Postcards from the Pilgrimage

Lindisfarne/Iona

9 days ago, I found myself on the Holy Isle of Lindisfarne preparing to perform a concert to mark the end of a 140 mile St Cuthbert’s pilgrimage.

Graced by hospitality that was second to none, I let myself be wrapped by the warmth of the place, and the people.

It had been a hard few days… due to being left by a bus on the side of the road in the rain and in the dark, waiting for a taxi, my kids needed to rest up somewhere. The worst part was I had slipped and fallen getting off the bus and I had some very bruised ribs.

I had planned to walk the Pilgrim’s Way, but decided not walk a bit wounded, and rather, rested up for the concert.

It’s hard to put words to it, but some magic was at work that night. Having 20 years of experience as a performer, I can usually get a feel for when the veil lifts between the room and the Mystery. This was in part thanks to the bardic presence of Malcolm Guite, who decided to join me and perform some of his wonderful sonnets, for St Hilda, for St Cuthbert, for the gospel of John… and we performed the Christ Hymn together and I ended my concert with Leonard Cohen’s If It Be Your Will.

I am still working out all that was happening to me, and to others, that night.

The hospitality continuing, I was offered a ride to the Isle of Mull, where my family was resting and waiting for me. And where I performed a concert in Dervaig at Kilmore Church -where I communed with the beautiful stained glass image of Jesus and Mary Magdalene.

We made it onto Iona, rested, and ready to do some pretty significant hiking and a little show at the new Village Hall. I especially wanted to show my children the Hermit’s Hut, the Sheela na gig, Brigid’s Well, St Oran’s Chapel, Columba Bay, and the White Strand of the Monks.

We took them into the Iona shop where they selected the symbol that called to them, then we hiked up Dun I and washed the necklaces in the Well.

There is more to write… because in the ordinary challenges of questing, we are being graced with deep mystery.

The word that keeps showing up on my tongue is “threshold”.

We are at a threshold moment… and how we work with the immense energy of this, matters.

We will be heading to St Ninian’s Cave this week. I have been called to sit there and hold space at the place where Roman Christianity spread its layer over the lands of Picts and the Druids. It appears I need to do this before my trip to the West Country.

There is something energetic being asked of us. To go “back” … and where symbols and angels and saints were used to ward off, to dominate, to erase, we need to ask for their help now, in the timeless realm, to open the doors that were shut, and to make thresholds of them. For Time and Origin to flow more freely, and to give us the heart and stomach for what is ours to do.

Hierarchy is inevitable when linear time, proof texting, and lifelessness are all we are allowed to trust.

Give me the tales of the Folk.

Give me all that was suppressed for some reason (if it is all bullocks, why was it such a threat?)

Listen to the sentient heartbeat of the place you find yourself in.

Thank the sun.

Sense the portholes, and the voices, still tending to our planet with vigilance of incarnate proportions.

The Unicorn Christ says,

Don’t fence me in.