be experiencing a different weather pattern today—one more expected on an island. The last several days have been golden. We have had sun and warmth—beautiful skies and soft, gentle winds.
I awoke this morning with an awareness of our time here coming to an end. I came to experience the thin spaces only to realize that I did not need to come all this way for that. That blessing has been mine time and time again going back many years.
No, what God has brought me here to see is a place where many lands come together. The lands and people for whom I learned to pray in unity with during the isolation of Vivian’s illness are here gathered in this community. It is a gathering of bodies and spirits as this Iona Community, also known as the Wild Goose Community, is spread across the world.
Community may very well be an answer. Being here has reminded me of my days in community. There is no doubt that the community of the Sisters of Mercy still lives in me and I in them.
The darkness is lifting. I can see the sea, the closest black hills, and the misted outline of the next tallest range. The drone of the wind is signaling a change upon us. It is not likely we will see our sun today. The smell of rain is in the air. What would a trip to Scotland be without a bit of rain.
Kris has left me—not without handing me a note. I have gotten up to close the window, leaving only a small opening to feel the breeze and hear the howl of the gusty wind.
I see that the note has her address. There is a note inside as well. It is a touching, lovely. Note. Her handwriting is artistically spread across the page. I cannot do it justice, though these are her words to me.
26 September 24
Dear Pat-
Thank you for the part you played while I was on the sacred Isle of Iona.Your silences as well as your conversations which we shared together in the presence of our Divine are embedded on my soul—If you felt you could share your ‘fog’ chapter with me as well as your book I would feel blessed.
Abundant thanks,
and love– Kris/x
Her address, email and phone # are on the backside.
I am touched as I feel the same about her and the time we have shared together. We are kindred spirits brought together in this sacred space.
I have shut the window. As I have done so, I realize that my squawky friends are not here this morning. Today will be a different day for me here on the island. It is likely more typical of the weather here. Looking out over the grassy fields to the sea, there are waves with white crests popping up as the sea pushes them along. The calm waters of this week are running like a broad river to where I do not know.
I am turned around here on Iona. My sense of direction is a bit turned. To where does this sea flow?
The sun comes up in the east. I know where east is and believe that I am looking southeast. If so, this body of water before me is flowing southerly. It is a question that I will need to explore.
In fact, that I am feeling puzzled at all by this, is an open door to discovery.
I digress—when what I really want to do is reflect on my time here, on what it has meant to me, what I will take home with me. Did I find what I came to see and learn and know?
There have been surprises. Like learning that beyond the 18th century façade, this is a very modern, ecologically friendly place. It is not at all on the inside what appears to the world on the outside. Most of the outside of this Abbey was reconstructed in 1969. Very little of the early Abbey, founded by the Benedictines still stands. There is far less of the remnants from the Sixth Century and the time of St. Columba. This Abbey is more symbolic than real. That does not in any way lessen the spiritual attraction of Iona itself. It is a special sacred place.
As if on cue, my two little friends are chattering away. They clearly agree.
I have more to say, though now I am called to breakfast and the start of my Abbey day.
9:55 AM
I have a few minutes before our last session with John Bell.
Last evening, there was an open mic night here. I read a chapter from my book. I had intended to read the first chapter. I read the section entitled, “Fog, Owls and Dragonflies.” It speaks to the thin space. It seemed appropriate. It was well received. I am very glad that I decided to read it, to read at all.
These pilgrims are a new audience for my writings. Their positive response is very encouraging to me as Janice and I move closer to publishing “We Called Him Al: When the Person You Love Has Alzheimer’s Disease.”
My gift for writing has been warmly received and appreciated. Thanks be to God.
With that little bit having been written, I will head down to The Charter Room.
10:00 PM
It is late. I am tired, though I want to commit something to paper before going to bed. It is also likely that tomorrow morning will be very busy. It is departure day. Breakfast is at 7:15 AM and prayers are at 8:00.
We were asked at tonight’s service what we are taking away and what we are leaving behind. Not in that order—
I am leaving behind longing for the past and unfulfilled dreams. I am taking with me the well wishes of so many with whom I have exchanged short sharings and genuine affection. I am taking with me a deep peace. There may be more. This is what I am aware of, for now.
September 25, 2024 Wednesday, 6:50 AM Scottish Time
It appears to be a quiet morning. There is a tint of orange and red across the hilltops. Wispy clouds float along top with hues of pink and grey. The sea is calm. The window here in the large meeting room is open half-way. There is no breeze that I can tell. The temperature is cool and a bit damp—not unlike any fall I have experienced o an island in New England.
I slept well. Surprisingly enough, there are no lingering aches and pains from yesterday’s sojourn.
Today, we have another session with John Bell. He is quite witty. I have not been taking notes. What I remember as I reflect back in a week’s time is what I am meant to retain.
We had a peaceful, lovely healing service last evening. At its closure, there was a bit of a stir behind me. One of our group was sobbing and a few others led by Rev. Sarah were praying with her. It is known by different degrees within our traveling band that this woman is contending with her own physical illness as well as her wife’s dementia. She had shared with me that she may not be able to care for her wife much longer. This is a woman who is a midwife and a caretaker by profession.
She is obviously being given lots of advice. The younger, more emotional types in our group are clearly watching out for her.
The sky is quite motley now. Pink clouds and blue skies—which made me think of Gerard Manley Hopkins and his poem God’s Grandeur. My bird mates are here. When they arrive, their high pitch chatter announces their presence. They settle in rather quickly as though respecting the space and the silence within.
Getting back to last evening, as the small group was praying, connected by joined hands and embraces, someone in our contingent, seated above me, said they were praying for me as well. Their prayer was that I would be more vulnerable and open. Apparently, I reminded this person of their Bar Harbor, Maine grandmother—steeling her way through life—braced and ready for whatever storm came her way. It seemed to be their impression that I am not handling my grief very well.
I was quite stunned and equally offended. We were there praying for this one woman and this other person tried to make it about me. The words and sentiment were very presumptuous.
The sun is breaching the hillside. It is so bright, so glorious. I cannot look on with my eyes. I bow my head before its presence. Kris has knelt in adoration. We pause in silence honoring the wonder and glory of God.
I am grateful for this time of being away, for the precious silences, for the stories told by other pilgrims, for the sharing that has come naturally. I feel blessed by knowing Kris over the course of these last several days. She is respectful and kind.
I am disturbed by the other person’s comments to me. While they meant well, I felt judged and criticized. Their prayer was for something for me of which they did not understand.
We all do this at times. We speak when silence can be preferred. We think we know when we likely do not know at all. We interfere with another’s vision of life when we do not yet see clearly our own way.
For me, in this time, I pray for God’s grace, God’s wisdom, God’s spirit to rest upon this place and those who come here in search of all three.
The bell is ringing, signaling our time to gather for breakfast. For now, I must go.
September 25, 2024 Wednesday, 2:40 PM Scottish Time
I have made my way to what I believe is called Bishops’ Beach. Seated upon a black craggy rock, I am listening to the water lapping the shore. The water is clear—clean and fresh. The sun bright and high in the sky. But for three other people, I am alone in this space.
Our time is nearly done here on Iona. We will leave on Friday morning. Tonight, there is a Caelhi of sorts. I have decided to read a chapter of my book. It seems appropriate. It may even evoke some interest in it for when it is published.
No two beaches are quite the same. I imagine that is true of islands as well. Of the beaches I have seen on Iona, this one is my favorite. The sand is soft. While there are large outcroppings of black granite, there are no stones to speak of. It is a quiet, gentle space.
This is not a time for writing. It is a time for listening and being as in a holy place.
3:50 PM
I have returned from my sojourn to the beach. It got rather warm. I decided to come back here and read from my manuscript. I am in the library. It is a dark space. I can hear the crackling of the birds that I usually hear in the morning hours.
The walk was a bit tiring for me. I am clearly not in very good shape. I had hoped to go to The Nunnery. I didn’t have the energy to walk that much farther.
I am guessing on the time this morning. I left my watch and my phone in my room. Stumbling around in the dark is a real challenge. I have made my way outside already this morning. There will be no sun to guide me. At least not for now.
The clouds have come in dimming all sight of yonder mountains. Those at water’s edge are visible. It is a balmy day—not as cold as last night—a bit of moisture hanging in the air.
There is no fog or heavy mist—only heavy, grey, murky vapors dropped down from above. Those seeking a sunrise will not be glorified on this day.
I can see that I am not the only pilgrim who has come forth into the morning air. I see legs drooped along the outline on a bench at the other end of the Abbey.
I am not disappointed by the absence of the sun. It allows me a different experience of Iona—one which I mostly expected to see. This is an island in the Hebrides after all.
There is daylight. I can see across the grassy fields, out to the rocks and the sea lapping on the shore. I can see across to the villages hankered along the island of Mull. There is a bright light at the ferry boarding sight. Much smaller lights dot the remaining shoreline.
Perhaps now is a good time to recall the journey here. At this juncture, there still were more times on the road than the time we have spent here. By my account, today is Monday.
We began our trip on Thursday from South Hadley, Massachusetts, home of All Saints Episcopal Church and Mount Holyoke College. These are two factors that join us with the pilgrims with whom we have a connection here at the Abbey. The Reverend Tanya Wallace is the lynchpin.
For the first leg from South Hadley, we were four—Tanya, Kathy, Leslie, and I. We drove to the Logan Express Depot in Framingham. We parked in the overflow lot and met with our first of many waits. Waiting is a major part of the pilgrimage trek as we soon discovered.
Waiting for travel, waiting for transitions, waiting for the sake of waiting.
Busses and planes, taxis and trains, and not one but two ferries were embarked along our way. Each has its own timetable. Each has their own part to play as the conveyors of pilgrims from their home destinations to this isle of Iona.
What I have learned since our arrival is that there are two Iona experiences. There is this very specific, organized immersion in the life of the Iona Community at the Abbey and then there is the isle of Iona itself.
In all honesty, in my dream of visiting Iona, it was never to be at the Abbey. I was always drawn to the isle itself. In my mind’s eye, I saw myself as an adventurer in Scotland. Iona was to be a day or two, three at the longest. My plan was to stay at the Columba Hotel here on the isle.
Through happenstance, or the Holy Spirit, or they would say here at Iona, the wild goose, I am here at the Abbey. I signed on with a group of pilgrims traveling from South Hadley, MA and Wayne, Pennsylvania. We are now joined together for this week along with many others to live and work and pray as a community.
The travel here was long and tiring. In addition to the waiting stages, there are connecting points. There are the endless transitions from one unknown place to another. Places that do not remain unknown—places that will seem familiar when we make our return.
We touch and are touched by the places we have trekked. We touched down in Iceland, though what we saw of it was limited to the airport. We sat and paced about for hours within the confines of Terminal D. We met with two more of our group who had left Boston two hours later than the four of us. Sandra and Jane made our four, six.
The trip from Iceland to Glasgow was shorter, though we lost yet another hour. The time had skipped ahead by four hours between Boston and Iceland. We were now five hours ahead of the day on which we started. That odd sense of timing has its own role in the pilgrimage.
Speaking of time, I have lost all time. I sense that I am to be on a schedule. There will be time for more writing as the day moves along. For now, there is breakfast, followed by chores in the kitchen, and morning prayer.
Until later…
September 24, 2024 Tuesday, 7:00 AM
I have come to the “Large Meeting Room” to write and pray. I see that Kris has taken her place by the window, though she is not here now. I suspect she watched the sun try to emerge from the thick, dark clouds seated on the craggy hills.
As I wrote those first few sentences, Kris came in. She is warm and lovely. I dare to say that she may be in her 80’s. She is smart, wise, and worldly in the educated way.
She has asked me to pray for a Russian family with whom she is friends. They are Evalina, Papa, and Sofia. Evalina’s mother has recently died from brain cancer. Papa is Evalina’s father and Sofia is her 19-year-old daughter.
When you come to the Abbey, you become one of a worldwide community. There are no singular nationalities or languages. We are invited to listen and learn and evolve. Peoples’ stories flow and the air here is rich with emotion—all emotions hanging in the balance.
Kris has drawn my attention to the sun coming round to our view. It has broken through in places. From my vantage point, there is mist and clouds, and yellow gold draped down from a higher sky that is radiantly blue.
The bird outside our window here sounds like a squeaky dog toy. I got up to take a closer look. There are two sitting on what I am calling small parapets. They appear to be the same birds from the first morning.
The sun has successfully broken through all that seemingly held her down. St. Francis called the sun, Brother Sun, and the moon, Sister Moon. To me, this morning, it is she who greets me. She is glorious, casting her rays across the sea, a pathway of presence leading to me.
God is here in the sun and the sea, in Kris and the small black birds, the clouds and the mist, the mountains and the blue sky. God is here in me. Amen.
There is music coming from the Abbey Church. Someone is singing—a deep male voice. I am content to listen from here. I have no need to discover who it may be or their purpose. There are many spaces here at the Abbey. The abut and intersect—sometimes fluidly—other times with intentionality. We each create our own space within its framework. There are invitations, and choices to be made.
Iona is a place of rapid change and always the same. In the short time that I have been writing, the sky has gone from a lovely blue to a dense gray. The amassed clouds control the sky at present. Or as Jo B would say, “For now.”
In fact, the sun seems to be playing a game of peek-a-boo. When she seems to be gone, she suddenly pops through. And when she does, she is oh so bright, blindingly so. She is shining in on me now. The power of her light forces me to look away and observe her from a side view. It must be what it means to be unable to look into the face of God.
It does signal to me that it is time for me to engage in the schedule for the day. Breakfast is at 8:00, followed by prayer at 9 and chores at 9:30. Today, we, those who are able, are going on a day long pilgrimage around the isle.
May God’s blessings continue to abound here and throughout the world—
September 24, 2004 Tuesday, 4:30 PM
I survived today’s pilgrimage hike out to St. Columba’s Beach and back. I am in some serious pain of my neck, hip, and back. I am clearly very out of shape. In spite of my ailments, it was interesting, informative, and an opportunity to commune with nature and my fellow pilgrims. The territory we crossed was beautiful. The terrain varied from rocky paths to roadways to the island’s only golf course and the beach itself. We started out at the Nunnery—the one place on the trek to which I intend to return.
I took many pictures, though I doubt they can measure up to the real thing.
I came into the large meeting room with the purpose of journaling and reading my manuscript. It is not likely I will get far with either one. I am exhausted. I may need to go upstairs to take a nap. And as I write the words, I realize that is what I am going to do.
September 24, 2024 Tuesday, 7:30 PM
I am choosing not to go to tonight’s offering. The topic is “The Iona Community Today.” I do not feel that there is anymore that I need to know. While the experience has been positive, I do not see myself returning or being otherwise involved with this Wild Goose Community. The pilgrimage with St. David’s and All Saints has been a means to an end. They got me here in what can be described as a safe journey. Being able to travel with others and to navigate my way through taxis, trains, busses, and ferries allowed me to feel more comfortable about spending time on my own next week. For this, I am grateful.
Iona is a beautiful island space. Today’s walk around the island felt very homey to me. I love the beach. I love the walk-about feeling that comes with meandering along island paths. I love being close to the sea. I love all the unique features that are synonymous with island vegetation and landscape. It is my peaceful place—that which can transport me to heavenly place—to a place of centering—where God invites me in as one with the god self.
I did not need to come to Iona to experience this connection with what I am calling home. I can go to any beach and find myself there.
Coming to Iona, being on pilgrimage, is like living out the labyrinth we saw on the beach today. This has been an intentional journey to returning to my center, to the core of myself and thus to a deeper relationship with my God.
I left what I know to be home to come to this faraway place. It is a place that represents the earliest foundations of not just Christian spirituality, also feminine spirituality, creation spirituality. It is a place that is known for its connection to the thin spaces, the thin places where heaven and earth meet. It is a starting place—a place for unraveling and restoring—for ending and beginning again.
I am not regretting coming here to this Abbey, though what I can see it is for so many others, it is not for me. Right now, it is what I have said earlier—a means to an end.
A woman named Margaret has come into the room with me. I welcome her to stay recognizing that like me, she is seeking a quiet space. The room is large enough, open enough to be shared. She says that she loves this room. I understand why. It has remarkable energy—many pilgrims have come to this room in prayer. It is a holy space.
Today’s walk was challenging for me. I purposely, intentionally walked to the end of the line. I knew I would need to conserve my strength to complete the journey.
It was difficult and it required my steadfast attention. I needed to be mindful of my steps, where I was walking, and how I walked. I listened to the other pilgrims. I absorbed the life around me—the beauty of the fields of heather, the craggy rock formations all around us, the sea out of reach at times and very near at others.
I thought of myself as a sponge—taking everything in—soaking up all that presented itself to me. I was there to receive.
And there it is—that which I have yet to verbalize—this trip is about receiving. I am here to receive God’s love and mercy.
I am here as an empty vessel. I am ready to be filled with God’s presence and love—the water of life.
For now, I need to allow this revelation to sink in—to be with this epiphany.
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.
The descriptive word for the Celtic Artisan Journal being used for this pilgrimage diary is: “If you have the words, there’s always a chance that you’ll find the way.” (Seamus Heaney)
We have arrived in Iona. We have been greeted warmly by the staff here at Iona Abbey. We have had tea and ginger snaps. We have been assigned rooms. I am in Room 15 with one other woman who is from St. David’s in Wayne, Pennsylvania.
I got settled, grabbed my camera and this journal to find a place to thank God for our safe arrival and to seek a blessing for my time and our time here this week.
I first wandered through the Abbey Church, lit a candle in thanksgiving, sat for a bit in what appeared to be a hermit’s space, and then made my way out to this garden space. This is the ruins of the bread and ale house that once stood on this spot.
It is quiet here, though the chatter of the community in the kitchen area can be heard through an open window. There is a gentle, cool breeze. A cute little bird has joined me. She is black with a full white face. To be honest, she reminds me of a habited nun.
I am pleasantly surprised that our accommodations are not as rustic as I feared. They are cozy, clean, and rather modern. Who would have thought?
My roommate is Carol. She came up to me just now to let me know that she snagged an extra pillow for me. She delivered her message and went on her way.
A black crow-like bird has flown by announcing his arrival quite loudly. There are song birds all about. I suspect they are singing their good night to the sun that is setting off to my left.
I am here. I have arrived. This is the next place of my pilgrimage. The journey here was phase one. There is much to write about, though this does not seem to be the time. There will be a right moment to reflect on the trek here. We ventured forth from South Hadley, Massachusetts at 3:30 PM on September 19, 2024. We arrived at Iona at 3:30 PM Scottish time on September 21. It is 5:50 PM Scottish time right now. We will gather for our evening meal at 6:30 PM.
I needed this time to gather my thoughts, to be grateful, and to open my senses to the wonder of this place. I await the magic and whatever God and all the holy of holies who inhabit this space have in store for me.
Come Holy Spirit or as they say in these parts, “Come, O Wild Goose.”
