“She’s been waiting… She’s been waiting so long.. She’s been waiting for her children to remember to return. She’s been waiting… She’s been waiting so long… She’s been waiting for her children to remember to return… Blessed are and blessed be the children of the Lady… She’s been waiting for her children to remember to return.”
Our voices echoed through the chamber as if dancing off the stones that held the mound together. It was a beautiful sunny day in Ireland, and the breeze was perfect outside. Our friends, Oak and Heather, took us to a place called Loughcrew which is 500 years older than Knowth where we had been just hours earlier. Knowth was amazing place with a central mound and several satellite huts surrounding it. It was built mainly as a ceremonial space but used over the years by the Celts, Vikings and Normans. I had felt something ancient in the space at Knowth but with the tour you can only be there for a certain amount of time before you have to head back on the bus.
However, Loughcrew was different in the fact that there was no tour guide or bus waiting for you to return. You could come and go as you please… We journeyed up the hill towards the mound with a basket of fresh baked scones, sheepskins to sit upon and laughter resounding from our six person group. I must pause to boast about Heathers baking skills... She makes the absolute BEST scones I have had the privelege of munching upon. They are soft on the inside and crisp on the outside, with a little smidge of butter and lemon curd.... *salivate*
OK back to the story... Once we were on the hill we sat in front of the hags chair or wishing chair. We laid out our picnic of crisps and scones, talked and laughed and awaited our time within the chamber of Loughcrew. It is amazing how time can seem to stand still in one moment and rush ahead in other moments.. For a top of that hill an eternity in time passed as we sat and spoke of life and journeys. The day was bright with promise and the wind had a song lilting through my ears. We waited outside the chamber for a group to come out and I felt a little chilly. I pulled the sheep skin over my shoulders and Heather remarked, "You look like the Buffalo Woman..." Then Oak began drumming and sang the Buffalo Woman - Goddess - song... Wow...
After we entered the chamber, I lit St. Brigids flame inside the right apex of the cruciform shape. It was where Heather had said the Goddess lived. For on the ceiling above were images and swirls - and if you placed your hands on the sides of the small space it felt like a birthing chamber. Perfect enough to squat down in and strong enough to hold you in place.
I then lit a twin flame to pass to our friends who had blessed us so much along our journey. There were three women and three men... Grandfather, Mother, Warrior - Grandmother, Father, Maiden... All of us inside awaiting what would happen next. Oak begun the chanting inside the chamber as we said - "Mother Earth we honor your body, we honor your bones, we sing to your stones." My entire being vibrated with the drumming and my voice lifted up out of the chamber and into the heavens. We sang and drummed for what seemed like an eternity, in reality only ten minutes had passed. One thing I must admit about our experience is I did not cry... I was emotional with love and honor. But tears did not well up in my eyes. Instead a peace came over my spirit and my heart overflowed with love. I could feel the vibration emanating from us all, sharing space, sharing spirit with each other.
What transpired for me was something out of a film or dream. It was as if I was reading a Celtic spirituality book and thinking, WOW I would love to be able to do that!! But I was... I was in the midst of ceremony in a chamber that is older than I could possibly imagine.
After our time inside we walked across the way to a smaller tomb that had not been excavated. Heather taught me the chant of summoning the Goddesses... She told us how when she used to protest in the UK they would chain themselves to gates and sing this song. Ushering in the power of the Goddess upon the site that housed nuclear warheads. "Morgan, Morrigan, Macha, Maeve, Cerridwen, Brigid, Ayn..." Repeated over and over with a slightly different refrain. I placed the sheep skin at her feet and sat looking up at her. Watching her mouth move so I could match my tempo with hers. Oak followed by teaching us a song about flying with the Eagles and dancing around...
I layed down on the sheep skin which somehow kept my body warm and looked up through the grass towards Oak and Heather. The sky was blue, their hippie heads were in the right space for my vision and I felt like I was in a dream... Drumming, chanting, amazing people and energy... Our other two companions - Gabriel and Anna - were singing along and sharing in our amazing journey. We ended the session with a small laughter workshop. It was, "very good, very good, YAY!!!"
The last two days we have spent in Ireland have summed up our journey. We came searching for a spiritual connection, a spark to reignite the passion we once had for the land and out surroundings... What we have found lies deep beneath the beating heart and into the core of my being... My soul once more seems to yearn and yawn, stretching outward to touch the source and back in again to spring forth the flowing waters.
Last night we walked through the land with each other... We sat around the fire together... We drank from the same cup and shared in the dimming light of the setting sun. I do not know how to go away from this place. My feet are heavy... As Heather said on our previous stay here at Slane Farm, "Once the road opens up it will be easier... Each step further down will become more comfortable."
I am not sure if these words are true. In my heart they seem more like a wishful thought than a reality. But I know that I will carry these two amazing beings, the new songs in my heart and the land that is home back to the states hidden within my heart.
Slan go foil Ireland... Slan abhaile Heather and Oak... "For we know not when we will all meet again..."
Liminal Space
Kindness, Compassion…
Monday, August 22, 2011
Thursday, August 18, 2011
I am...
There is something interesting about déjà vu… Especially when you had attempted to make other plans and the Universe shuts the door hard on you with a resounding, NO! Then by chance, and a hard hit on the navigators head, you find yourself in the middle of an Irish road heading to a place you did not know you needed to go to. We were both hungry and stopped off aside this old Abbey, in Hollycross. We were told in Thurles it was one of the oldest Abbey's in Ireland and since neither of us had ever physically been in this part of Ireland we decided it was a nice place to end the day, right after a coffee and sandwich.
The entrance to the Abbey appeared as many other entrances to ancient sites in Ireland looked. You have the tall archways, the stony walls and granite pathways. Not to mention the large wooden doorways that lead to a sanctuary where I am sure there is a marble altar, ornate decorations displayed on the walls and rows of seating for parishioner’s to sing praises and lift their voices to God. So at first the feeling of familiarity failed to grab my attention.
I walked around the newer part of the Abbey which was built around the 15th Century and then headed out to the Garden of Remembrance where there was a large glass building in the middle of these columns. The glass building looked oddly familiar… As if it housed a great secret I had yet to uncover. Even the statues outside the small building seemed to come alive with each step I took. I walked around the outside taking pictures of each column, which depicted reliefs of Christ’s life. I meandered through the courtyard, peered into the windows of the small building and began to make my way around to the older part of the Abbey… This is when it hit me… A rush of memory, I had been here before… But that was inmpossible!! I had never stepped a foot onto this site until today! My head began to spin and I walked a familiar line to find Patrick. I needed something to help bring me down to reality.
What I remember is a dream, a dream where I walked these steps and visited this place. I just kept running it though my head, how on earth did I dream up a place I had never been to? How could I have walked here and seen this before? Then a man passed by me, he too had been in my dream… My head truly began to swim at this point. I could not remember specific parts of the dream, but I had remembered the smell in the air, the air on my skin and the Abbey ruins… I made my way to Patrick and sat for a second, recollecting my thoughts and hoping the world would stop spinning. I took pictures of the Abbey and peered in through the gate. This gate was an important part of the dream for I was trying to figure out how to get inside the Abbey.
As we drove off I am still left with this feeling of how on earth did I dream of this place? One thing I knew for sure I needed to go to Kildare and find St. Brigid’s Fire Temple… How I put those two together I will never know. Many times in the past four days I have experienced the same emotions of being in a place I have never been and feeling as though I have been and done the same actions in the same place… It is not a creepy feeling, more of a confirmation that I am where I need to be, doing what it is I am doing.
With that said why do I feel so out of sorts? In one aspect I feel as though I have regained a sense of self and become a whole person. In another I feel as though this entire trip has been a waste of art time for I have barely scratched the surface of my creation and only completed four illustrations out of 20 that are due a week after I get home.
Why do I feel at such a loss? We have been to Slane, Dublin, Edinburgh, Oban, Mull, Isle of Iona, Belfast, Glencolmcille, Peterswell, Borrisoleigh, Drogheda and will wind back around to Slane to finish our journey and yet I have not been able to find the time needed to work. Or when I do have the time I work on sacred geometry instead of the page illustrations I am supposed to be completing.
I digress… On Monday evening, after our visit to Hollycross, I decided to read some more of the book I brought, The Red Haired Girl from the Bog by Patricia Monahan. I am currently on the chapter that highlights Kildare Ireland and all the wonders that embody St. Brigid. When I got to the part about the Fire Temple behind the church I turned to Patrick and asked, can we please stop by Kildare? Do we need to go to Kilkenny? Can we stay in Drogheda early and drive through Kildare so I can see the Abbey? Of course he said yes!! I began to feel excited as if a fire was ignited in my heart.
Tuesday I spent the day painting. I painted a card for the sisters of Solas Bridghe – the flame that I drew winter quarter for my book. I called Sister Mary Minihan and asked if someone would be available for me to call into once we got to Kildare. She asked me where we were coming from and I answered her, Borrisoleigh. Oh yes, Tipperary, I shall expect you around two to three, and you are more than welcome Jill…
We left Tipperary Wednesday morning, after having tea with Michael – the owner of the Fairy Fort Hostel – and arrived first at Dunmore Cave… We went deep into the bowels of the earth where the cold damp darkness creates patterns in the strata and carves holes into the sides of the land. There was a stalagmite that was over ten million years old… At one moment they turned off all the lights in the cave so we could experience the utter darkness. There were a few tourists who did not speak English and instead of turning off their cameras they just hid them underneath their jackets. The light from the screen permeated the darkness and in a way annoyed me for I was unable to get the full effect.
After making our way back up out of the earth I was met with the sun and thought, wow how amazing to go into the earth only to be heading towards the light of Brigids flame… We arrived an hour early and I decided I really wanted to go to Abbey. I am always in such a hurry when I get to these places of power to find what it is I am looking for. I hurried here and there, searching for what I thought was the temple… The sacred space that house the fire for hundreds of years…
I circled around the entire church and once again circled around… Upon my third time around I finally slowed myself down and there it was, right in the middle of the grounds, behind the church. It was a stone square with a narrow entry way that held two steps. The plaque read, “Foundation of St. Brigid's Fire Temple”. There was a little boy inside playing airplane and I smiled. I took a picture and his father asked him to come out of there and let the nice lady take a picture. I smiled again at the father and nodded to thank him. I could not have found words if he had asked me anything… I was entirely and utterly speechless… I walked inside and clung to the left side of the chamber. I inched my way to the back and looked at the trinkets, candles and stones that were left behind by people and added a rose quartz to the mix. I attempted to leave two stones my friend Rosy gave me but they did not want to stay there.
It was in this place that I closed my eyes and thought of the flame. I thought of how bright the light was and how dark the cave had been. I realized the gent that had been so rude to leave his camera on was in fact teaching me a lesson on light. The smallest amount of light permeates the darkest of caves – the darkest of places – one tiny spark can ignite a fire… As I closed my eyes on this gray day my eyelids were bright with a red light igniting behind my eyes. I at once saw a triune knot pulsing behind my eyes and shedding red rays of light that seemed to weave in and out of each other. I opened my eyes and the sky and world around me was gray. I closed my eyes again and there was the red light again behind my eyes, pulsing and breathing as if on its own. I sang a praise song to Brigid in that space… I thanked her for her light and love that was healing my mind and body. I thanked her for my Aunt Juana and how she had gifted me with the Goddess. It was very hard for me to tear myself away from this place but when the light began to dim behind my eyelids I broke free from the moment and walked away towards the Abbey. I needed to bring home the flame.
We made our way to Solas Bridghe and was greeted once again by Sister Mary Minihan. She remembers Patrick right away and greeted us with smiles and hugs. I gave her the card I had made and she thought it was lovely. We removed our shoes and headed down the hallway to the back room where the five of us had sat once before, but this time only the two of us would make this journey. She said, “Well Jill one good turn deserves another. I have just woven this a few days ago out of rushes and I would like you have it.” She handed me a Brigid’s cross, still fresh from the day before. She did not go into her normal, “this is what Brigid is about” speech and instead waited patiently for us to explain our second journey. With a cracked voice I said, “The last time we came I asked for the flame to gift to my Aunt Juana who had cancer. This time I would like to ask for the flame for myself.” I did not weep as I had the time before. My voice was not as steady as the sentence above and I had a hard time asking for myself. I explained that my Aunt was overjoyed to have received the flame and how I remembered her face on the day I gifted it to her. My aunt had looked at me with these eyes I had never seen before. It was as if she had never looked at me in this light. Sister Mary prayed for my aunt’s soul and gladly gifted me the flame. I watched her walk over to light it and she set it in Patrick’s hand. We held the candle together as she passed the flame to us and I felt a calm rush over my entire being.
We chatted a bit before Patrick and I got up to go and I told Sister Mary how my friend Betsy had been reunited with her husband after parting from him for over a year and I had gifted her with the last of my flame. She said, “I want to tell you story… There was a woman who was walking through the woods and eventually she came upon a bridge. Now as she crossed over this bridge she saw in the water the most beautiful of precious stones and thought I must have this stone for I know it will make me whole and my whole life will never be the same… She walked up to the house just above the creek and asked at the house about the stone. She told him, I know it is such a precious stone but I was wondering if I could have this precious stone for myself, for I know it will make me whole and my life will be forever changed because of it. The man at the door looked at her with warm eyes and said OF COURSE you can have the stone!! The lady then took the stone to her home and set it upon a special place where she could see it always. After a few days she began to think about this precious stone and finally, after thinking and thinking she came to a conclusion… She thought, instead of having this stone, better it would be to have the heart of the man who gave it to her... I think this story is for you Jill… For you give freely the flame and from your heart…”
How do you even begin to respond to something like this? How do I argue with what I have accomplished when I have been given the title, “Flame Keeper of St. Brigid”? How can I allow myself to doubt that I am behind in my work when I am doing exactly what the Universe is setting in my path to accomplish?
Even as I write these words the voices of reason and doubt are arguing with each other in my head. As though a volleyball match is taking place and they have been tied for the win for over an hour… “I am”, a saying on my aunt’s wall began… I am the light… I am the precious stone, the heart… I am a Flame Keeper of Brigid… and I walk into my new self, as a shining light – ready to spread love to the world…
Saturday, August 13, 2011
The fifth element
Sunday August 7th, My Aunt Juana slipped from this world to the next... The last time I spoke with her was a week prior to our leaving. She had slipped and fell in the bathroom and cracked a vertebrae. This caused her to be hospitalized for a bladder infection on top of the golf ball sized cancer in her uterus. I told her that I could come help out before we left for our trip and she said she would think about it. I said that I wanted to come see her before we left and she said, "We will be here when you get back..."
The last time I saw her was just after our last trip over to Ireland. My friend Kendra had needed a lift back to Vancouver so I swung by Aunt Juana's house to drop off her Ireland gifts. While we were here the first time I gathered the four elements, Brigids flame and holy well water from Kildare, sand from the beach where I scattered Aunt Pat's ashes and a feather one of my program friends found... Fire, water, earth and air... I told her all about our trip and how amazing it was... I told her how we went to Kildare and how I asked to bring a piece of burnt paper back to the states for her and instead was gifted Brigids Flame... I could see the tears well up in her eyes as I regailed my stories of Ireland and how it all meant to me to be a part of this huge opportunity...
My aunt was the first person in my life to introduce me to the concept of spirituality. She had this amazing space in her house that was up stairs and through this beaded curtain that hung in the bathroom. It was a magical space that for the longest time I was forbid to enter... Then one trip to spend the week she invited me in to sit with her. We talked of spirituality, past life experiences, guided meditations, folk stories and many more interesting tales. She then guided me through my first meditation where I remember a bridge an old woman slamming the door in my face and a wide open field. After this moment in my young life I began to read any and all extra sensory perception book I could find. I wanted to grow up and become a parapsychologist and study ghosts and odd phenomena in this world.
For the next three to four years I spent weeks at my Aunts house during the spring and summer months. Exploring new facets of myself and who she was. Learning from her and appreciating life. Then I became born again... Now this was not the end of my spiritual journey but apparently I needed to go the long route to learn a lesson and give birth to my beautiful daughter Elisia.
It was during these years that the connection I had with my aunt started to relax... It was not that I did not love her, but I was seeking my spiritual guidance from somewhere else... I also began to look at her and her notions as devilry and witch craft which of course it was not... But that is how you are taught to react to such things as ghosts, meditation and ouija boards.
It would be seven years before I began to come around. Meanwhile my aunt was still there on the side lines, cheering me on! Sending me cards and books which I treasure to this day. But then my world came crashing in on me... I left my husband after two years and fell in love with Patrick, mo chroi. He brought the spirit back into my life and taught me how to live fully! To understand my place in this world was to embrace and question everything!
My aunt and I began to move closer together again and eventually we moved to Alaska. When I decided to get into massage therapy my aunt sent me a necklace of the primordial Goddess, Venus of Willendorf. It is the oldest representation of the Goddess, being over 10,000 years old. I wore the necklace around my neck the entire year of school, and the entire seven years that I was a massage therapist until I lost it one day and decided to have it tattooed onto my back. It was around this time that I found the Goddess Brigid calling my name. She had introduced herself a few years before in a pair of earrings my mom gifted to me but this time it was through a book called Confessions of a Pagan Nun. I begun reading this book and learning about Brigid and her flame, her perpetual flame, that burned in the Abbey in Kildare, Ireland. OH to go to Ireland and see this place for myself would be a true dream come true.. Little did I know then...
I gifted my aunt with this book and showed her the tattoo on my back of the Goddess. This was just after she was diagnosed with cancer for the first time. So when my dream started becoming a reality I called her up. She sent me this book called Celtic Calendar Wheel and I hated the book... I truly thought it was a waste of my time... But as with all things she has gifted me with I stuck it on my shelf and sat on it. When we began the Ireland program a reading assignment has egnited a spark inside me and I immediatly reached for this book that my aunt had gifted me. They went hand in hand talking about how the land itself was connected to the Celtic calendar and how within each direction the land corresponds with wach distinct season. I wrote my final 35 page paper on this whole concept. (Thank you Aunt Juana)
Aside from being my spiritual mentor, my aunt has looked out for me over the years. Always sending things she knew I would need, aside from the silver plated frames graduation... Still not sure where that gift came from... LOL But now as I sit on this bed in our hostel, in a little town called Borrisoleigh, Tipperary - I am reminded of her smile, her smell and the way she laughed. I reminded of how she could correct me without feeling as though I was in trouble. I remember how she gound a dead duck aside the road and brought it home to cook for dinner. I remember her allowing me to make this weird apple bake we learned about in home economics. I remember taking an active role in my life. I remember her recording these stories onto tapes for me because I would listen to them over and over again on record. I remember... I remember... I remember... I think I could go on remembering my entire life of all the little moments that meant so much to me.
The regret I have is purely selfish. I told my aunt how much I loved her, how much she meant to me over the years, how she helped me become who I am today. I told her that I wanted her to be at peace and asked her if there was sort of ceremony she would like after her passing. I talked freely with her and told her how I felt, how I loved her and Uncle Walt. I told her everything... My only regret is not hearing her voice one last time... Or hugging her for one last moment. Or seeing her wave to us goodbye as we drove away, one hand on her hip, the other picking at a flower only to stand up again and wave once more. Her smile lighting up the sky. My only regret is not seeing her one last time before she left this world even though I spoke with her often. I am left with the question of, is it ever enough? Even if I had seen her every week for a year, would I still have this same regret? I think, no, I am positive my answer would be the same... I would regret not taking one last moment in her physical presence to remember every little thing about her from the way she sipped her coffee to how she sat in a chair, to how her hair laid across her forehead to how she smiled and if her lip curled up or not...
The last time I saw my aunt I brought her the four elements... Last night as I was looking up at the night sky wondering what to do with my own mother, a very bright fallen star lit up the sky above my head. Patrick did not see it! I was like how could you not see that? It was bright and lasted for at least four seconds!! It was then that I knew she had added a fifth element to the four I had brung to her over a year ago, the element of the spirit...
"Visit me often, I hear your laughter in the stars and see your smile in the glowing moon..."
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Trouble with the Troubles…
After three ferries, three trains a bus ride, a hike across Glasgow and taxi ride we arrived at our hostel in Belfast, Ireland. I was a little nervous about spending time here after we have learned about the troubles. But in the light of day it looked like a regular city with normal people just going about their everyday lives. On the ferry across Patrick read about a plot to blow up police cars in the Northern part of the city. That certainly did not help my awkward feelings about the place. The driver dropped us off at half past 10 in the evening. We climbed the two flights of stairs of a very run-down ( I suppose some could say overly homey) hostel and entered our room. It was a hostel… Although not as bad as the one in Galway that seemed more like a rent-a-bed than an actual place to stay the night. The only difference was the comforter was clean and the bed did not cave in the middle.
The following morning I just wanted to sleep… I was emotionally and physically exhausted after all the traveling and hearing about my aunt. I could have stayed in bed all day if Patrick would have let me. I really was not in the right frame of mind to go out mural hunting so I talked Patrick into going to the Ulster Museum just down the street from us. It has three floors ranging from art, nature, prehistory, history and some very kewl “discovery zones” for children where they can play. They also had a neet display of costumes worn by famous people in different movies. My favorite was the one of Drew Barrymore in Ever After with the wings she wore while standing in the beautiful lights. They also had one of Colin Firth’s where he played Mr. Darcy… YUM!!
Anyway… We made our way through, beginning at the top. We looked at art from the 1800’s and some more modern pieces. There was an interesting section on watercolors that I found particularly fascinating. Almost all of them had an outline around the images that were colored. We were taught that was a no-no. Just goes to confirm art is in the eye of the beholder.
We spiraled our way down looking at the natural world exhibit with all of the animals, rocks and make-up of the area. There was a small piece of moon rock that I thought was interesting…
The most interesting moment for me was a mummy, fully preserved, in the Egypt section. Her name is Takabuti and she was shipped over here for entertainment purposes… Finally she fell into the right hands and that owner gifted her to the Uslter Museum. During some renovations she went into exile which gave scientists and anthropologists a chance to dissect who she was and what she looked like. It was an incredible exhibit with artifacts all around and a video about how they did research on her and what they found out about her. There was also a mummified cat in the exhibit. You could see its little baby teeth………
As we began to wind down we found the Ulster history section about the Troubles and how they began. One of the most emotional spots for me was when we walked along the area that had gas masks on display. There was a Mickey Mouse gas mask… Not only was it necessary for children to have them because of the fighting and fear mongering, but the need was great they commercialized it… This brought up a lot of memories for both Patrick and I and we began to walk a little faster. They had an entire section of videos playing about the bombings and the attacks that took place here and in other parts of Northern Ireland. We read the walls and watched the horrific sites on the television sets… How do you recover from this??
At the end of the exhibit, Patrick went out to have a smoke and I perused the little pool with coins being tossed in. I joined him shortly after to find him talking to an older gentleman. I walked up and he nervously looked me, stopping his sentence and made sure I was supposed to be in the conversation. They had begun talking about the exhibit and the section on the Troubles. This man had fought for the British during the time of the rebellions. He said we were more like “piggy in the middle” trying to keep both forces at bay. It was a very unfortunate time for everyone… He said at first the Catholics were happy they were there and would greet them in the streets with tea and biscuits. But when orders started coming down from headquarters as to who they should evict and place into camps the men on the streets were in shock. He told us of a few times where they were supposed to evict this and that family… But in reality it was these other people that were the ones who should have been evicted. Even after telling his superiors look these are good honest people you are hurting here, and these people are the ones you should be taking. They would just look at him and say, these are your orders!! He said, but we knew who the bad people were, everyone on the streets knew who they were… I love getting other peoples interpretations of these events!! There is so much more than black and white in these situations…
After leaving the museum we decided to head back to the hostel and find where the car rental place was so we could find it easily the next morning. We found it easy enough and took some pictures around the down town area. Then we headed home. On the way we found a huge sign that said, “You are now entering loyalist Sandy Row, Heartland of South Belfast, Ulster Freedom Fighters”. Patrick went to go take a picture of it… Meanwhile I think I am going to throw up…
We head down this “row” and the first thing I spy are the curbs painted red, white and blue with the Union Jack flag running ALL up and down the street. There were multiple murals, some depicting memorials some depicting people fighting - they looked like masked guerillas. I felt a bit uneasy about the place… But it was the light of day and they would not hurt tourists, right????
Of course we made it out just fine but I definitely have a renewed perspective… It would be kewl to go back and do the mural tour so I could get a sense of the other side of this conflict…
I keep remembering the man on the steps of the museum… He loves Belfast!! He met his wife their and now they live there together in peace and with love. It seemed to me his dream was for others to recognize the beauty in this space and to understand that not all are fighting. It seems to me they have forgotten what they are fighting for… Not I that I would go around spouting that… However, in the museum I did hum, “and the pikes will be together by the rising of the moon…”
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Iona Part One
Patrick asked me on the bus from Mull if St Brigid or St Patrick ever made it over to Iona. I told him I was not sure but that I am pretty confident it was only St Columba who came from Ireland. We backpacked into Oban and grabbed a coffee before trekking out to the ferry terminal. "Up the stairs and through gate one please," the ferry man said. Not that we could get lost if we wanted too. The terminal was only one story high and there were only two gates. :-) We arrived plenty early and watched as people came and went. Of course we were the only travelers with huge packs and secondary back packs along with a huge back of dried goods to boot. We made our way into the "queue" and awaited our first ferry ride to the Isle of Mull. Patrick and I sat on the observatory deck and watched the waves guide us to our destination. The crossing was only about 45 minutes and POOF we landed in Craignure. After scurrying off to find the bus, which we eventually did, we sat down ready for the next leg of the journey.
I have to pause just a moment to explain that the buses in Ireland are pretty scary. The driver goes pretty fast along those skinny roads and corners, but nothing prepared me for this single lane road trip across the island of Mull.
Now when I say skinny road what I really mean is the actual width of the road was about the size of the walkway around Capital Lake in Olympia... Or a bike path through the Evergreen forest... Needless to say it was a "wee bit" of a road and after having stomach pains for the past 3 days I was certainly not prepared for the dips, turns and frequent stops the bus took as we wove in and out.
This brings me back round to the beginning of this story where Patrick began to ask me questions about Iona... "So do you think?" "So I wonder if?" And the question that got us here, "has St Brigid or St Patrick been on the Isle of Iona?" "No, I do not think so. At least I have not read anything about it. Not to say it could not have happened but I am pretty sure they never came here."
"So when do you think this bus ride will be over?" I was beginning to wonder myself...
Darting here and there I knew it would take at least an hour but it felt like four had passed by the time we arrived in Fionnhport. As I was walking off the bus Patrick asked when the next ferry left and I said I think about 1600. The bus driver answered back with, it is leaving right now!!! We high-tailed down to the ferry dock and as I looked up at the horizon I saw it... The Isle of Iona...
Priorities being what they are, I made my way to the toilet before joining Patrick on the observation deck. The first thing to catch my attention was St Columba's Abbey. It dominated the landscape! A large building with rose windows, scaffolding and old rock met my eyes and the tears began to well up. I looked out at the sea, I looked at the village, I looked at Patrick who was busy taking pictures and I just lost it. Here was the place where illumination had been birthed and St. Columba had placed himself into exile. I have wanted to travel here for so long and I was making my way across the final bit to step onto the shore... Many things had led me to this place. This one place in history I intended to walk upon... To take in, to breath in, to live, to dream, to dare...
We stepped off the ferry and I hoped and prayed the taxi service (the only one on the island) had received my e-mail about taking us to the hostel. No taxi... "There is a phone just up the road in the village there," one lady said. "Just give them a ring and they will be right down to fetch you." Well as the universe has done this entire trip the taxi rounded the corner as we were beginning our ascent to the village center. I flagged her down. She had not received my email but she could take us to the hostel right after the fare that had reserved her.
I began to look around at our home for the next 5 nights... To breath it in was one of the most exhilarating experiences of my entire life.
Part two:
Then I forgot something... Patrick insisted if we did not turn around get it I would be grumpy all day so we turned around. At the top of the small hill to the hostel, John the owner said he was heading into the village if we would like a lift. I ran back to the hostel, gathered my sunglasses and we headed into town. "You know, " says John, "Iona comes from the name of St Brigid." WHAT??? He continued... "There is a a book called Soil to Soul and it talks about how St Brigid was a fire Goddess and how these islands at one time were all a part of her faith." ARE YOU KIDDING ME??? I sat very silent in the back seat... "There is a Sheela-na-gig in the Nunnery..."
She was here... My entire energy shifted with the thought that the flame of Brigid, her heart, her soul was on this island with the heart of Columba's sent me into energetic fits of sheer joy... John left us off in the village and up we went to the Nunnery. There she was... Very worn from time and age but she was there... I began to cry... My emotions over ran me as my head just kept screaming she is here!! She is HERE!!! SHE IS HERE!!!
The Nunnery is in shambles. Not complete ruin but there is no roof over most of the structure and it is all pretty much a garden inside the standing walls, with bits and pieces still left behind. While the masculine energy on the island dominates the landscape the feminine power of this place runs deep to the core of my being and the island. There are bodies buried in this place of St Brigid's nuns and other wealthy daughters who were sent to learn from the nuns. I asked around about the Nunnery and there is not a lot known about its history or how came to be. But it was here before St Columba arrived on the island. The book Patrick bought, that I named above, speaks of a time when the entire area was dedicated to the pagan Goddess, Brigid. Most of the women centers were converted to Christianity through the dedication to St. Brigid.
I regained my composure and we walked from the Nunnery to the Abbey. Today would be a Holy day, set aside for the Saints... No hill traveling for me. As we rounded the corner and looked out to sea there was an old world ship. Patrick counted 8 sails and it appeared to have stepped right out of the 12th century... As if I did not already have a warped sense of time in this space. :-)
The Abbey was amazing! St Columba died on this island and the first structure I visited was his shrine. It was here that he was laid out after his death and pieces of body were sent as relics to various places such as Ireland and England. One of the things I thought was especially fitting is they sent St. Columba's index finger to the Robert the Bruce who wore it into the battle of Bannock Burn and he won! Now I know why we went to Edinburgh... :-)
Part three
We have slept for two nights in the Iona Hostel and I have to preface this bit with the love and light energy I have felt between the people sleeping in our little six person room. We were greeted by Elsje who is a Dutch woman. She arrived about five minutes after we did and if first impressions were "it" I would have written her off immediately... However, she decided to join us for a jaunt into the village for milk. She wanted to split some meat with us because purchasing any sort of meat item on these small islands is very expensive. I certainly would like some hamburger in my pasta so we off we went.
We were soon followed by a lovely lady named Olivia from Switzerland. Patrick and Elsje were taking photographs behind Olivia and I and we walked just ahead of them talking all the way. After our shopping trip, Olivia went to the craft shop and Elsje asked us if we wanted to go have coffee. She is a very direct woman!! Elsje is in her 50's and has two sons. She teaches physical education back home in Holland and has recently divorced her husband. She is here on holiday and for the first time she is by herself. She had already been to Iona a week ago but decided to come back on her way to Oban. We chatted and laughed and made our way back to the hostel where we had dinner and laughed some more. I was beginning to enjoy her company. Then we met Ruth who is from Australia and Andrew who is from the UK. Ruth is a grandmother here on holiday after visiting her children in Germany. Andrew is a student geologist who will be living on Iona for the next 6 weeks. And we are all bunked together in this little room... I am enjoying the company very much. We are able to communicate well together and I have learned a lot from all of them.
I ran into Ruth at the Abbey and we took the tour together. She really wanted a Griffin post card for her grandson but they did not have any of this particular stone piece so I decided to paint it for her. She loved it!! Elsje, Ruth and Olivia decided to take a walk to Columba's bay and we decided to head back to the hostel where we gained one more bunk-mate, Leslie. She is from Edinburgh!!!
Now I feel like I can vent a little which is really what a blog is all about. I like to think that Patrick and I are pretty polite and respectful people. We took our shoes off at the front door, we clean up after ourselves, and are kind of like adults. Oh wait... WE ARE ADULTS!!! (I almost forgot.) The two people who run the hostel are not the owners. They are staying here until November running the place for John the owner. I thought they were fair enough people... But I got this sensation or feeling that they were not very hospitable to all people... The one way to describe it is they have no joy... I do not want to use their nationalities because even I know not all people are representative of their cultural identity... Or that they are automatically this way or that depending on the country they are from. After Patricks episode with being reprimanded we decided to find a new place to stay on the island. Unfortunately the island was booked except for the last two nights we are here so we move on Sunday to the Finlay B&B just over by the ferry.
When we told them we needed to move because we are unable to work here we were greeted with well our policy is we cannot refund your money without a weeks notice, but if we sell your beds then we will give you a refund at that point. I really thought Patrick was going to lose his cool when he crossed his arms. We really just needed to be able to work. Their reply was to go in our rooms and do the work we needed to on the computers. This is asking quite a lot and is quite annoying really when you think about it. Especially since we are not 12 and at summer camp... Oh and we are paying for the room, that's right...
Once we told them we were moving however their tune changed and they were like oh no you can use the kitchen room for your work and it will be fine... We still cancelled our reservations. I thought the tune was changing a bit because they offered to let us use the kitchen area while people were out of the hostel. We sat for a bit with our lap tops out but both just felt "weird" about the whole thing so I decided I was going to draw.
Earlier this day when I was speaking with Ruth about why she was here she said she just wanted to sit and listen to what came to her. I thought wow... That is a great reason to want to come to this island. So today I sat and listened to the island. We went to the heritage center and I looked at the old Celtic knot work artists that learned on this island. Ritchie was the main teacher here for quite a while and was considered to be the bringer of Celtic art into the new millenia. George Bain was his student and learned how to weave knots. There were sketch books of original art works scattered about the table and I picked up one of them. It was one of Ritchie's books. I marveled at how imperfect his line work was in the original pencil sketches. I am so critical of my own work and the way my lines shape as I curve in and out. It was marvelous to see a master artist have mistakes in his pieces...
This caused me to re-think the whole idea of how I wanted to create/construct my book. Originally the idea was to paint landscapes but I have to be honest... I AM NOT A FAN!!! When I began to think about it all I have really wanted to do since we arrived in Ireland and in Scotland is to draw and paint Celtic knot work... As Patrick and I were having coffee at the St. Columba Hotel I asked him, "What do you think about me focusing on the knot work aspect of the book and not the landscape portion?" He really liked the idea... So did I!
Now I am in the kitchen, and decided to work on the very first page of the book where I had this amazing idea of taking sacred geometry and framing the page. Worked beautifully. Then I decided I would take the words "It happened long ago" and "Bhi se ann i bfhad" and mirror them on the page. So that the Irish was on the bottom and mirrored at the same time. Well my eyes decided the spirals were making them angry and I closed my eyes and went silent and still.... I began to think of St. Patrick, St. Brigid and St. Columba. What I saw in my head was St. Patrick at the top of a pyramid or triangle with branches of Columba and Brigid. I opened my eyes and decided to give it a go. The first attempt ended with a voice telling me that is not right. It must be upright, not landscape... So I started over. The compass moved around the paper ticking here, arcing there... Before I knew it there was a beautiful flower of life inscribed in the inner circle with three branched spirals on each tip of the triangle. Beautiful!!! I finished drawing this piece and began painting it. Minutes turned into hours and before I knew it the clock struck 7. About this time we had already eaten some pasta but Ruth kindly offered us some of her veggies and pasta which we thanked her for and sat to eat.
My art stuff was placed on a small table by the window and I had noticed that another family had come in to make dinner as we were eating the pasta so in my head I was thinking OK I am going to finish this and put my painting stuff away - because I am a respecting "Adult" who can take care of those around me along with myself. But before I had the chance to do so, Jo said are you quite finished with your work? The hostel is quite full and the people will be coming in to eat... hmmm.... Condescending tone (Jo) plus an emotional adult (Me) - Not a good mix... Why do we allow these types of people to get under our skin? I know it was because we had already had one altercation with Andrew but seriously???
I smiled politely and respectfully letting her know I was merely allowing it to dry at the moment and was going to promptly put it away. Can I just say however it was not in any ones way... There was still plenty of space for people... She was just being bossy... I do not like bossy nor do I do good with bossy people.. I tend to tuck my tail between my legs and cry somewhere while cursing them under my breath. I do not think I would have been so upset if it had not been for Martha...
Ah yes, Martha is a little girl from North Wales. I believe she is 6 or so and she has a little sister named Anna. Martha was watching me paint my art. I asked her if she liked to paint and of course she did. She loves flowers she told me. I took my fairy picture out of the folder it was in and I told her that the fairy had not told me her name. I asked Martha if she could ask the fairy what her name was... She said, "What's your name? It's Lily!" Just like that... :-) I thanked her and gifted her a flower card I made in Slane. She was very happy to have it. Then I said, well perhaps after dinner we could paint together. She was so excited to paint with me!!! So I threw my pity party and decided to heck with Jo I was going to go back in there and I was going to paint with Martha and her little sister. I walked into the kitchen and said as soon as you have had your dinner I will come back in and we can paint OK? Her eyes got so big and my heart melted!!! There was so much joy in my own heart... I continued to pack my belongings for the shifting of places tomorrow and soon heard pitter pattering foot-steps outside our room door... Martha was excited to paint and was pacing out in front of our door... We made postcards with hearts and Anna made a dragon!!! I left for my room with joy and laughter ringing through my ears. In retrospect, I hope and send my thoughts that this hostel will have joy once again... Martha's parents were here eight years prior on their honeymoon and Jonathon had asked Patrick, "Doesn't anyone play instruments here anymore or sing at night? When were here eight years ago people were laughing and making merry." I really intend they can find this once again... The hostel is lacking a "human" element that they so badly need to regain.
I have enjoyed the people I have met here... The people that are traveling through seem to be leaving huge imprints on my soul and being and I am loving every moment I am sharing with them. I am sad to be leaving the souls that are walking here but I also feel a renewed strength to be in our space without the intrusion of foreign energy that is neither wanted nor invited...
Tomorrow begins a new adventure on the Isle of Iona... One of faith, trust and determination... :-)
I have to pause just a moment to explain that the buses in Ireland are pretty scary. The driver goes pretty fast along those skinny roads and corners, but nothing prepared me for this single lane road trip across the island of Mull.
Now when I say skinny road what I really mean is the actual width of the road was about the size of the walkway around Capital Lake in Olympia... Or a bike path through the Evergreen forest... Needless to say it was a "wee bit" of a road and after having stomach pains for the past 3 days I was certainly not prepared for the dips, turns and frequent stops the bus took as we wove in and out.
This brings me back round to the beginning of this story where Patrick began to ask me questions about Iona... "So do you think?" "So I wonder if?" And the question that got us here, "has St Brigid or St Patrick been on the Isle of Iona?" "No, I do not think so. At least I have not read anything about it. Not to say it could not have happened but I am pretty sure they never came here."
"So when do you think this bus ride will be over?" I was beginning to wonder myself...
Darting here and there I knew it would take at least an hour but it felt like four had passed by the time we arrived in Fionnhport. As I was walking off the bus Patrick asked when the next ferry left and I said I think about 1600. The bus driver answered back with, it is leaving right now!!! We high-tailed down to the ferry dock and as I looked up at the horizon I saw it... The Isle of Iona...
Priorities being what they are, I made my way to the toilet before joining Patrick on the observation deck. The first thing to catch my attention was St Columba's Abbey. It dominated the landscape! A large building with rose windows, scaffolding and old rock met my eyes and the tears began to well up. I looked out at the sea, I looked at the village, I looked at Patrick who was busy taking pictures and I just lost it. Here was the place where illumination had been birthed and St. Columba had placed himself into exile. I have wanted to travel here for so long and I was making my way across the final bit to step onto the shore... Many things had led me to this place. This one place in history I intended to walk upon... To take in, to breath in, to live, to dream, to dare...
We stepped off the ferry and I hoped and prayed the taxi service (the only one on the island) had received my e-mail about taking us to the hostel. No taxi... "There is a phone just up the road in the village there," one lady said. "Just give them a ring and they will be right down to fetch you." Well as the universe has done this entire trip the taxi rounded the corner as we were beginning our ascent to the village center. I flagged her down. She had not received my email but she could take us to the hostel right after the fare that had reserved her.
I began to look around at our home for the next 5 nights... To breath it in was one of the most exhilarating experiences of my entire life.
Part two:
Then I forgot something... Patrick insisted if we did not turn around get it I would be grumpy all day so we turned around. At the top of the small hill to the hostel, John the owner said he was heading into the village if we would like a lift. I ran back to the hostel, gathered my sunglasses and we headed into town. "You know, " says John, "Iona comes from the name of St Brigid." WHAT??? He continued... "There is a a book called Soil to Soul and it talks about how St Brigid was a fire Goddess and how these islands at one time were all a part of her faith." ARE YOU KIDDING ME??? I sat very silent in the back seat... "There is a Sheela-na-gig in the Nunnery..."
She was here... My entire energy shifted with the thought that the flame of Brigid, her heart, her soul was on this island with the heart of Columba's sent me into energetic fits of sheer joy... John left us off in the village and up we went to the Nunnery. There she was... Very worn from time and age but she was there... I began to cry... My emotions over ran me as my head just kept screaming she is here!! She is HERE!!! SHE IS HERE!!!
The Nunnery is in shambles. Not complete ruin but there is no roof over most of the structure and it is all pretty much a garden inside the standing walls, with bits and pieces still left behind. While the masculine energy on the island dominates the landscape the feminine power of this place runs deep to the core of my being and the island. There are bodies buried in this place of St Brigid's nuns and other wealthy daughters who were sent to learn from the nuns. I asked around about the Nunnery and there is not a lot known about its history or how came to be. But it was here before St Columba arrived on the island. The book Patrick bought, that I named above, speaks of a time when the entire area was dedicated to the pagan Goddess, Brigid. Most of the women centers were converted to Christianity through the dedication to St. Brigid.
I regained my composure and we walked from the Nunnery to the Abbey. Today would be a Holy day, set aside for the Saints... No hill traveling for me. As we rounded the corner and looked out to sea there was an old world ship. Patrick counted 8 sails and it appeared to have stepped right out of the 12th century... As if I did not already have a warped sense of time in this space. :-)
The Abbey was amazing! St Columba died on this island and the first structure I visited was his shrine. It was here that he was laid out after his death and pieces of body were sent as relics to various places such as Ireland and England. One of the things I thought was especially fitting is they sent St. Columba's index finger to the Robert the Bruce who wore it into the battle of Bannock Burn and he won! Now I know why we went to Edinburgh... :-)
Part three
We have slept for two nights in the Iona Hostel and I have to preface this bit with the love and light energy I have felt between the people sleeping in our little six person room. We were greeted by Elsje who is a Dutch woman. She arrived about five minutes after we did and if first impressions were "it" I would have written her off immediately... However, she decided to join us for a jaunt into the village for milk. She wanted to split some meat with us because purchasing any sort of meat item on these small islands is very expensive. I certainly would like some hamburger in my pasta so we off we went.
We were soon followed by a lovely lady named Olivia from Switzerland. Patrick and Elsje were taking photographs behind Olivia and I and we walked just ahead of them talking all the way. After our shopping trip, Olivia went to the craft shop and Elsje asked us if we wanted to go have coffee. She is a very direct woman!! Elsje is in her 50's and has two sons. She teaches physical education back home in Holland and has recently divorced her husband. She is here on holiday and for the first time she is by herself. She had already been to Iona a week ago but decided to come back on her way to Oban. We chatted and laughed and made our way back to the hostel where we had dinner and laughed some more. I was beginning to enjoy her company. Then we met Ruth who is from Australia and Andrew who is from the UK. Ruth is a grandmother here on holiday after visiting her children in Germany. Andrew is a student geologist who will be living on Iona for the next 6 weeks. And we are all bunked together in this little room... I am enjoying the company very much. We are able to communicate well together and I have learned a lot from all of them.
I ran into Ruth at the Abbey and we took the tour together. She really wanted a Griffin post card for her grandson but they did not have any of this particular stone piece so I decided to paint it for her. She loved it!! Elsje, Ruth and Olivia decided to take a walk to Columba's bay and we decided to head back to the hostel where we gained one more bunk-mate, Leslie. She is from Edinburgh!!!
Now I feel like I can vent a little which is really what a blog is all about. I like to think that Patrick and I are pretty polite and respectful people. We took our shoes off at the front door, we clean up after ourselves, and are kind of like adults. Oh wait... WE ARE ADULTS!!! (I almost forgot.) The two people who run the hostel are not the owners. They are staying here until November running the place for John the owner. I thought they were fair enough people... But I got this sensation or feeling that they were not very hospitable to all people... The one way to describe it is they have no joy... I do not want to use their nationalities because even I know not all people are representative of their cultural identity... Or that they are automatically this way or that depending on the country they are from. After Patricks episode with being reprimanded we decided to find a new place to stay on the island. Unfortunately the island was booked except for the last two nights we are here so we move on Sunday to the Finlay B&B just over by the ferry.
When we told them we needed to move because we are unable to work here we were greeted with well our policy is we cannot refund your money without a weeks notice, but if we sell your beds then we will give you a refund at that point. I really thought Patrick was going to lose his cool when he crossed his arms. We really just needed to be able to work. Their reply was to go in our rooms and do the work we needed to on the computers. This is asking quite a lot and is quite annoying really when you think about it. Especially since we are not 12 and at summer camp... Oh and we are paying for the room, that's right...
Once we told them we were moving however their tune changed and they were like oh no you can use the kitchen room for your work and it will be fine... We still cancelled our reservations. I thought the tune was changing a bit because they offered to let us use the kitchen area while people were out of the hostel. We sat for a bit with our lap tops out but both just felt "weird" about the whole thing so I decided I was going to draw.
Earlier this day when I was speaking with Ruth about why she was here she said she just wanted to sit and listen to what came to her. I thought wow... That is a great reason to want to come to this island. So today I sat and listened to the island. We went to the heritage center and I looked at the old Celtic knot work artists that learned on this island. Ritchie was the main teacher here for quite a while and was considered to be the bringer of Celtic art into the new millenia. George Bain was his student and learned how to weave knots. There were sketch books of original art works scattered about the table and I picked up one of them. It was one of Ritchie's books. I marveled at how imperfect his line work was in the original pencil sketches. I am so critical of my own work and the way my lines shape as I curve in and out. It was marvelous to see a master artist have mistakes in his pieces...
This caused me to re-think the whole idea of how I wanted to create/construct my book. Originally the idea was to paint landscapes but I have to be honest... I AM NOT A FAN!!! When I began to think about it all I have really wanted to do since we arrived in Ireland and in Scotland is to draw and paint Celtic knot work... As Patrick and I were having coffee at the St. Columba Hotel I asked him, "What do you think about me focusing on the knot work aspect of the book and not the landscape portion?" He really liked the idea... So did I!
Now I am in the kitchen, and decided to work on the very first page of the book where I had this amazing idea of taking sacred geometry and framing the page. Worked beautifully. Then I decided I would take the words "It happened long ago" and "Bhi se ann i bfhad" and mirror them on the page. So that the Irish was on the bottom and mirrored at the same time. Well my eyes decided the spirals were making them angry and I closed my eyes and went silent and still.... I began to think of St. Patrick, St. Brigid and St. Columba. What I saw in my head was St. Patrick at the top of a pyramid or triangle with branches of Columba and Brigid. I opened my eyes and decided to give it a go. The first attempt ended with a voice telling me that is not right. It must be upright, not landscape... So I started over. The compass moved around the paper ticking here, arcing there... Before I knew it there was a beautiful flower of life inscribed in the inner circle with three branched spirals on each tip of the triangle. Beautiful!!! I finished drawing this piece and began painting it. Minutes turned into hours and before I knew it the clock struck 7. About this time we had already eaten some pasta but Ruth kindly offered us some of her veggies and pasta which we thanked her for and sat to eat.
My art stuff was placed on a small table by the window and I had noticed that another family had come in to make dinner as we were eating the pasta so in my head I was thinking OK I am going to finish this and put my painting stuff away - because I am a respecting "Adult" who can take care of those around me along with myself. But before I had the chance to do so, Jo said are you quite finished with your work? The hostel is quite full and the people will be coming in to eat... hmmm.... Condescending tone (Jo) plus an emotional adult (Me) - Not a good mix... Why do we allow these types of people to get under our skin? I know it was because we had already had one altercation with Andrew but seriously???
I smiled politely and respectfully letting her know I was merely allowing it to dry at the moment and was going to promptly put it away. Can I just say however it was not in any ones way... There was still plenty of space for people... She was just being bossy... I do not like bossy nor do I do good with bossy people.. I tend to tuck my tail between my legs and cry somewhere while cursing them under my breath. I do not think I would have been so upset if it had not been for Martha...
Ah yes, Martha is a little girl from North Wales. I believe she is 6 or so and she has a little sister named Anna. Martha was watching me paint my art. I asked her if she liked to paint and of course she did. She loves flowers she told me. I took my fairy picture out of the folder it was in and I told her that the fairy had not told me her name. I asked Martha if she could ask the fairy what her name was... She said, "What's your name? It's Lily!" Just like that... :-) I thanked her and gifted her a flower card I made in Slane. She was very happy to have it. Then I said, well perhaps after dinner we could paint together. She was so excited to paint with me!!! So I threw my pity party and decided to heck with Jo I was going to go back in there and I was going to paint with Martha and her little sister. I walked into the kitchen and said as soon as you have had your dinner I will come back in and we can paint OK? Her eyes got so big and my heart melted!!! There was so much joy in my own heart... I continued to pack my belongings for the shifting of places tomorrow and soon heard pitter pattering foot-steps outside our room door... Martha was excited to paint and was pacing out in front of our door... We made postcards with hearts and Anna made a dragon!!! I left for my room with joy and laughter ringing through my ears. In retrospect, I hope and send my thoughts that this hostel will have joy once again... Martha's parents were here eight years prior on their honeymoon and Jonathon had asked Patrick, "Doesn't anyone play instruments here anymore or sing at night? When were here eight years ago people were laughing and making merry." I really intend they can find this once again... The hostel is lacking a "human" element that they so badly need to regain.
I have enjoyed the people I have met here... The people that are traveling through seem to be leaving huge imprints on my soul and being and I am loving every moment I am sharing with them. I am sad to be leaving the souls that are walking here but I also feel a renewed strength to be in our space without the intrusion of foreign energy that is neither wanted nor invited...
Tomorrow begins a new adventure on the Isle of Iona... One of faith, trust and determination... :-)
Iona Part Two
I finally feel at peace in this Island. Moving away from the hostel was the best decision we made.
Last night I was able to call my mom and see how things are at home. She slipped a little while getting out of her chair. My dad fixed the floor in the bathroom so there is no longer a step there for her to trip on. She also told me that my Aunt Juana who has battling cancer is not doing very well. I feel she is slipping from this world and entering the next phase...
After finding out the news I asked Patrick if he would accompany me to the Nunnery just up the road from our new home. We were able to find the altar in the dark, after stepping on a few snails - oops, and I set my torch to the red LED light in lieu of a candle. I sang Gabhim Molta Bridghe and Patrick found the words to speak for my aunt that I could not find... He said the all the right things and offered up a prayer for her safe journey into the next world.
I wondered in that place why I was so saddened by my aunts departure. I have known for some time that she was on the way out of this world but until now, on this island, I had not fully understood the depth of my love and attachment to this amazing woman. Prior to leaving for Ireland the first time I decided to bring the elements back to my aunt. I found Brigids flame in Kildare, a rock from Glencolumcille, sand from the Silver Strand beach and a feather my friend Gen found for me on one of our walks. I drove our friend Kendra home and in rush hour traffic made my way to my aunts house in Troutdale Oregon. I offered up to her the four elements and told her of my journeys to Ireland. How I had held her in my heart. How I had said many prayers for her while we trekked across the country side visiting holy sites and ancient stones. But until now I did not understand why.
In my earlier blog I mentioned that I found the Goddess here in this very masculine place. Aside the Abbey is a ruined nunnery that legend states once belonged to the Sisters of Brigid. It was here that Brigid's flame keepers and the ancients kept her flame lit. Then in the midst of my sorrow I turned to Patrick and I said my aunt gifted me with the Goddess... When I entered massage school she sent me a necklace of the Goddess - Venus of Willendorf - a 10,000 year old representation of a Goddess. Once when I lost my necklace - which I wore around my neck always, I had it tattooed on my back. I began to cry... Patrick held me in this place of old, where the spirits of the nuns sleep in the black earth. After singing a praise song we heard something sit on the bench beside us and we both felt something very ancient enter the area with us.
The last time I physically saw my aunt was when I brought her the four elements of Ireland. Patrick said, now she is offering up the fifth element to the universe.
My love for you has no bounds and even though you are about to leave this world for the next I know you always walk beside me as the Goddess does. I love you Juana... Thank you for setting me on this path for giving me the most amazing gift that I will carry with me until I join you... Slan abhaile agus granim thu Aunt Juana... My teacher, my friend, and the most amazingly strong woman I know... After you depart, your physical presence in this world will be sorely missed...
Last night I was able to call my mom and see how things are at home. She slipped a little while getting out of her chair. My dad fixed the floor in the bathroom so there is no longer a step there for her to trip on. She also told me that my Aunt Juana who has battling cancer is not doing very well. I feel she is slipping from this world and entering the next phase...
After finding out the news I asked Patrick if he would accompany me to the Nunnery just up the road from our new home. We were able to find the altar in the dark, after stepping on a few snails - oops, and I set my torch to the red LED light in lieu of a candle. I sang Gabhim Molta Bridghe and Patrick found the words to speak for my aunt that I could not find... He said the all the right things and offered up a prayer for her safe journey into the next world.
I wondered in that place why I was so saddened by my aunts departure. I have known for some time that she was on the way out of this world but until now, on this island, I had not fully understood the depth of my love and attachment to this amazing woman. Prior to leaving for Ireland the first time I decided to bring the elements back to my aunt. I found Brigids flame in Kildare, a rock from Glencolumcille, sand from the Silver Strand beach and a feather my friend Gen found for me on one of our walks. I drove our friend Kendra home and in rush hour traffic made my way to my aunts house in Troutdale Oregon. I offered up to her the four elements and told her of my journeys to Ireland. How I had held her in my heart. How I had said many prayers for her while we trekked across the country side visiting holy sites and ancient stones. But until now I did not understand why.
In my earlier blog I mentioned that I found the Goddess here in this very masculine place. Aside the Abbey is a ruined nunnery that legend states once belonged to the Sisters of Brigid. It was here that Brigid's flame keepers and the ancients kept her flame lit. Then in the midst of my sorrow I turned to Patrick and I said my aunt gifted me with the Goddess... When I entered massage school she sent me a necklace of the Goddess - Venus of Willendorf - a 10,000 year old representation of a Goddess. Once when I lost my necklace - which I wore around my neck always, I had it tattooed on my back. I began to cry... Patrick held me in this place of old, where the spirits of the nuns sleep in the black earth. After singing a praise song we heard something sit on the bench beside us and we both felt something very ancient enter the area with us.
The last time I physically saw my aunt was when I brought her the four elements of Ireland. Patrick said, now she is offering up the fifth element to the universe.
My love for you has no bounds and even though you are about to leave this world for the next I know you always walk beside me as the Goddess does. I love you Juana... Thank you for setting me on this path for giving me the most amazing gift that I will carry with me until I join you... Slan abhaile agus granim thu Aunt Juana... My teacher, my friend, and the most amazingly strong woman I know... After you depart, your physical presence in this world will be sorely missed...
Iona part three
We awoke this morning a little after six am, knowing that we had to leave all to soon. We wandered around the dock area and headed in for a quick breakfast that was provided by the B&B we were staying at. Val, the fine chap who checked us in, was eagerly awaiting our arrival. He greeted us and shared a few words before we picked our cereal and yogurt and sat down to our last meal on the Isle. It was very bittersweet for me, because I know we are heading to Ireland tomorrow. But there is something so special about the island itself.
We decided to check out an hour before the ferry arrived and just look out over the bay. As we stood in the queue with our packs and hearts eager to go home Patrick and I both began to sing "Here's a Health to the Company". When I got to the last part I began to cry. Iona is a special place. It seems to draw people in from all over the world; Germany, Italy, France, Australia, UK, America, Canada, Iran, India, Pakistan, Holland and I am sure many more places... Our small amount of time on the Isle was a myriad of emotion. But as we watched her fade away into the distance my heart began to ache... Who knows how long before we head back to her shining green shore, marbled with ancient rock and Holy sites. I cried on the ferry passing and as she faded out of site I turn my eyes to the new horizon on Mull which was welcoming us with sun and Scotland mists.
It was here I felt my heart re-fuel with anticipation of setting my feet once again on the Irish soil. I want to go back to the Isle of Iona, over and over again... But there is just something about Eire that calls to me, pulls me from the depth of my being... To have been to Columba's shore on his exiled island and to now be returning to his home is truly a testament.
I do not know if I can say I had anything extra-ordinary happen on the isle... Except that we were just on the isle itself. The stomach issue that I had carried for almost four days disappeared on the first day we were there. We met amazing people that I will carry in my heart forever. Patrick found himself on a mountain and I found myself amidst the ruins of a nunnery. Columba led us there, but Brigid found me there and for this I am ever thankful. I will carry a little piece of Iona with me forever.
We arrived in Oban ready to settle in for the day. Patrick and I were sure the hostel was just "up" the road about 3 or 4 blocks. Of course the last time we were here we did not have our packs, just a bag of groceries and some laundry. I have to admit my body is stronger than I ever expected it could be. After 4 days of hiking on the isle, my feet and shoulders carried me and the 75 pounds I was carrying almost a mile to our destination this morning. Not to say that by the time we arrived I was not aching for relief... The 5th of August when we get our car cannot come fast enough... :-)
But here we are anyhow... Awaiting our check-in to Oban so that we can leave this place tomorrow and journey back to our home land... Ireland, light a candle for our safe arrival and we will see you soon!!!
We decided to check out an hour before the ferry arrived and just look out over the bay. As we stood in the queue with our packs and hearts eager to go home Patrick and I both began to sing "Here's a Health to the Company". When I got to the last part I began to cry. Iona is a special place. It seems to draw people in from all over the world; Germany, Italy, France, Australia, UK, America, Canada, Iran, India, Pakistan, Holland and I am sure many more places... Our small amount of time on the Isle was a myriad of emotion. But as we watched her fade away into the distance my heart began to ache... Who knows how long before we head back to her shining green shore, marbled with ancient rock and Holy sites. I cried on the ferry passing and as she faded out of site I turn my eyes to the new horizon on Mull which was welcoming us with sun and Scotland mists.
It was here I felt my heart re-fuel with anticipation of setting my feet once again on the Irish soil. I want to go back to the Isle of Iona, over and over again... But there is just something about Eire that calls to me, pulls me from the depth of my being... To have been to Columba's shore on his exiled island and to now be returning to his home is truly a testament.
I do not know if I can say I had anything extra-ordinary happen on the isle... Except that we were just on the isle itself. The stomach issue that I had carried for almost four days disappeared on the first day we were there. We met amazing people that I will carry in my heart forever. Patrick found himself on a mountain and I found myself amidst the ruins of a nunnery. Columba led us there, but Brigid found me there and for this I am ever thankful. I will carry a little piece of Iona with me forever.
We arrived in Oban ready to settle in for the day. Patrick and I were sure the hostel was just "up" the road about 3 or 4 blocks. Of course the last time we were here we did not have our packs, just a bag of groceries and some laundry. I have to admit my body is stronger than I ever expected it could be. After 4 days of hiking on the isle, my feet and shoulders carried me and the 75 pounds I was carrying almost a mile to our destination this morning. Not to say that by the time we arrived I was not aching for relief... The 5th of August when we get our car cannot come fast enough... :-)
But here we are anyhow... Awaiting our check-in to Oban so that we can leave this place tomorrow and journey back to our home land... Ireland, light a candle for our safe arrival and we will see you soon!!!
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Churning, turning whirlpools…
I woke up Monday morning with terrible, horrible, no good, very bad, stomach cramps… I am not sure if it is something I ate or something I am processing and releasing but whichever it is, it can leave, ANOIS!!! I spent the most of yesterday in bed… Patrick went to Starbucks to hang out on the Wi-Fi and found out that my mom is not doing very well. I had a feeling something would happen while we were gone… She fell off the bed and could not get back up. My dad could not help her up either so they called 911 and they came to assist her. I am a bit worried but I know she is in the right hands and that there is nothing I can do from this side of the world…
Meanwhile my stomach cramps go on… Patrick went in search of chips and alas came back empty handed. We made our way down to a restaurant and I ate some soup and chips. I love chips!!! I was sure when we woke up this morning it would be gone… especially after how many times I had visited the toilet!
Alas, I awoke to another day of stomach cramps. I told my body this morning, guess what? We have to move whether you are happy or not… I am going to put this pack on and we are going to get to the bus stop. Then we are going to ride the bus to Connel and you are going to deal with it. That is exactly what I did… After dinner this evening we went for a wee walk by the water. Lara falls is said to be one of the strongest tidal surges in the world. It churns and turns with the tide. This creates whirlpools and a beautiful dance of ebb and flow. While one side is flowing down stream the other is flowing up stream.
I am not sure what lesson all this is supposed to teach me at the moment. I know that my stomach still feels very much like that river out our B&B window. I would very much like to wake up in the morning feeling refreshed, revived and stomach cramp free… Sleep sweet world.. I love you belly… Please feel better in the morning! Signed, your body…
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