Communion of Saints
The point at
which one begins story is arbitrary, a bracket put around an experience to help
understand and/or savor it. I am
choosing to begin this story by recollecting my dream in January 2009 featuring
both Jesus and Sheela-na-gig. I could have
begun it with my son’s birth
or with his death. I could have begun it
with an imaginary encounter with monks of the Ceile Day order whose
footsteps I follow.
It is before 6 a.m. on April 27, 2014.
This day marks the 45th anniversary of the birth of my first
child, Arthur Donovan. I stand on an
ancient stone on the beach near the ferry dock on the Isle of Iona off the west
coast of Scotland awaiting the appearance of the sun so
I might sing the words that have been sung here for centuries. As the point of light appears on the horizon
and begins to intensify, I start to chant and to bath myself in the first 9
rays of the sun.
The timing of
my pilgrimage was dictated by the date of the silent retreat I am attending on
this Isle so important in the spread of a unique form of Christianity in the
Celtic lands. Until a few weeks before
my arrival I was unaware there was a Sheela-na-gig on the island. It is
on the exterior wall of the medieval nunnery ruins I walked through on my way
to my hotel after disembarking from the ferry yesterday afternoon. It was they who called me here, Jesus and
Sheela-na-gig. The dream foretold it,
and set me on the path of inquiry that brought me here on this day.
I repeat the
chant three times and enact the motions of bathing myself with the sacred
light. My heart and soul open wide as I
fully receive this blessing. I am loved,
I love, I am love. I am here in the
presence of the sun, the sea, the Holy Isle herself, all those who have gone
before me in the Ceile De tradition, my sisters in the caim and in a very
special way my beloved Arthur.
After my words
have fallen silent, I kneel to kiss the stone.
I kiss my beloved earthly mother once for myself, one for each of my
caimreachs, once for all the followers of the tradition who will never be able to
make this pilgrimage and once for my beloved Arthur.
As I stand I
allow myself to soak in more of the sun’s sweet warmth along with the essence
of all I love. I recognize this as a destiny moment. Just as I was destined to give birth to
Arthur on this day 45 years ago, we were destined to meet at this exact place
on this morning. Somehow I have followed
the slender thread that connects his birth to this holy moment.
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