Invocation to Iona

 Dear Reader,

The island of Iona, off the west coast of Scotland is widely celebrated as the cradle of Scottish Christianity, famous for its historic abbey and royal burial grounds.

The Irish monk, St. Columba, arrived at Iona is 563 AD with 12 companions.  He built a small monastery and used the remote island as a base to spread Celtic Christianity across Scotland and northern Britain.  

 

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 I think Iona is the most spiritual, and magical too, of all the places I have visited in my life. I went down to the beach where St.Columba arrived thousands of years ago and literally burst into tears. The beach was deserted, I was alone, and felt at one with St. Columba on this beautiful island with its history.  I would like to call Iona home, but in fact I live many miles from Scotland and Iona, so I have just got my vivid memories to think about, and lots of photographs of course.

 

 

 

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From Dorothy Wordsworth    October 1st  1800 in Westmorland

'A very rainy morning.   We walked after dinner to observe the torrents....the lichens are now coming out afresh, I carried home a collection in the afternoon.  We had a pleasant conversation about the manners of the rich- avarice, inordinate desires, and the effeminacy, unnaturalness, and the unworthy objects of education.....a showery evening.  The moonlight lay upon the hills like snow.' 

 

  From Francis Kilvert   October 4th    1871 in Radnorshire

' A mournful splendour in the brilliant gold of the sloes and the crimson leaves of the pear trees.    

 

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Invocation to Iona

 

“Iona, sacred island, mother,

I honour you,

who cradle the bones

of Scottish kings,

Who birthed coloured gemstones

to enchant bleached beaches,

who shelter puffins on your rocks.

 

I wrap myself in your history,

and knot the garment with

machair rope-grass.

In the Port of Coracle

your southern bay,

I hear the wind-blown cormorants’s cry

and draw a breath.

I see Columba’s footsteps

in the sand, and weep.

Tears overflow,

I am spirit-engulfed.

 

“I ask you, Iona,

is this then, or now,

what is, or what has been?

Does the rolling salt sea-mist

cover the uncounted time between?”

 

 

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With very best wishes, Patricia