Part Two

Morning on Iona dawned a bright and clear grey. I had big plans to catch the 8:30 ferry -- plans which wobbled a little bit when I discovered that the hotel wouldn't start serving breakfast until 8am, and then crashed completely when, at 8:20am, I ran to the desk to check out, only to discover that the clerk had actually gone down to MEET the ferry and drive new customers back to the hotel.

I was slightly disappointed, but as this afforded me another pot of tea and another half hour of relaxation in the dining room, the disappointment soon went away.

I also discovered this while enroute to the dining room that second time around. Notice anything unusual about this remote, rural Scottish bookshelf? Like, say, the discreet little maple leaf on display near the bottom?

I wonder if the Greater Victoria Public Library is still missing their copy of Changing Heaven.

Everything about this little trip, I'm discovering, was somehow meant to be. Like taking the chance on that initial ferry. Like finding a room in that hotel. And, as it turns out, like missing the first ferry back to Mull in the morning. Instead of rushing down to the dock, I got a few extra hours on the island, which meant that I could scoot around for a wee walk and climb a little ways up the island bluffs. Not very far, though -- the ground was damp and my running shoes were slip-sliding all over the place.

I also got to go to the Abbey for one more service. Not as powerful as the one last night, but still beautiful. And then I was out in the cool Scottish air, with the grass and the wind and the sheep and the goats.

I puttered around the island for an hour or so more, and then made my way back to the ferry. Enroute to the dock, I stopped into the Iona Community Gift Shop, and got myself some lovely little prayer pearls. I wanted a souvenir of the island, and was hoping for something a little more meaningful than, well, an Iona t-shirt. And what do you know, but the girl in the shop took me right to them. And then I walked back down to the ferry, and ambled on, and pretty soon it sailed away and that was it. Iona was over.

 And yet it's not over, not at all. I could feel the peace of the island receding almost instantly. Once on the ferry from Craignure back to Oban (most predictably, I fell asleep on the bus riding back across Mull), I found myself fingering the pearls and thinking, isn't it all kind of hokey? I mean, it was just a really nice island, and being warm on a cold windy night, and a series of coincidences that landed you there, and besides -- you're not sure if you really believe in God anyway. Right? And suddenly I wanted to put the beads away and forget about them. Suddenly everything about my time on the island seemed quaint, or hard to explain, or just a little too good to be true, the way that miracles always seem to be a little too pat-and-done when someone else relays them to you.

But then, when I got home, I read about how the Iona Community, among other things, thinks that love shows its face in a whole host of ways. And I remembered how I really liked the fact that the sermon on Friday was decidedly un-sermon-like, and yet so profound precisely because of its simplicity. I like the focus that they place on social justice, on fairtrade, on simple things like encouraging their community on the island to be as environmentally sound as can be. I like the fact that they do work, real, good work, with inner city children. And, well, I like how I felt when I was there. Even if it was nothing other than the energy left behind by the thousands of other pilgrims who have made their way to this place over the years, I think that's important.

Because in the end, I think the search, and the questions, and the trying as hard as you can to find some kind of peace -- so long as your search doesn't hurt anyone else -- that's important, too. Whether it end up with God or not. I do feel like I was in the presence of ... something ... while there. Maybe, as above, it was only energy. But it was good energy. It made me feel good about my life, about my own hopes and dreams. (Even if my little blue boat was a failure.) It did feel spiritual. It did feel God-like. And, well, it was just beautiful. Perhaps that's all one can say about things like this.

When I finally got back to Edinburgh late Saturday evening, I relayed my Iona adventures to R. and she said something really interesting. This sounds like it's been such a pivotal trip for you. You know -- you landed, and hit the ground running with the wedding, and now you've been having such a lovely time reconnecting with friends and going shopping and doing all these things that you love. And then there was the book offer, right in the midst of you, as you said, feeling perfectly happy. And now this. It just ... it sounds like there's so much going on.

I like that. There is so much going on. I feel like I'm being turned inside out every day. And all I want to do is hold my pearls close and wish for the same, the same, my whole life long.