Just after Lunastal I headed west to Eilean Nam Ban More, The Isle of the Big Women, otherwise known as the Isle of Eigg in the inner Hebrides.
It was a fine day as I headed off on a pilgrimage to visit a sacred site. I always head off on pilgrimages alone, for as much as they are a sacred journey, they are a deep communication with the land.
I’ve made the journey once before and it is rare to meet another human soul on the route but you’ll be accompanied by other souls such as sheep, perhaps a seal beaking down on the shore, or a little mouse might scurry past your feet. You might be accompanied by the white slender shape of gannets dive bombing into the water and if you’re lucky you might be in the presence of an eagle.
The route takes you to the very end of the main road of Eigg and down through the townships of Cleadale and finally Howlin, let me be clear when I saw ‘township’ as this is an island with a population of around 100 and whose terrain is roughly 5 miles by 3.
Every time you leave home,
Another road takes you
Into a world you were never in.
New strangers on other paths await.
New places that have never seen you
Will startle a little at your entry.
Old places that know you well
Will pretend nothing
Changed since your last visit.
John O’Donohue – For the Traveler
It was a beautiful day with blue skies and a strong breeze. I hiked up the steep hill that would take me to the other side of the island, and it was at the crest that an entirely new world opens up. The view sweeps down to the Sea of the Hebrides, a vast expanse of water with a flat and glassy surface. A far cry from the rolling waves we sailed in on.
Off to the horizon, the faraway peaks of Skye appeared like jagged teeth set in the jawbone of some ancient monster. Suddenly I noticed some movement to the right side and turned to see the large wingspan of an eagle soaring. How wonderful to be in her presence.
This story isn’t about the site I was going to visit, it’s about the journey. As this new vista opened up I felt my heart expand to meet it. Without even realizing I find tears streaming down my face and as the track is very narrow, made by little sheep hooves which require you to really dig in with the side of your boots, tears require stopping and sitting down – time to sink into the emotion and the practicality of drying your eyes.
The emotion poured like cathartic waves, as the crescendo of the landscape swells, the waves breaking up feelings that drag out old thoughts – tumbling over and out, an emotional landscape, a figurative and actual path of healing.
The Return Path
Without realizing it, I took a different path on the way back. the path that takes the higher route, I hadn’t realized that this was the exact same scenario that played out last time.
About a half hour along I realize I’m far higher than the path I took in, I’m way too close to the cliffs above as I remember viewing them from a far lower viewpoint. This isn’t a big deal as the heather makes for springy padding if you slide down the hillside on your backside. This is normally quite a fun thing but on the journey back that’s when a whole new layer of things started bubbling to the surface.
I’m feeling overwhelmed, it’s a three-hour trek back and I keep losing the trail. Staying on a trail is preferable as wading through heather and bracken is hard going. I decide to keep going but the path is leading me even higher. This is normally an easy decision – to lose some elevation but somehow I can’t quite make the decision. Tears come, which means sitting for a while as I can’t walk without clearly seeing where I’m placing my feet.
I look out to sea and see two tall white sailboats sailing together. From this vantage point, I can clearly see the path of currents and the fan of the breeze marked across the surface of the water. I wonder how many dolphins, porpoises and whales are out there beneath the surface. I look back to the boats and think If I could just make it back to the shore and caught their attention they could come out on a dingy and pick me up.
I decided to scoot down through the heather, using my heel as a brake as you can pick up speed very quickly. I’m not quite sure if I’ve found the path and so wade through the heather looking below me for any signs of breaks in the vegetation. I’m aware that everything that is happening feels like a metaphor for life. When you are off the path and wading through the vegetation you never quite know if there’s a dip in the landscape and you could lose your footing and go over on an ankle. Yet what is life without some risk-taking and heading off on our own?
I think I see the path slightly above me and so scramble up a few rocks, but when I look down towards the shore there is a very clear pathway down below me but I’m unsure whether that is the path that I walked in on.
As I turn around an outcrop two sheep look utterly shocked to see me, so I sit still for a while and let them run off. Soon they will be herded up from this land and boarded onto the boat which will take them to slaughter. My mind thinks of the traditions and beliefs of these islands were purposely erased as the people themselves were ripped from the land to make way for sheep. The grief must have been surmountable to have lived in these lands, rooted through countless generations only to be put on a boat and taken over an ocean to foreign lands. That feels almost too much for my heart to bear, and I cry as I look towards far away townships on Skye.
Everything seems so overwhelming right now and I’m at the same place where on my last trip I saw a lamb with a broken leg down on the shore, and the cries of its mother looking for it. I had gone down and carried the lamb up past the shore as she may well have drowned when the tide came in.
Then suddenly I was aware of a feeling of comfort, that felt very different from my uncertainty, and I knew it was outside of my own body. It felt like a beacon, a guide, someone to show me the path, to walk ahead of me so I could just follow. It was the most comforting feeling, it was as if the land itself was shapeshifting, morphing into an invisible but tangible figure.
The isles of the Hebrides are referred to as Brighid’s isles for she is a goddess woven into the fabric and the bedrock of these Islands.
I dried yet more tears, took a drink of water, and started walking. I wasn’t tired but knew that the little bubbles of thoughts rising to the surface were the things I overlooked, the things I took for granted, and yet they were the sources of healing that needed to be cherished, and to be carefully rewoven back in.
And so I got back to the trail and as I did I chanted, Brighid in front of me, Mary behind me.
Brighid in front of me, Mary Behind me.
Brighid in front of me, Mary Behind me.
Brighid in front of me, Mary Behind me.
With each step I chanted, I even tried to create a tune to the chant which came out like a TV commercial, which made me laugh. Here I was with an ancient Goddess leading the way and my grandmother’s sister behind me, and Catherine, my grandmother beside me. A holy trinity.