Then there are the resident island livestock, and yesterday it was the sheep. Here I was, sitting on a bench along the path toward the northern beaches, when four black sheep came munching their way along. Their task was simple; eat. Then to my amazement, they came right up to me and snooped around to see if I had anything to share. One licked my pants and tried for my shoelace. I just sat there as they hung around with me for a while--no fear at all, and eventually all four moved on their way. My solitude was not interrupted; even the sheep understand about the ‘thin place’.
Silence, solitude and simplicity take on a one-of-a-kind flavor on Iona. Although at certain times and places there are clusters of people, it seems that everyone who comes to the island is quiet and respectful. Solitude is never interrupted; it’s just that kind of ‘thin place’. Then there are the resident island livestock, and yesterday it was the sheep. Here I was, sitting on a bench along the path toward the northern beaches, when four black sheep came munching their way along. Their task was simple; eat. Then to my amazement, they came right up to me and snooped around to see if I had anything to share. One licked my pants and tried for my shoelace. I just sat there as they hung around with me for a while--no fear at all, and eventually all four moved on their way. My solitude was not interrupted; even the sheep understand about the ‘thin place’.
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On the train to Oban a few days ago I got talking with a fellow traveler as one only seems to do on a train. I brought up the topic of my lost suitcase of six days, which three days prior I had been told was on its way to Glasgow via Brussels. I told my traveling friend about the positives of losing a suitcase: that there was a certain simplicity in not having all that stuff; that I had no decisions to make about what to wear; that when I left the hotel in Edinburgh I only had to pack a simple backpack. But then I got going on the negatives: that I had to make telephone calls a couple of times a day; that although I was doing my best not to think about it while sightseeing (or while sleeping), clearly it was taking more psychic energy that I wanted to admit. We discussed what one might learn from such a situation, which I summed up in two sound bites: ‘the stuff’ and ‘the anxiety about the stuff’ Then my friend gave her summary: “You are practicing non-reactive awareness.” Isn’t that a wonderful phrase? I’ve been doing my best to practice it ever since. For me it means that I don’t need to react negatively or defensively, but instead be aware, and of course as need be, take action. Stop the chatter in my head about ‘that inept airline’, etc. etc. etc. And, yes, call to see how things are going. I must admit it is easier to write about non-reactive awareness than to practice it. But Iona, where everything is clear and simple, where the space between heaven and earth is thin, is a great place to make an effort and to have some successes. And so with that in mind, here are some pictures of my hike to St. Columba’s Bay today. I might add that sheep are pros at non-reactive awareness. The sand along the north beach of Iona reminds me of sand at Cranes Beach in Ipswich MA. This morning, after passing cows and sheep along the path, I wandered onto the beach, and found myself taking a delicious 10:30 nap. How’s that for someone who likes silence, solitude and simplicity and who sometimes likes to be alone? Iona offers the perfect combination, along with enough community to keep me in the world.
From the ferry before it became sunny.
My first day on Iona and what a beauty. Sun, no wind. Everyone is getting sunburned. I spent a good part of the day walking around and taking pictures. Please enjoy the day with me. If we have a rainy day, maybe I’ll write more. For now I find the solitude as I wander about. Edinburgh sun; perfect day for a hike to Arthur’s Seat, and besides it was my last day before taking the train to Oban. Why is this hill called Arthur’s Seat? No one knows but the name leaves much to the imagination—King Arthur and all that. The walk/hike up took an hour; it’s impossible to figure the distance because there are many paths to choose from. You just wander up, hoping you’ve picked one of the easier ones. Same for the hike down. Silence, solitude and simplicity, but also community. I stopped to talk with a woman sitting along the path, cane by her side. She was grateful that she could climb as far as she did and was now waiting for her daughter who was making the hike to the top. “I was diagnosed with MS in ’97 and look what I can do! I’m so grateful and am just appreciating the scenery.” She went on to tell me that at age 43 she became pregnant and what a gift her daughter has been. Two days ago, on her 70th birthday, her daughter telephoned to say that they were going to Scotland for three days to celebrate. And there she was, sitting on the grass half way up Arthur’s Seat. I told her the ‘very grateful’ story of my mom’s last words, and then went on my way. |
Contact me: bobbifisher.mac@mac.com
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