We have planned a later arrival this evening in our Sacred Garden on Iona so that we might enjoy the moon’s light as she waxes towards her fullness. As each woman comes into the grassy circle that opens among the worn ruined walls, she stops to gaze at the explosion of beauty that has continued to flower since our last gathering.

Our labyrinth is still in place and the early arrivals have already begun a slow meditative walk towards the centre. In mutual agreement, we join them, until gradually the whole labyrinth is laced with our Communion friends. We carry our questions inwards, spiralling back with fresh insight, some light for our dark searches, heartsease for our burdens….

The Moon in her rising finds each of us seated, either on the grass or along the low walls, gazing back at her with wonder and delight. It seems that no one is willing to break the spell with words for a long time. Our mysterious flute player has come prepared: her clear notes rise up to touch the Moon’s fair cheek.

After a time someone asks, “Is there a poem for this night?”

Mary Malone’s book is opened to “Magnificat” a poem inspired by Elsie Gerber, a contemporary Canadian writer, involved in the women’s spirituality movement. The light of the moon is strong enough to read by so we decide that each of us will choose a section, then hand the book on to next reader:

strong woman

woman on the edge

woman of the open spaces

dwelling in the empty places

woman on the edge

she is listening for a distant song

even a single word

she is hoping to hear the very voice

of God

she is digging in her garden

she is looking for roots

her fingers probe the damp cool earth

the place where life begins

she still believes in beauty

and miracles and promises

she has faith in seeds

her heart is open

she longs to sing a song of victory

to dance with light feet

among the flowers crushed and trampled

to heal

she is longing to feel her feet on the ground

her roots sinking deeply

into the dark soft earth

she is looking for a revolution

she is aching for grace

she is seeking the very face

of God

and grace pays an unexpected visit

in woman form, a wise woman

with laughter lines carved ‘round her eyes

and holes in her boots

a touch of silver in her hair

wise woman listens and knows and sees

then she hears once more the old song

familiar chords

which strike deep and true

and echo throughout her body

her heart her womb

the place where life begins

she hears once more the old song

out of the silence

the emptiness

she didn’t know today was the day

to rewrite her story

she is weaving colours and images

and memories into a whole

she too is source and giver of life

capax dei

she is poet and dancer and prophet and mother

embracing joy

dreaming and birthing and sinking into the warm soil

she is rediscovering the colour blue

blue, born of fire

born in the first waters

welling up from the heart of the earth

she is rediscovering blue

in the first morning glory on the vine

she is learning to sing a triumphal song

to dance through the garden with feather-light feet

learning to heal

she is not afraid to become

she is a strong woman

a woman on the edge

singing in the open spaces

dancing in the empty places

strong woman

woman on the edge

After the reading, we sit very still, each of us remembering a line or a phrase, an image or a longing that resonates deeply with us….

A few women rise to move into a dance of joy under the moon’s light and soon the garden is filled with dance and the sound of voices lifted in song…..

Gathering Space for June 2, 2022 The moon is a slender silver earring in the deep blue of the evening sky as we come into the Sacred Garden on Iona. The mingled fragrance hits our senses like rich wine. Seeking its source we move nearer to the explosion of beauty that has flowered here over the week since our last gathering. We see Canterbury bells, tall purple Iris, June roses in warm shades of pink, flowering bushes of yellow forsythia.

Some of our companions have been busy creating a labyrinth in the centre of the garden, using stones from the North Atlantic shore to outline the pathways. In silent accord, we begin to walk the meandering way, recalling the teaching that one enters the labyrinth with a question, pauses at the centre to hold the question, walks back allowing the answer to arise from within.

We are learning that to open oneself to a question, to risk hearing a response that may be surprising, startling, perhaps unwelcome, is to practice self-fragilization. This is to allow oneself to be vulnerable, to risk the embrace of mystery.

What question do I take with me now as I enter the labyrinth?

(we now make our way imaginally along the path)

As each person emerges from the labyrinth, she stands silently nearby, holding her companions in an intention that they might know what to ask, might hear the response with an open heart.

When the last woman emerges from the labyrinth, a voice begins a familiar song and soon we are all singing:

We will never, never lose our way

to the well of her memory

and the power of her living flame

it will rise, it will rise again.

We repeat the song as voices weave in harmonies...

Now we move in behind the stone walls to the roofless chapel. Elements have been carefully placed for a ritual.

Each in turn, we kneel on a soft cushion, raise our hands to receive the water being poured over them by one of our companions, who then offers a towel.

Each in turn, we rise, walk to the table where we choose a piece of bread from a bowl, dip it into a second bowl of honey and into a bowl of milk. We consume it.

Two of our companions are holding the braided circle of cloth known as the crios of Brigid. They hold it high enough for each woman in turn to walk through it. The first entry is a time to choose to let go of something in our life that no longer serves us. A second time we walk through the crios thinking of what we are grateful for. On the third and final entry, we think of what we must now do in our lives: what call do we hear?

When each woman has completed her ritual, we join hands to move out into the garden for a joyous spiral dance, stepping in time to the music of our flute-player.

Gathering Space for May 26, 2022

Celebrating the Gifts of May

The warmth of this early evening in late May lingers as we walk towards the Garden of the Ruined Nunnery on Iona. The grey stones come into view, with splashes of colour from our quilts brightening the scene before us. Towards the edge of the grass lawn, May flowers and low bushes add softer shades of pink, mauve, pale yellow. There is something more. Just beyond the quilts on the grass is a long low table, covered with a white cloth. There are vases of daffodils, bugloss, lavender, small bowls where violets and primroses float.

Standing just beyond the table, our friends from Iona greet us: Elspeth, Bridie, and two others who assisted in creating our quilts.

Elspeth speaks first: “You’ll remember Bridie, Mary Elizabeth and Jane. We got together on the weekend and decided to plan a celebration for you, with you. It’s almost the end of May. "We’ve all been so taken up with the tragic events on the planet that we hardly saw the earth's springtime beauty.

“Here on Iona we're now free to gather in small groups. The four of us talked together for hours. We’ve prepared a Celebration of May, putting together a Ritual with some of the traditions we love best.

“This evening you will be our guests as we lead the Ritual. We may ask you to share your memories and stories as well.

“Let us begin our celebrations by singing our chant:

Welcome to Summer with her lap full of flowers!

“Now I invite you to form a circle as you find a place to sit on a quilt, on the grass, or on the low stone wall where you may see each other. Jane will lead us in a guided reflection on summer:

REFLECTION ON SUMMERTIME

Jane comes to stand at the centre of our circle. "Today we come to celebrate summer. This is the season when we celebrate the dance of sun and earth.

Let us become aware of the earth under our feet.

Anchor yourself in the earth.

"Imagine the earth rotating on its axle in the vast cosmos.

Imagine the millions of stars under you,

the millions of stars above you,

the millions of stars to the right and left of you.

"Become aware of the sun; feel its rays on your face.

In your mind’s eye see the other planets orbiting around the sun.

"The northern hemisphere of our earth is titled slightly towards the sun at this time; that is why we have our warm season.

If the sun were a few degrees nearer we would burn up.

If the sun were a few degrees farther away

all life on earth would be frozen.

"All life owes its existence to the sun."

(Pause for reflection)

*********

WELCOMING THE SUN INTO OUR LIVES

"Let us welcome the sun into our lives.

Take the sun’s rays into yourself.

Spread them imaginally to the person beside you.

Extend them to the earth and its inhabitants.

Send them to situations that need healing and warmth."

OFFERING OF FLOWERS

Elspeth speaks: “The next part of our ritual we've had to adapt. It's meant to be the creation of a garland of flowers to honour Mary. In Celtic Christianity, May has been Mary’s month. Some of you will recall walking in procession as children while you sang:

Bring flowers of the rarest,

Bring flowers of the fairest,

From garden and woodland and hillside and dale.

Our full hearts are swelling, our glad voices telling

The praise of the loveliest Rose of the Vale.

Oh Mary we crown thee with blossoms today,

Queen of the Angels, Queen of the May.

“We invite you to come one at a time to choose a flower from the table and take it to someone in the Communion in whom you recognize a quality that we have attributed to Mary. Offer that flower to her. Say the quality aloud for each of us to hear.

“When each woman has received a flower, Mary Elizabeth will lead the next part of our Celebration.”

CELEBRATING THE VISITATION

Mary Elizabeth speaks: “As a child, my favourite feast day was the Visitation, the day we remember how Mary, who had just said yes to bearing the Holy Child, set off at once for the hill country to visit her cousin Elizabeth who was also pregnant. Elizabeth’s son would be known as John the Baptist. "I loved this feast because it celebrated the two women for whom I was named. Now I still love the feast though for different reasons. "Let me read the story as it is told in the Gospel of Luke:

Mary set out at that time and went as quickly as she could to a town in the hill country of Judah. She went into Zechariah’s house and greeted Elizabeth. Now as soon as Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the child leapt in her womb and Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit.

She gave a loud cry and said, “Of all women you are the most blessed, and blessed is the fruit of your womb. Why should I be honoured with a visit from the mother of my Lord? For the moment your greeting reached my ears, the child in my womb leapt for joy. Yes, blessed is she who believed that the promise made her by the Lord would be fulfilled.”

“I used to think this story was about Mary being so unselfish that her first act following the angel’s visit was to rush over to assist Elizabeth who was six months pregnant. I see it differently now. Now I know that when annunciation happens, when our life is upturned with an unexpected invitation to gestate, nurture, birth newness, our hearts, like Mary’s, long for the presence of someone with whom to share the joy, someone who knows mystery in the depths of her own being, as Elizabeth does. Would not each one of us set out at that time and go as quickly as we could to the embrace of a friend whose gaze mirrors our wonder and delight?

“John O’Donohue wrote a poem I've come to love about Mary and her visit to Elizabeth :

The Visitation

In the morning it takes the mind a while

To find the world again, lost after dream

Has taken the heart to the underworld

To play with the shades of lives not chosen.

She awakens, a stranger to her own life,

Her breath loud in the room full of listening.

Taken without touch, her flesh feels the grief

Of belonging to what cannot be seen.

Soon she can no longer bear to be alone.

At dusk she takes the road into the hills.

An anxious moon doubles her among the stone.

A door opens, the older one’s eyes fill.

Two women locked in a story of birth.

Each mirrors the secret the other heard.

Elspeth speaks: “After our blessing, we four will make ready a May Feast of early fruits, white wine, fruit juice and desserts. While we're doing this you may wish to talk together about the story of the Visitation, how it echoes in your own lives. "From what I understand about your Communion of Creative Fire, you've each been invited, and have agreed to provide, the inner space for newness to gestate in preparation for birth. Each of you knows the need to nurture this newness in times of solitude, and you know also the absolute requirement of being companioned by one another if your hearts are to remain open, nourished, and (as Hildegard says) juicy!

“When you return here next week, you may wish to bring your thoughts on the VISITATION, a feast that is celebrated on the last day of May. How do you experience in your own life what John O’Donohue speaks about in his poem?"

CLOSING BLESSING

May all be blessed with the fragrance of wild flowers.

May all walk in their beauty.

May all be clothed in their grace.

May their colour surround all.

May their petals enfold all.

May their magnificence lead all

into the spiral of mystery.

Amen.

“Now let the celebration continue with a feast!”

Gathering Space for May 19, 2022 To conclude our Reflections on Julian of Norwich, I offer from our Archives Julian's first visit to us in the Ruins of the Nunnery:

The air off the north Atlantic is milder this evening though a soft rain is falling. Sitting on the grass here where the Augustinian Nunnery once stood is not appealing. We seek partial shelter at the edge of the property where high stone walls remain. A few minutes of engineering creates a roof of umbrellas and raincoats. Under this makeshift shelter, we spread blankets and groundsheets. Soon, we are dry and comfortable enough to exchange greetings and questions about the past week.

We're happy to see that Maureen has made the journey to Iona tonight. “It’s the power of the Spirit,” she tells us. “The Feast of Pentecost last Sunday gave me a boost of energy…. And besides, I’ve been thinking about Julian of Norwich. I’ve had an idea.”

We all turn to look at Maureen, wondering what she might have in mind. There is a rather alarming light in her eyes….

“I was thinking that Julian was living in Norwich at the same time as this Women’s Monastery was thriving. I wondered if this might be a place where she would feel at home.”

“What are you suggesting, Maureen?” Ellyn asks. “Is it what I think you mean?”

“Probably,” Maureen says. “I think if we invited her to come here to Iona, Julian would say yes.”

There is complete and utter silence.

Undaunted, Maureen continues. “Look, we’ve learned about the way time past and present are one. We’ve learned about the continuation of life beyond death. And we’ve learned that the Power of Allurement draws to us those whom we love. So I thought we should ask her.”

More silence.

Mary Ellen says, “I think, Maureen, that as you've had the thought, you should be the one to ask.”

Maureen smiles. “Well, actually, I already have.”

“And what did Julian say?” Violet asks.

“Julian asked if there was a window where she might sit to speak with us…. Well, it’s what she’s used to. So I said that there was one left in the ruins.”

Like puppets on strings, we all turn to stare at the window that Maureen is showing us.

For a few heartbeats, no one moves or speaks. The song of a blackbird fills the garden. Then we hear a sound so strange we do not at first identify it…… Laughter. From the other side of the window.

“If you could look upon your faces now, you would laugh more merrily than I do!”

We see a figure at the window, cloaked in grey wool, the face almost hidden by the hood. Yet the eyes are bright, wise and merry! And the woman, Julian herself, is laughing at us!

“Well, have you nothing to say to me? To ask me?”

Ruth is the first to recover: “Julian, will you teach us how to pray?”

Julian turns toward her and smiles. “Often our trust is not full. We are not certain that God hears us because we consider ourselves worthless and as nothing. This is ridiculous and the cause of our weakness. I know, because I have felt this way myself! Then Love told me this: I am the source of your prayers. First it is my will that you have what you desire. Later I cause you to want it. Later on, I cause you to pray for it and you do so. How then can you not have what you desire?

"Some of us believe that God is Almighty and may do all, and that God is All-Wisdom and can do all; but that God is All-Love and will do all, there we stop short. Dear Women of the Communion of Creative Fire do not stop short. instead trust that God is All-Love and will do all for our joy!”

Yvette asks: “Julian why do you call Jesus our Mother?”

Julian pauses, then says, “I suppose it is what you now call an image or perhaps a metaphor. He who loves us so much, with such great tenderness, is not this the Mother’s part? I call the Christ our Mother because it is the Mother who best shows love, as the sea and the storm show power, as the flower shows colour. It seems to me that Christ gave birth to us through his great love as he died. Then having birthed us into life, he continues to feed us with himself through the Eucharist. That is how it is to my sight.”

Suzanne asks: “Julian what must we do to be worthy of God’s Love?”

Julian leans into the window and looks straight at Suzanne. “Nothing.”

Suzanne is puzzled. “Julian, I wonder if you heard my question?”

Once again Julian is laughing. “Oh my dear, of course I heard your question. And my answer remains. Nothing. In the one night of my visions, I understood that the love in which we are held is unchanging, and depends not at all on what we do. Jesus is our clothing. He wraps and enfolds us for love, embraces us and shelters us, surrounds us for his love, which is so tender that he may never desert us. It is we ourselves who hold Love away from us, believing we are not deserving. Oh, my dear friends, are you not now aware that you live within a universe that is continually alluring you with love, yearning for you, drawing others to you and you to all of life? Love holds the stars in place, and sets the earth on its spiral dance around the sun. Oh, you are loved.

Shirley asks: “Julian, if we are held in love, then why do we suffer?”

Julian looks at her with tenderness: “We suffer because we love. There is no love without suffering. In another sort of universe, where one could exist without caring for another life, whether human or animal or tree or flower or river or sea, there might not be suffering. Yet on earth once we allow ourselves to give and to receive love, we are saying yes to suffering. That is the price of love. Human love. Divine Love. Agony enters in. But so does ecstasy. Who would wish to live without Love?

You, dear women of Creative Fire are learning this. Be right glad and merry for God loves you, will never leave you and wants you to be happy!”

And as suddenly as she appeared at the window, Julian is gone. For a long while there is silence. We hold her words within our hearts. Gathering Space for May 12, 2022

Brigid, Archetype for our Communion of Creative Fire The waxing moon, four days from her fullness, illumines our path as we enter the Garden of the Ruined Nunnery on Iona. It is late evening as we arrive, having received a message from Elspeth that she has prepared a ritual that would be best done in darkness.

We approach the place where our quilts are spread out on the grass so as to form a circle with the lighted fire pot placed at the centre. Elspeth is already here waiting for us. When we are comfortably seated, having taken care to allow for social distancing, Elspeth welcomes us.

“When we last gathered here, I told you the Story of Bone Woman. After the story, I invited you to reflect on who in your life is that loving presence, the one who gazes at you in the lamplight, expresses compassion, offers to untangle your life. This is the one whose heart becomes a drum as you become the drummer, calling yourself into wholeness, and into union with this Love.

“This mysterious presence we may now see as an archetype, a co-creative partner for our lives. In a few moments, when you hear the music begin, I invite you to stand, to find a space alone where you have room to dance, as I read for you the “Process of Union with the Archetype”, adapted from Jean Houston's The Hero and The Goddess."

(Note: to do this process on your own, choose some music you love; I chose the "Flower Duet" and you can hear it as well as the process in the recordings attached to this week’s Communion email. You may prefer to record your own voice reading the process, or even to put on some music, read the script a few times, and just go ahead.)

Process of Union with the Archetype "Begin now slowly to turn in place, turning, turning. And while you turn, listen closely to these words:

You are now prepared to meet and join with your archetype. This archetype can be considered in several ways. It might be the goddess-self you have come to know within you. It may be known as the Beloved Friend within. It may be experienced as a divine presence whom you have met before in your life, or one you have yearned to meet. In what is about to happen the relationship between you and what we are calling the archetype will be deepened and matured.

Continue to turn now as you bring to this meeting the fullness of your human virtue with the added strength of your longing. Not overwhelmed by this meeting, you are instead enriching your sense of relationship to the archetype so the archetype can deepen you and can serve as midwife of your soul.

And continuing to turn – or, if you prefer, now moving into a dance – but meeting and deepening your relationship to the archetype.

Ask the archetype to be careful not to overwhelm you. Together, you will move gently, gracefully into each other’s presence, experiencing the joy of mutual presence and loving communion. And in so doing, deepening the archetype, helping him/her/it reach the next stage of archetypal evolution. And that is happening now…

The two of you now are dancing together. The rich knowledge and communion are flowing back and forth in the dance…

The two of you dancing together now. You, the human being, are now deepening and thus are able to meet the archetype in communion. The archetype is deepening through your humanity as well as through your new ability to meet the archetype fully.

Feel this initiation, this mutual deepening, back and forth. The god, the goddess, the depth self, is being welcomed and grown beyond its archaic stuckness. Not losing the ancient qualities, but strengthening them so they are more available for present and future times…. Both of you are meeting each other as full beings in this moment of holy time, this moment of sacred kairos.

…know now that as it was in the beginning is now and ever shall be, the human and the divine dance without end.

(The music and dance continue until a natural ending occurs.)

Once we have completed this dance, Elspeth invites us to come to a table where lanterns illumine the cool white wine, the fruit and baking that Bridie has been quietly preparing while we danced.

"Let’s celebrate coming to know our archetype better,” Elspeth says. "Under the waxing Flower Moon, let’s experience the joy of this partnership.”

Gathering Space for May 5, 2022

The young moon has not yet risen in the skies over the Isle of Iona in the North Atlantic. The evening is soft, still warm in the lingering old-gold sunlight. Elspeth our Storyteller is waiting for us in the Garden of the Ruined Nunnery. The tent of our winter gatherings is long since gone. In its place, spread out to receive us, we see our quilts, each a joyous profusion of bright and dark shadings in contrasting patterns, the quilts that show us the longings of our hearts, the delights of our spirits, the way the unique gifts of our souls harmonize, dance with one another.

When we are seated, we look towards Elspeth, as she lights our fire pot where it rests on the low wall of the ancient stone ruins.

“What story have you brought us this evening?” Karen asks.

“What sort of story do you wish to hear?” Elspeth asks. Silently we consider, allowing the memories of loss and fear brought by the pandemic to return, strangely comingling with awareness of its unexpected gifts: a deeply felt knowing of the interconnectedness of life on our planet, a rise in compassion for those we love and those we will never meet, all of whom have been walking this dark path together. Images rise of the beauty of the earth as it blossoms into sudden life with the coming of spring to the northern hemisphere, as it cools into gentle autumn in the southern climes…

“Do you know a story that tells of love and the life-death-life cycle?” Yvette asks.

Elspeth smiles, her eyes alight with pleasure. “Yes. One I love very much. Shall we begin?”

Once more, as she does with the deepest, truest, most magical tales, Elspeth asks us to take deep, centering, relaxing breaths. She watches us, choosing her time to begin.

This story is older than Christianity, older than the druids, nearly as old as Ireland herself, for it comes from the age when the ancestor gods, the Tuatha De Danaan, were honoured here. There was a maiden, beautiful and filled with grace. So lovely was she that people called her “Aine”, ( our ears, unaccustomed to the Irish language, hear “Ohn’ya”) a name which in the old language meant, “Delight”.

Aine offended her father in some way. Some say that her name hints that it was by her very pleasure in life itself, her love of music and dance. No one remembers just why or how he became enraged. One day, he marched her to the edge of the Cliffs beyond their village, and hurled her down, down, into the depths of the sea. The force of the thrust sent her deep under the waves, and before she could swim upwards, she was drowned entirely.

Her beautiful body sank down to the very floor of the sea, and there she lay, lifeless, as the eons passed. The fish and other sea creatures devoured her flesh, her eyes, until only her bones remained. Crustaceans moved in, fastening themselves in her empty eye sockets and on the ivory keys of her teeth.

Eons passed. Over time, the great waves carved a deep bay among the mountains. No fisherman ever came there seeking the salmon who flourished in abundance, for it was believed that the bay was haunted.

Famine came upon Ireland and fishermen were putting out further and further from their villages, seeking food. One day, a fisherman in a small coracle came into the bay. A long piece of fish gut with a hooked end dangled from his fishing rod of polished oak wood. He waited patiently in this bay, so far from his home village, dreaming of taking a great fish back to his people. Dreaming of their gratitude.

Suddenly, he felt a strong tug on his line. He turned to reach into the depths of his coracle for the net he had brought with him.

But far, far below the surface, his hook was caught, not in the mouth of a salmon but inside the rib cage of Bone Woman. And she was not of a mind to be caught! She began to thrash, this way and that, on the floor of the sea. Yet the more she struggled, the more the fish gut became entangled in her bones, and the more the fish gut became entangled, the shorter it became, slowly, slowly dragging her upwards. The fisherman was just turning back, a net in his right hand, his heart already beating wildly with joy at his great catch, when her bald head arose above the waters. He saw the crustaceans gleaming in her eye sockets, glinting from her teeth.

The fisherman’s eyes rolled back into his head. He bellowed a blood-freezing cry of terror. He dropped his net, seized his paddle and began furiously to make his way back up the coast to his village. Of course, Bone Woman was still wrapped in the fish gut which by now was so short that she seemed to be skimming the tops of the waves. He turned once, and seeing her following him, bellowed once more in terror, then paddled all the more fiercely for home. Meanwhile, as Bone Woman danced over the waters, the far-off days of her maidenhood came to her as a dim memory of joy. She lifted her bony feet, one at a time, while she hummed an ancient tune. She began to know delight once more.

When the fisherman at last came near the shore of his own village, he paddled only to the point where he could leap out of the boat into shallow water. Then lifting his light coracle onto his head, he seized his precious fishing rod and began to run towards his cottage. He placed his coracle on the ground and fell in the door, still clutching his fishing rod. For a long, long while he lay panting on the floor, whispering a prayer to Anu, the Great Mother, the womb of life. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” he repeated as his breathing slowly returned to normal and his heart stopped pounding like a bodhran in his chest.

By now the early darkness had risen. The man rose slowly to his feet and reached across the wooden table near the door for his seal oil lamp. Taking some flint and tinder from a small box beside the lamp, he lit it….and immediately dark shadows leapt up to dance on the familiar walls of his cottage, illuminating table and chairs, the small cot where he slept… and there, just by the door … what was that? The tangled form of Bone Woman herself lay there, her knee bones trapped in her ribs, her left shoulder twisted, pulled downwards, her right arm above her head.

The fisherman would never be able to explain, either to himself or to any other, what happened next. Perhaps, he thought, it was a trick of the golden lamplight. Yet as he gazed at her, a feeling of kindness came over him.

He walked closer to her, knelt down by her. With gentle love, with compassion in his heart, in his very fingers, he began to unwind the fish gut that entrapped her. He first untangled her toes, then her feet, then the long bones of her legs. All the while, though he did not know he did it, he was humming an old melody, one his mother sang to him when he was a boy.

Finally, when he had unwound the fish gut entirely, she sat there before him, as whole, as complete as a bone woman could be. It was then that he noticed how chill the night had become. He walked over to his cot, carefully lifted the old quilt his mother had made for him and carried it to her. Gently, he wrapped the quilt around her.

Meanwhile, Bone Woman had not moved. She sat very still all the while he untangled her; all the while he wrapped her warmly. She was afraid to speak. Afraid to offend him. Afraid he would hurl her back into the sea. And she did not want to go back into the sea.

The fisherman was busy tending to the rewinding of his fish gut, the cleaning and polishing of his fishing rod. When all was in good order, he placed the rod on a shelf in his cottage. Because there was no further work to do, and no food to eat, he lay down on his cot and fell into a deep sleep.

Still Bone Woman sat motionless.

Now, as sometimes happens during sleep, a tear slipped out from one of the fisherman’s closed eyes. Bone Woman saw this. And she was so-oo-oo-oo thirsty! With a clicking, a clacking, a rapping, a tapping, she made her careful way across the floor to where he slept. She placed her bony mouth over the tear and at once there sprang forth a spring of fresh sweet cool water. She drank and drank and drank, slaking a thirst that was millennia-long.

She placed her bony hand on his chest, reaching deeply inside until she grasped his beating heart. She lifted it up and out, placed it on her knees and began to drum upon it as on a bodhran. While she drummed, she chanted, “Flesh, flesh, flesh. Flesh, flesh, flesh. Flesh, flesh, flesh.” As she chanted, warm living flesh grew upon her arms, her legs, her hands, her feet, her head, her lovely face, her neck and her torso. Her eyes became full and luminous. She chanted the sweet opening between her legs, her large tender breasts, and the long red-gold hair that fell down her back. When she stopped drumming, she was fully a woman. She returned his heart to the sleeping man’s breast. Then she lay down beside him, and he wakened to embrace her. And so together they became entangled in a good and holy way, and lived on as lovers all the days of their lives.

Elspeth allows a time of silence for us to receive the tale, to let it do its work of magic within us.

“When you take the story of Bone Woman into your heart, notice how it resonates with your own experience: Where are you in the story now? Do you still lie under the watery weight of the sea? Do you long to be drawn back into the light of day? Have you been drawn forth by someone you do not know who’s taken you home? Someone who is now looking at you in the light of the lamp? Untangling you? Calling you into fullness of life? Becoming one with you in a good and holy way, a deep wise loving presence in the depths of your being?

“Let’s stay here now in silence as we allow the story to dance within us. When you feel ready, you may wish to write a poem or a song or a reflection, perhaps make a drawing or painting. "Next week, bring what you’ve created with you when we gather here once more.”

Gathering Space for Bealtaine

May 1, 2022 In the pre-dawn darkness we make our way into the circle of grass embraced by the low stone walls of the ruined nunnery on Iona. We have never before been here before the sun, never seen our companions like this: darker shadows against a grey sky. It is utterly still, without even the movement of light wind that heralds the sun.

Each of us has brought dry sticks, bits of gathered grass and heather. This we pile on the wood that awaits the Bealtaine fire.

On the edge of a cliff across the island is a pool that has been known for its spiritual power. Two of our companions, Shirley and Suzanne who have a deep affinity for water, who work for its healing throughout the planet, went there yesterday to collect water for our ritual. The large clay pitcher they carried back sits beside the readied fire.

Despite restrictions due to COVID 19, Dolores Whelan has travelled from her home in Ireland to our Gathering Space on Iona. We find places to sit in a circle around Dolores who has come to speak with us about the meaning of Bealtaine.

Dolores speaks: Bealtaine is the second most important festival within the wheel of the Celtic Year, while Samhain which stands opposite Bealtaine is the most important. The positioning and significance of each of the seasons within the Celtic Year reflects much of the cosmology of the ancient people who created this calendar. From this we learn the importance of the journey that begins at Samhain (November 1) a journey through the cold dark season, which eventually yields to spring and emerges into summer on May 1 at Bealtaine.

And we begin to understand that there can be no Bealtaine without Samhain, because both in the natural world and in our own lives we experience the reality that summertime always emerges from the darkness of winter. A quotation that I read somewhere says :“It is always summer in the grateful heart.”

This appealed very much to me and I pondered what it might actually mean for me in my day to day life! It challenges me to constantly remember the many blessings present in my life. When I do this in a conscious way my heart swells and I feel the abundance of life flowing in and through me and isn’t it in essence what summer is? This attitude of gratitude supports the blossoming of the many buds that are deep within us awaiting the right circumstances in which to blossom.

I am reminded of the beautiful poem “St Francis and the Sow” by Galway Kinnell:

"The bud stands for all things,

even those things that don’t flower,

for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing;

though sometimes it is necessary to reteach a thing its loveliness,

to put a hand on its brow of the flower

and retell it in words and in touch

it is lovely until it flowers again from within, of self-blessing."

My wish for you this summer time is that you will experience the fullest expression of your unique self and that your many gifts will blossom into fullness either within yourself or in the world, so that you become a part of the wonderful explosion of life! May you relish the long days, may the sunlight brighten all aspects of yourself so that you become a shining one walking this earth.

With these words echoing in our hearts, we stand in a circle facing towards the east. We chant: “Look to the East where promise is born; look to the East where the sun brings the morn.” Slowly, slowly, as we repeat the chant, the grey of the sky warms into shades of pale seashell pink, deepening into soft rose then into deep rose madder. Slowly, slowly, the golden orb of the sun appears to be pushing itself up above the horizon. In such a way, though we know it is the earth on which we stand that is rolling towards the sun, we still experience the moment as did our ancient ancestors. We still speak of a rising sun.

At the moment when the sun becomes visible, Noreen lights the fire, and as the sun’s light ripples on the water in the clay container, we come forward, one by one, to splash the water over our faces. Then with the water still wet upon us, we stand in the rays of the rising sun. The sun blesses us, blesses the water upon us. As we feel the warmth that comes from sun and fire, and the wetness from the water, we ask for a harmony within us of the masculine/sun/fire energies and the feminine/water energies.

By the time each of us gathered here have completed the ritual, the garden is glowing with the full golden light of morning. Now that it is warm enough to sit down, we gather in a circle. There is a lightness in our hearts that bubbles up in spontaneous laughter. Someone begins to sing, “Morning has broken…” and we join in.

Dolores invites us to ponder the Bealtaine questions:

What negativity left over from winter do I now release into the Bealtaine fires so that my heart is ready for the newness of life and work at this season?

What new fertility in my life, in my projects, do I welcome in the form of the young mother of early summer?

How shall I honour the harmony of fire and water, the masculine and feminine energies working within the land, within myself, within the work that I am called to birth?

After we take time to answer these questions in our hearts, Dolores leads us in a Bealtaine Prayer: May we embrace the support of the blossoming life force and growing light as we step boldly into the world to express our creativity.

Gathering Space on Iona for April 21, 2022

Image by Sieger Koder)

The Paschal moon is waning from her fullness. The great feasts of the Jewish Passover and Christian Easter have come, have left their meaning still fresh in our hearts. Winds off the North Atlantic do their best to disperse the cloud cover, allowing brief glimpses of her remaining light. We come into the Garden of the Ruined Nunnery, feeling the rising temperature (11 degrees Celsius, 52 degrees Fahrenheit) as blessing even if it is not much above freezing. We have dressed warmly for our gathering under the open skies where our lovely embroidered cushions in our Gathering Tent have been replaced by the ruined walls whose stones still remember winter.

The fire pot is lighted at the centre of our circle. As we take our places and greet our companions, thoughts of cold are forgotten.

Tonight we will celebrate Easter in poetry, in song and dance. Later there will be a feast of food and wine. We see the covered trays of food, the wine glasses already set on the long table that rests against the wall of the monastery.

Heather stands to begin our celebration: "I have brought a poem by Jan Richardson that was written as a blessing for Mary Magdalene, the first person to whom Jesus showed himself after the Resurrection:

Jesus said to her, “Mary!” John 20:16

The Magdalene’s Blessing

You hardly imagined

standing here,

everything you ever loved

suddenly returned to you,

looking you in the eye

and calling your name.

And now

you do not know

how to abide this hole

in the center

of your chest,

where a door

slams shut

and swings open

at the same time,

turning on the hinge

of your aching

and hopeful heart.

I tell you,

This is not a banishment

from the garden.

This is an invitation,

a choice,

a threshold,

a gate.

This is your life

calling to you

from a place

you could never

have dreamed,

but now that you

have glimpsed its edge,

you cannot imagine

choosing any other way.

So let the tears come

as anointing,

as consecration,

and then

let them go.

Let this blessing

gather itself around you.

Let it give you

what you will need

for this journey.

You will not remember

the words –

they do not matter.

All you need to remember

is how it sounded

when you stood

in the place of death

and heard the living

call your name.

(Jan Richardson in Circle of Grace)

While we are quietly taking in the wonder, the power of these words, Heather passes around the circle copies for each of us of the painting by Sieger Koder inspired by that first Easter Morning.

Shirley stands now and says, “In her book, A Warm Moist Salty God, Edwina Gateley imagines in a poet’s words how Jesus might have given Mary Magdalene her task as apostle."

Tell Them

Breaking through the power of darkness

bursting from the stifling tomb

he slipped into the graveyard garden

to smell the blossomed air.

Tell them Mary, Jesus said,

that fear will flee my light

that though the ground will tremble

and despair will stalk the earth

I hold them firmly by the hand

through terror to new birth.

Tell them, Mary, Jesus said,

the globe and all that’s made

is clasped to God’s great bosom

they must not be afraid

for though they fall and die, he said,

and the black earth wrap them tight

they will know the warmth

of God’s healing hands

in the early morning light.

Tell them, Mary, Jesus said,

smelling the blossomed air,

tell my people to rise with me

To heal the Earth’s despair.

Shirley has a photo for each of us to take home. It shows the statue that stands in the grounds of Salisbury Cathedral in England: Mary Magdalene is striding forth to take the good news to the apostles.

Now the music begins, calling us to dance. What a great way to warm up after sitting still on stone. Music, Dance… until the Easter Feast begins.

Gathering Space on Iona for April 14, 2022

(image of Julian in her near-death experience by William Hart McNichols )

When we come to the Garden of The Ruined Nunnery on Iona, the sun glows like old gold as it prepares for the fiery light of its own setting. The air is still warm from a day of late spring that held promise of summer. We have come wearing our protective masks. Still aware of the need for social distancing while COVID lingers around the planet, we choose places to sit on our Communion Quilts. Once we’ve greeted our friends, and exchanged news from our lives, silence rises among us. Anne Kathleen stands to light our fire pot, turning to look around the circle: “The Paschal Moon is waxing towards her fullness. It’s the sign that we’re approaching days sacred in both the Jewish and Christian traditions. Across our planet, suffering in Ukraine continues where war creates a path of death and destruction, with refugees fleeing from their homes to save their lives. Elsewhere, flooding devastates South Africa, snow storms howl over Western Canada, mass shootings bring terror in the US…

“I wonder if you feel, as I do, that remembering the sorrowful events of Good Friday may be too much for us to bear this year.

“In past weeks, as we‘ve listened to the words and teachings of Julian of Norwich, I’ve been reminded that for Julian, the image of Jesus on the cross was an expression not of sorrow but of exquisite, unparalleled love. For many of us, this is a stumbling block. We have come, in the seven centuries since Julian’s death, to distrust anything that appears to exalt suffering, to glorify pain. The dark side of Christian history has shown us the horrors of suffering, sometimes inflicted, often counselled, in God’s name.

“In selecting passages for our reflections, taken from Julian’s writings, I have skipped lightly over the heart of her Revelations: the fact that they came to her during one night of visions in her own near-death experience. Julian saw, in vivid detail, the crucified Jesus, and held long intimate conversations with him.

“Revisiting those passages before our gathering here this evening, I was struck by two important things. First, it was Julian’s own desire that drew these images to her, and second, this desire, as she tells us, came from her longing to know the depth of the love of the Christ for her. And that is what she discovered: the passionate, tender, unshakeable love in which she is held, in which each of us is held.

“Julian is amazingly honest with us, with herself, when she tells us in her book that when she asked for this share in the suffering of Jesus, she did not know what she was asking. "Let’s listen now to Julian’s own words. I’ve asked some of our Communion members to read from Julian’s Showings, edited by Colledge and Walsh, published by Paulist Press, 1978. "Heather will you begin?”

Heather opens Julian’s book of her Showings: This revelation of Christ’s pains filled me full of pains, for I know well that he suffered only once, but it was now his will to show it to me and fill me with recollection, as I had asked before. My mother, who was standing there with the others, held up her hand in front of my face to close my eyes, for she thought that I was already dead or had that moment died; and this greatly increased my sorrow, for despite all my pains, I did not want to be hindered from seeing, because of my love for him….

Heather passes the book to Clara who continues the reading:

In all this time that Christ was present to me, I felt no pain except for Christ’s pains; and then it came to me that I had little known what pain it was that I had asked for, for it seemed to me that my pains exceeded any mortal death….how could I suffer greater pain than to see him who is all my life, all my bliss and all my joy suffer? Here I felt truly that I loved Christ so much more than myself that I thought it would have been a great comfort to me if my body had died.

In this I saw part of the compassion of our Lady, St. Mary, for Christ and she were so united in love that the greatness of her love was the cause of the greatness of her pain.

Clara passes the book to Carol Ohmart Behan who continues:

Then there came a suggestion, seemingly friendly, to my reason. It was said to me: Look up to heaven to his Father…..I answered and said: “No I cannot, for you are my heaven.”

Thus I chose Jesus for my heaven, whom I saw only in pain at that time. No other heaven was pleasing to me than Jesus, who will be my bliss when I am there; and this has always been a comfort to me, that I chose Jesus as my heaven in all times of suffering and of sorrow. And that has taught me that I should always do so, and choose only him to be my heaven in well-being and in woe.

Anne Kathleen: “So Julian received her heart’s desire. After that the revelations took her beyond pain. Seeing that evil was defeated, she tells us, I laughed greatly, and that made those around me to laugh as well; and their laughter was pleasing to me. I thought that I wished that all my fellow Christians had seen what I saw. Then they would all have laughed with me. (Showings, Chapter Thirteen)

“I’ll ask Karen to read Julian’s words from the longer text. Having spent some twenty years reflecting on her visions, Julian reveals what she has learned. Any doubts we might have had about her being drawn to suffering for its own sake are quelled in this passage."

Karen reads: For it is God’s will that we do all in our power to preserve our consolation, for bliss lasts forevermore, and pain is passing, and will be reduced to nothing for those who will be saved. Therefore it is not God’s will that when we feel pain we should pursue it in sorrow and mourning for it. But that suddenly we should pass it over, and preserve ourselves in the endless delight which is God.

“In a later passage, Julian tells us that the delight and bliss is not only on our part. Colette, will you read this for us?”

Colette reads: And for my greater understanding, these blessed words were said: “See how I love you”, as if he had said, behold and see how I loved you so much, before I died for you, that I wanted to die for you. And now I have died for you, and willingly suffered what I could. And now all my bitter pain and my hard labour is turned into everlasting joy and bliss for me and for you.

Colette passes the book to Mary Ellen for the final reading:

Mary Ellen reads: How could it now be that you would pray to me for anything pleasing to me which I would not very gladly grant to you? For my delight is in your holiness and in your endless joy and bliss in me….This is the understanding, as simply as I can say it, of these blessed words: “See how I loved you.” Our Lord revealed this to make us glad and joyful.

Anne Kathleen reflects on this: “Since Julian herself found such comfort in the love expressed by Jesus, even as he suffered, might we also learn to recognize the love that is stronger than death that he bears for us? Surely these are thoughts to carry us in trust and joy through the days of Holy Week to the bliss of Easter Morning."

Gathering Space to Welcome Spring April 7, 2022

We’ve been invited to bring spring flowers, essential oils, small clay pots with budding seedlings to our Gathering on this early spring evening in the Garden of the Ruined Nunnery on Iona. A light rain, more like mist, touches our faces as we walk towards the garden.

Though our winter tent is gone, we see a welcome sight... a large canvas cover carefully secured to four tall poles, offering shelter above an area large enough for all twenty-eight of us to gather. Relieved laughter erupts as we find ourselves rain-free as though beneath an outstretched wing.

Carol of Lightspring Glen has offered to lead us in a Celtic Spring Ritual from Kathleen Glennon’s book Heartbeat of the Seasons. A table covered with a cloth in shades of rose, green and gold stands along one side of the sheltered area, inviting us to place there spring flowers, clay pots with seedlings, containers of essential oils.

We form one large circle around Carol as she reads the opening prayer:

Turner of the seasons,

Energy of the first flaring forth,

Source of newness and creativity,

Hidden activity in the darkness,

Align us to your budding presence

In this season of the spring.

Heather reads from the Chinook Psalter:

Everywhere is the green of new growth,

The amazing sight of the renewal of the earth.

We watch the grass once again emerging from the ground.

We notice the bright green atop the dark green on the pine,

the fir, the hemlock, the spruce, the cedar.

The alder is already in leaf.

The old plum trees still blossom, leaf and give forth fruit.

The locust is late as always.

Everywhere and always the song of birds…bees raiding the orchard, raccoon prowling at nightfall, the earthworm tunnelling the garden, chickens and rabbits pecking and nibbling, the goats tugging to reach new delights… all are the ubiquitous energies of life.

May we today be touched by grace, fascinated and moved by this your creation, energized by the power of new growth at work in your world.

May we move beyond viewing life only through a frame, but touch it and be touched by it, know it and be known by it, ove it and be loved by it.

May our bodies, our minds, our spirits, learn a new rhythm paced by the rhythmic pulse of the whole created order.

May spring come to us, be in us, and re-create life in us.

May we forge a new friendship with the natural world and discover a new affinity with beauty, with life.

In quiet, we allow this reflection to take root in our souls.

........

Now Carol invites us to get in touch with the energy of spring:

Let us become aware of the energy of the earth at this time.

We, earthlings, are part of the earth and pulsate with its energy.

Our bodies have springtime energy at this time.

Let us be fascinated and moved by the wonder of spring,

and the power of new growth at work in our world.

Let us touch the earth at this time and be touched by it.

Let us know the earth and be known by it.

Let us love the earth and be loved by it.

Let us discover our affinity with the beauty and mystery of springtime.

May spring come to us, be with us, and re-create life in us.

Each of us now takes a clay pot with seedlings from the table. We spread our jackets, shawls, sweaters and blankets on the soft spring grass and sit down as Carol leads a guided reflection:

Imagine that you are a seed that was planted

in a pot of clay last winter.

At first you are afraid of the darkness.

But after some time you grow accustomed to the dark

and settle into the clay.

All winter you are very quiet and still.

One day you notice that there are roots, long ropey fibres growing from your body down into the clay.

As the days go by, these fibres grow stronger and steadier.

You feel yourself rooted firmly in the clay.

You nestle into the clay.

Then one day you feel an irresistible urge to move upwards.

You try to ignore it but the feeling grows stronger.

Some hidden force seems to be luring you forward.

You push upwards.

A shoot emerges from the top of your body and pushes upwards.

It grows larger and larger until it reaches the top of the clay.

You are being lured forward by some unseen energy.

You know that you must make a final push

to break through the clay

but you are afraid.

You have grown used to the darkness.

You have grown used to

your home underground.

One part of you longs for the kiss of sunshine on your face.

Another part of you recoils in fear.

One part of you wants to follow the lure in your heart.

Another part of you wants to stay with the familiar, the comfortable.

Will you have the courage to move into the light?

All now is silence as we weigh these questions…

Apply this message to yourself, and to your situation.

Will you have the courage to follow this lure, this pull?

Into the silence, clear lovely notes of a flute rise

like the lark at break of day, lifting us into our response.

Litany of Thanksgiving

Chant: (response) Welcome to spring

with her lap full of flowers.

For the sap rising in all green things,

For the life force pulsating newness,

For the earth alive with freshness.

(response)

For the impulse of budding plants,

For the knowing that awakens flowers,

For the energy that dwells in hibernating animals.

(response)

For the yielding of winter to the call of spring,

For the sunshine that caresses the earth awake,

For the power that coaxes deep down things towards light.

(response)

For the lure that calls the catkins forth,

For the instinct that moves the birds to mate and nest,

For the playful energy of frolicking lambs.

(response)

For the creativity stirring in our bodies,

For the dynamism that prompts our growth,

For the allure that seduces us.

(response)

Blessings With Oil

Carol speaks: I invite you to think of the blessing you need

to help you to break through, to move forward, to grow.

When you know what that is, choose someone in the circle and ask that person to anoint you with an oil of your choice, either on your forehead or your hands. If you seek energy, jasmine is a good choice; if you need stimulation, choose lemon. For soothing ask for lavender.

When each woman has been anointed with oil for the blessing she most desires, Carol offers the final blessing:

May the knowing that opens the snowdrop be ours.

May the energy of the waking squirrel be in our veins.

May the song of the nesting sparrow be in our hearts.

May the dance of the daffodils be in our feet.

May the joy of frolicking lambs be in our bones.

May the glow of celandine surround all.

May the kiss of catkins envelop all.

May the morning dew rest lightly on all.

May the creativity of spring touch the hearts of all. Amen.

Julian Returns to the Window on Iona Gathering Space for March 31, 2022

On this last evening of March, we gather in the garden of the Ruined Nunnery on Iona. There is a brisk wind off the sea so we are clutching shawls, sweaters or jackets around us as we settle onto the worn grey stones that once formed the foundation of the Chapter House. There is a murmur like the low hum of bees as we greet one another.

A sudden hush, a silence rises like a soft cloud, as one by one our heads turn towards a corner of the garden, where, once more, miraculously it seems, a woman sits on the other side of the window that once opened out from the 13th century nunnery. We know who she is. Though her fourteenth century cloak and headpiece are clues, it is the settled kindly wisdom in her gaze that gives her away. Beyond hope, beyond expectation, yet perhaps allured to us by our unspoken desires, Julian of Norwich has joined us once again.

Those among us who are not dumbstruck begin to murmur greetings, words of welcome. Julian smiles at our shyness, our wonder, our surprise. “I am here because you drew me with your longing. You desire to understand so much about God, or... whatever name you use in your time for the Holy Presence of Love. I have no degrees in theology, certainly I never claimed to be a teacher; yet I have known that Love in my life. What do you wish to ask me?”

Yvette is the first to recover enough from surprise to respond: “Julian, you said you came here because our desire drew you here. Will you speak more about desire?”

“It is through our desires, Yvette, our deepest longings, that God, the Holy One, draws us. Allurement. Is that not what your physicists now find to be at the heart of the universe? The galaxies are held in place by it, spinning in a dance of desire and longing. The earth is drawn to the sun, held in orbit by its attraction, just as the moon is allured to the earth, the tides of the seas to the moon, even the very blood of our womanly bodies is lured into rhythm by the moon. Our deepest desires draw us into the Presence of Love.”

There is silence as we take this in. Carol looks uncomfortable: “Our desires sometimes lure us away from Love, don’t they?”

“Now you are coming to the heart of the question,” Julian answers her. “It takes a wise heart, Carol, and considerable practice to recognize deep desire. If you trust in the Love that holds you in tenderness, you will learn to take your desires to their source by asking, What is it that I really want?

“When we're young, life sparkles like a sea of jewels and everything draws us. Slowly, often through painful errors, we learn to recognize the deeper joys and truest gifts.”

Julian seems to sense our confusion. She adds, “I didn’t say it was easy, only that it is the way towards Love, for it is Love’s way of drawing us. To close ourselves off from longing, to settle for a life without desire may appear safer, may help us to avoid some suffering; yet, it will not lead us into Love.”

Ruth has a question: “Julian, didn’t you yourself choose a way of life as an anchoress in order not to be distracted by other desires? You couldn’t even leave your anchorhold, smell a rose, see the stars, walk among people, go to the market?”

At this Julian laughs merrily. “Remember Ruth that I didn’t go into the Anchorhold until after I was thirty. In my time that was a goodly age for a woman, her girlhood and youth long past. And truly I was lured into that way of life by a powerful experience of love. "One night as I lay near death, I had conversations with the Love of my life: in my mind’s eye I saw the suffering Jesus. He taught me through that night all I ever learned of Love. The desire to become an anchoress followed, for I wished to be only in the Presence of that Love. I wished also to have the solitude I needed to reflect on what I had learned, and to write about it so that you in your time might know that Love is at the heart of our lives, at the heart of the Universe. I spent the next twenty years writing, Revelations of Divine Love. I wrote it, though I did not know it then, for your time, for people like you, Ruth, who seek to live the way of Love.”

There is a silence as we each absorb her words. Heather asks, “Weren’t you lonely?”

Julian looks at her. “Lonely? O my dear Heather, how could I be lonely when half of Norwich passed by my open window each day! My anchorhold was beside the busiest road in the city. People began coming to my window to speak of their lives, their sorrows, their struggles. Like you, they asked questions. “There were hours each day when I listened, then told them what they had just told me. I often smiled secretly as they called me wise for simply repeating their own wisdom. For I believe God‘s Spirit is in all of us, giving light, wisdom and understanding, showing us gently what we cannot see, what we are afraid to see, that we may show mercy, wisdom and kindness to ourselves.

“From that same open window came the scent of the red roses in the garden below. From that window, on many a night, I looked out at the stars. I was happy there in my anchorhold. Wondrously happy.

“So shall you be happy, dear friends. For I pray God grant you all your good desires, wishes and longings. It is all in the choosing. It is all in the asking.”

Suddenly she is gone, leaving us without words.

Rosemary has brought her harp. Now she lifts it, begins to play some soft notes. The music draws us within ourselves. We remain in silence, allowing the deepest longings of our hearts to rise.

Gathering Space for March 24, 2022 The moon, partially hidden by clouds, is waning towards her final quarter on this late March evening. Though we miss the warmth and comfort of our Gathering Tent, the temperature, several degrees above freezing (9 Celsius, 48 Fahrenheit), is easily borne. We’ve wisely worn jackets , sweaters, or shawls as we come into the garden of Iona's thirteenth century nunnery. We assist one another in carrying our Communion quilts, manuscripts of our spirituality in their contrasting harmonious shades, so that we may sit under the open window in the ruins where in the past Julian has come to speak with us.

On these same grounds there once stood the Chapter House where the abbess and her sisters would have gathered to reflect together, to seek solutions to the challenges of their daily lives.

We twenty-first century women come with questions, concerns and challenges from our lives and the lives of those we love. We are aware also of planet-wide challenges, for we carry in our hearts the entire human family, and all that lives on this earth. We are aware, as the women who lived here eight centuries ago were not, of the sufferings of the earth herself, the choking and poisoning of her waters, the depletion of her soil, the rape of her rain forests. Yet as they would have done, we shall pray, listen to one another, and trust in the guidance of the Spirit to show us the way forward. How much greater is our need for guidance, for knowing how each is called to be a presence of love and light in the midst of darkness. We need guidance as well for the future of our communion, knowing that our combined daily contemplative time, our deep listening to the Sacred Presence and to one another, our actions which flow from this, matter to our time.

We come prepared to stay for the whole evening, eager for the coming of darkness. In the dimming of the moon’s light the stars that become visible among the clouds will be especially brilliant.

We settle comfortably onto our quilts, allowing for space between us, aware that the pandemic, though waning, is not yet over.

In expectant hope, we look towards the opening in the stones, awaiting Julian’s arrival.

Soon Julian is greeting us, inviting us to listen to her words about the Presence of Love within all of life:

I know well that heaven and earth and all creation are great, generous and beautiful and good….the One who created it created everything for love, and by the same love it is preserved, and always will be without end.… Julian pauses to see that we have taken in her words before adding emphatically, God is everything which is good, as I see, and the goodness which everything has is God.

Julian invites us to settle now into a time of quiet, feeling our breath slow and deepen until peace fills us. We allow Julian's words to penetrate our concerns, our grief over the war in Ukraine, our sense of loss.

.... We stay in this time of deep listening until our inner joy is stronger than our fears.

Julian gives us a blessing: May you each go forward from this place into your daily lives, blessed with fresh hope, blessed with the joy of your shared communion of love, carrying light wherever you walk.

As we prepare to leave, the stars emerge to guide us home.

Gathering Space for March 17, 2022

Spring Equinox

It is twilight when we gather in the garden where Iona’s Augustinian nunnery once stood. The muted light gives the early grass, the delicate snowdrops, the daffodils, the low stones that remain of the walls, a lack of clear definition. There is a sense of presences, moving like soft shadows, perhaps the spirits of the nuns who once dwelt here.

The tent of our winter meetings has vanished. As we gather in a circle under the early evening sky, we each form and hold our intention. On this day of the Spring Equinox, we seek to experience the earth’s harmony and balance.

The fire pot is placed in the centre of the circle, reminding us of Brigid, reminding us who we are as the Communion of Creative Fire.

We begin by facing south, inviting Cynthia, our southernmost member, to call the direction from Western Australia: Spirit of the South, place of the warm sun, of brilliant flowers, exquisitely coloured birds, rainforests, sandy beaches, let us know the joy, the playfulness, the celebration of summer.

We look to the west, inviting Jean, our westernmost member, to call the direction from Oregon: Spirit of the West, spirit of fulfillment and abundance, of harvest, completion, and thanksgiving, bring us close to the fruitfulness of our lives, the autumn days of our wisdom.

We look to the north, inviting Shirley, our northernmost member, to call the direction from Sudbury: Spirit of the North, the place of courage and faithfulness, the place of winter’s rest and inward strength, draw us to the richness of winter’s gift of journeying within.

We look to the east, inviting Carol Zickell, to call the direction from New Hampshire: Spirit of the East, place of the rising sun, of newness and creativity, of starting fresh, align our hearts with spring’s gift of renewal.

Now we seek to get in touch with the energy of the Earth, as we each in turn read a section from the Spring Equinox Ritual in Kathleen Glennon's Heartbeat of the Seasons:

At this time the earth in the northern hemisphere experiences a sense of balance.

The pendulum of the seasons rests for a brief moment.

The ebb and flow of life pauses for a moment,

A moment of harmony,

A moment of rest,

A moment when the fulcrum of the seasons is in balance.

Let us get in touch with the earth and feel her pulse at this time.

Let us attune ourselves to the twilight, to the magic of the in-between time.

Let us become aware of the struggle between light and darkness and the subtle blending of both.

Let us become aware of the shapes of things in the twilight – the mystique that envelops everything.

Let us become aware of the last rays of the dying sun.

Let us be in touch with a sense of loss.

Let us also be aware of another emotion – the feeling of anticipation for the first rays of moonlight.

At equinox time, we have equal sunlight and nightlight.

Each of us is influenced by the rhythms of both the sun and the moon.

Sun energy influences our logical thought process, our analytical capacities, our decision-making skills.

Moon energy influences our intuitive capacities, and our aesthetic abilities.

We need both energies to be in balance— to be integrated, whole persons.

Candles are now passed to everyone in the circle. We each move forward in turn to light our candles from the flame of the fire pot.

When each person’s candle is lighted, we begin walking clockwise around the circle, balancing our lighted candle on our right hand, becoming aware of our body, our sense of balance, as we walk.

Now we move the candle to balance on the palm of our left hand, aware of our body and of sense of balance as we walk clockwise around the circle.

We next extend our left palm upward and place the right hand, with the candle on it, on top of the left, palm upward. Again, we walk clockwise around the circle and experience our sense of balance as we walk.

We take time to reflect on balance in our life: Is there balance between

Work and play,

Activity and rest,

Logic and intuition,

Busyness and relationships,

Joy and sorrow?

We call now on the energy of the universe to support us in our efforts at balance and integration.

We call on the energy of the earth at this time – the energy of integration and harmony.

We call on the energy of the moon to re-align us to our intuitive, creative side.

We call on the energy of the sun to align us to our logical, analytical side.

We call on the energy of twilight to attune us to the balance of polarities.

Closing Blessing:

May the blessing of twilight integrate the light and darkness of all.

May the blessing of equinox balance and anchor all.

May the angel of balance support and strengthen all.

May all of creation be truly blessed with harmony and stability.

Amen.

We turn towards Dolores Whelan asking her to suggest Reflection Questions that we might take into our Sacred Hour.

Dolores responds: "The energies of Spring Equinox invite us to ask: To what aspects of this new life within am I willing to commit myself?

"After you take time to answer this question, you might close with this prayer:

"May I be able to discern where to focus my creative energies at this time and have the commitment to follow through. "

Gathering Space for March 10, 2022

The wind off the North Atlantic is raw tonight. We approach our Gathering Tent in the Garden of Iona’s 13th c. Nunnery, grateful that it is still here, knowing that, like the birds, it will soon rise up and fly away, leaving us to gather under the starry starry sky. But not yet.

Inside the tent flap, we pause, breathe in the stillness, gaze at the soft light created around the inside walls by tall candles in silver stands, at the dancing vermilion flame in the fire pot, at the vibrant woven scenes on the large cushions that await us, at the faces of our friends who are already gathered here. We move to join them in the circle.

Following a time of greetings, questions, welcoming one another, a quieter mood takes over. We look around the circle, wondering who may have brought a poem, a prayer, a stirring question to begin our time together… Colette stands, holding a small book. “I’ve brought a book of poems by Mary Oliver, called Dream Work. One really speaks to me and I’d like to read it for us tonight:

The spirit

likes to dress up like this:

ten fingers,

ten toes,

shoulders, and all the rest

at night

in the black branches

in the morning

in the blue branches

of the world.

It could float, of course,

but would rather

plumb rough matter.

Airy and shapeless thing,

it needs

the metaphor of the body,

lime and appetite,

the oceanic fluids;

it needs the body’s world,

instinct

and imagination

and the dark hug of time

sweetness

and tangibility

to be understood,

to be more than pure light

that burns

where no one is --

so it enters us --

in the morning

shines from brute comfort

like a stitch of lightning;

and at night

lights up the deep and wondrous

drownings of the body

like a star.

There is silence as Colette stops reading. We each sit with the words we heard, that one phrase or image that enters within us, startling, delighting, awakening…. Someone asks Colette to read the poem again…. And she does.

“What most stirred us in this poem?” Colette asks.

These are the responses that we hear:

“I love that the spirit is dressed up as US! I can’t help remembering the years when I truly thought that to live in the Spirit meant to ignore, to try to fly away from my body, from my own earth, into some imagined sky place above human desire.”

“Yes, me too!” comes another voice. “I liked where the poet says that the Spirit could float but prefers matter, rough matter.”

“Doesn’t the poem say too that the Spirit needs us, needs our bodies, our imagination, our instinct…?”

“I heard the part about the Spirit entering us… in the morning and at night. It makes me think of sudden joy noticing a sunrise, and of the way sometimes a dream comes with comfort.”

“What was that line about the night?” someone asks.

Colette reads it once more:

at night (the Spirit)

lights up the deep and wondrous

drownings of the body

like a star.

There is deeper quiet as we draw in these thoughts.

After a time, a clear voice rises, singing a song we know from Carolyn McDade, “Within All Things”. Soon other voices join, some creating a spontaneous harmony. The music reverberates around the tent, dancing in the air, enters our hearts, filling us with joy.

As Earth bows in evening and opens to the night

we wander in the swing of stars beyond the bend of time.

O Ardent One, O Yield of Dreams who call Earth’s people home

to make of love a greater love and pass the living flame.

You are the love within all things, a widening embrace.

A flame that weeps and launches joy to leap through realms of grace.

Are we not born to love this life,

to make the wounded whole,

to plunge the chasms of despair

and lift the singing bird.

O Ardent One, Be with us now

Go with us as we dare,

to make of love a greater love and pass the living flame.

Gathering Space for March 3, 2022

It's the dark of the moon as we come into the Garden of the Ruined Nunnery. No veiled light reaches us through the clouds of the night sky. Yet a ruffling breeze through air warmer than winter stirs a memory, a hope of spring.

It's still too cold to gather outdoors. We enter the Communion tent.

At once we see a change. Our circle has been widened, the large embroidered cushions arranged at the room’s outer edges. In the centre of the room sits our firepot, already lighted. Around it, four of our Communion members have placed themselves in a circle, each facing outward in a different direction. There is a whispered discussion going on among them, a rearranging of positions, questions about who is to begin…. Ahhhh! It must be a ritual!

Eagerly we take our places on the cushions, wondering aloud what the theme will be. It's not yet Equinox, nor Earth Day nor Water Day…

Two of our companions get it in the same moment, speaking as one: “Women’s Day! It’s on March 8th, this coming Tuesday.”

Maureen steps into the centre of the circle. “Those of us who gathered in Guelph for the Fires of September in 2015 experienced a ritual created by Rosemary to honour the four godmothers of our Communion. We have adapted this ritual as a way for us to celebrate International Women’s Day.

“I invite you to stand and join hands around the outer circle. Let all disturbing thoughts be laid aside.

“Let us take three breaths….

Together with Earth beneath us….

Together with Sky above us….

Together with the Sea around us….

“With the blessings of Earth, Sea and Sky may our ritual begin ! Let us our hands as we face the East: O Beloved, we greet you and honour you, and ask for your blessings!

“We now look into the faces that surround us in this circle: O Holy One of this place, O Sacred One of this circle, we ask for your blessings, your guidance, and your inspiration for this evening’s ritual.

May there be Peace in the North.

May there be Peace in the South.

May there be Peace in the West.

May there be Peace in the East.

May there be peace throughout the whole world.

MARY ELLEN will hold the energies of the East,

ELLYN for the South,

SUZANNE for the West,

SHIRLEY for the North.

MARY ELLEN turns to face the EAST: “With the blessing of BRIGID, Goddess and Saint, Wise Woman of healing and compassion, who saw no separation between the inner and outer worlds, who became the muse of poets and the patroness of smithcraft, we call upon the powers of the EAST.”

ELLYN turns to face SOUTH: “With the blessing of JULIAN of NORWICH who intuitively understood that the universe is woven together in love, that the goodness of God is always complete and as close to us as our clothing, wrapping and enfolding us for love, we call upon the powers of the SOUTH."

SUZANNE turns to face WEST: “With the blessing of HILDEGARD of BINGEN who listened deeply to a voice that came from within, pondered the meaning of mysteries she saw around her, then spoke of what she had come to know, we call upon the powers of the WEST.”

SHIRLEY turns to face NORTH: “With the blessing of RABIA of BASRA, who when God said, My hands are yours, saw that she could heal any creature in this world and that divine beauty in each heart is the root of all time and space, we call upon the powers of the NORTH.”

(All four then turn to face into the circle.)

ALL: “May the harmony of our circle be complete.”

Maureen now passes around papers holding words of women who have been inspirations to us in our Communion:

Carol Ohmart-Behan reads from Hildegard of Bingen, a 12th c. Benedictine Abbess, musician, artist, herbalist, and theologian: “From my infancy until now, in the 70th year of my age, my soul has always beheld this Light, and in it my soul soars to the summit of the firmament and into a different air....The brightness which I see is not limited by space and is more brilliant than the radiance around the sun .... I cannot measure its height, length, breadth. Its name, which has been given me, is “Shade of the Living Light”....Within that brightness I sometimes see another light, for which the name “Lux Vivens” (Living Light) has been given me. When and how I see this, I cannot tell; but sometimes when I see it, all sadness and pain is lifted from me, and I seem a simple girl again, and an old woman no more!”

Clara reads from Angela of Foligno, a third order Franciscan in 13th c. Italy: “There was a time… when my soul was exalted to behold God with so much clearness that never before had I beheld him so distinctly. But love did I not see here so fully; rather did I lose that which before I had and was left without love. Afterwards did I see him darkly, and this darkness was the greatest blessing that could be imagined and no thought could conceive aught that would equal this. Then was there given unto the soul an assured faith, a firm and certain hope, wherein I felt so sure of God that all fear left me. For by that blessing which came with the darkness I did collect my thoughts and was made so sure of God that I can never again doubt but that I do of a certainty possess him.”

Colette reads from Julian of Norwich a 14th Century English writer, teacher and anchoress:

"I saw that God is to us everything which is good and comforting for our help. He is our clothing, who wraps and enfolds us for love, embraces us and shelters us, surrounds us for his love, which is so tender that he may never desert us. And so in this sight I saw that God is everything which is good...."

Ruth reads from Evelyn Underhill, an English mystic who lived from 1875-1941:

“Come in! Enter my small life! Lay your sacred hands on all the common things and small interests of that life and bless and change them. Transfigure my small resources, make them sacred. And in them give me your very self. When out of the heart of my own homely circumstances, you feed me --- then my eyes are open to the presence I long for and can never understand."

Karen reads from Etty Hillesum, a Dutch mystic who died in Auschwitz in 1943:

“I shall try to help you, God, to stop my strength ebbing away, though I cannot vouch for it in advance. But one thing is becoming increasingly clear to me: that you cannot help us, that we must help you to help ourselves. And that is all we can manage these days, also all that really matters: that we safeguard that little piece of you, God, in ourselves. And in others as well. Alas, there doesn’t seem to be much you yourself can do about our circumstances, about our lives. Neither do I hold you responsible. You cannot help us but we must help you and defend your dwelling place inside us to the end.”

As we have been listening to these words, the women who led the ritual have been quietly preparing a table with a brightly woven cloth. They have set out dips, raw vegetables, bowls of chips, plates, glasses, napkins and bottles of white Rhineland wine in honour of Hildegard.

As the readings end, Maureen calls out: “Come to the Feast! Let us celebrate the great women whose lives were cups that caught the sacred rain as well as the holy wine!”

And so with joy we celebrate.

Gathering Space for February 24, 2022

Elspeth's Story of life-Death-Life

Gathering Space for February 17, 2022

Photo: Calabogie Lake

Under umbrellas and rain hoods, our bodies bent like trees in the stiff wind, we make our way across the open space of the garden of the ruined 13th c. Women’s Monastery on Iona. Though the temperature has at last climbed above freezing, our Gathering Tent is a welcome promise of warmth and shelter. With a quick shake to remove rain from umbrellas and raingear, we open the tent flap and go inside.

We blink to remove drops of moisture from our eyes. We gaze with gratitude upon the tall white candles that stand in silent greeting around the periphery, suggesting a medieval castle, rather than a canvas tent. Many of our companions are already seated on the large embroidered cushions that surround the flaming firepot. We join them, greeting our friends, exchanging small bits of news, asking about loved ones who are ill, expressing our joy at being here once more.

When the murmur of voices, sounding like the poet Yeats’ “bee-loud glade” finally stills, Suzanne steps forward.

“We have often spoken of the image in the poem of Christin Lore Weber: a cup to catch the sacred rain. We know that our times of quiet meditation prepare us to receive that gift. I've asked Jean Houston to lead us in a contemplative practice of finding a source of light within us.” Suzanne takes her place in her our circle as Jean stands to speak:

Please begin by breathing slowly and deeply; slowly and deeply; slowly and deeply. Continue doing so…

In the quiet of the breath, I invite you now to begin to imagine that within the center of your mind there is a quiet, calm lake, and it is a lake of light – serene, peaceful, placid, in the center of your consciousness. This quiet lake of light . . .

… and as you breathe in, the light grows. And as you breathe out, it contracts.

But now you find that you’re able to be with the light in a playful way so that as you breathe in, the light expands, it grows brighter. As you breathe out, it moves through your entire mind-brain system and illumines that mind-brain system – that whole beingness. So, inhale and the light becomes more intense, expands, becomes brighter; exhale, it is dispersed to all parts of you, all parts – atoms, molecules, cells, neurons, the structures of your brain, mind, even now the whole body, the brain that hangs down through every part of the body, receiving that light.

Inhale, the pool becomes intense, expansive. Exhale, the light particles, the photons, move out throughout your brain and body, filling your heart. Inhale, it becomes brighter, more expansive, richer, lovelier. It is a loving light filling your heart. Exhale, these particles, these parts of loving, living light, move through your whole body, your entire being.

You find yourself in a vast sea of light. You are there in the fathomless depths of that oneness which is light. And the light that is embedded in you burns deeper and brighter because you are in that field of light. You are in the field – the quantum field – that banishes all the negative, all the old things that you no longer need. You are also in that quantum field where all new possibilities exist.

And from this moment forth, if you choose, it is never, ever going away. If you choose, you will always have access to your beingness of light. And it may even be that an emotion so sweet, so lovely, so beautiful – pure love and compassion or just sure delight of beingness – fills you now.

You are also the light that moves the sun and all the stars. And, being filled with light, you can say in your heart’s mind, in your mind’s heart, “I am a being of light. I love the light. I serve the light. I am illumined, sustained, supported by the light, and I support and sustain the light. The light, which is also love, and I, are of the same essence.”

And it seems to you that within this great sea of light, which is you, which is the quantum field of all possibilities, which is the light, which is love, this essential nature dwells in you, calm, serene, centered, illumined, sustained and sustaining the universe, always there -- although it may be that before this moment you never knew it was there, sitting perhaps like a Buddha in the center of your very being. Full of light and yet no one thing and now discovering in the light the pattern of your own possibilities emerging from the light.

You may see or feel what is emerging of these possibilities, these new ways of being, but also placing there some intention you have for your life; some dream or desire, placing it in this field in which your dream, your desire, your intention, is taken up in the interdependent co-arising so that your intention is made clearer. It may grow or change as you feel and observe it in this vast sea of creative, fertile light.

Observe it now as it begins to take on the qualities, the very form that you intend. It is partnership in creation – your desire, your intention, and the cosmic response. Watch now. Feel now as it grows in clarity, in manifestation, as it is remade, improved, deepened in the quantum field of all-becoming. And do that now. I will be quiet a few moments as you do that now.

……

But always remember that you are made of light. You are of the same essence as the quantum field of light, wherein all thoughts, all dreams, become reality.

On each of the days to come, practise being the light as a joyous experience that you look forward to engaging in. You’ll begin to find yourself filled with luminous joy, and you will also discover how radiant will become your intentions as they move to manifestation.

Following these words, Jean rejoins our seated circle, and for a further time of quiet, we continue the meditation.

Now weaving through the stillness, there is a steadily growing drumbeat, joined by the high songbird-like notes of a flute. One by one, we rise, seek a clear space somewhere in the tent. Joy is rising within and around us. Sitting still is no longer an option! We dance.

Gathering Space for February 10, 2022

Gathering Space for October 21, 2021

The cool air of early evening brushes our skin, ripples our clothing. As we come into the Garden of the Ruined Nunnery on the Sacred Island of Iona, the sun has not yet set, though its patina of gold offers little warmth. October is moving swiftly towards the Celtic Festival of Samhain. The dark quiet feminine time of the year will soon be here.

Once we are within the stones of the low walls we stop, gazing in wonder at the sight before us. The grassy area is crowded with long tables, covered in an enticing array of baked goods, woven scarves, shawls, small paintings, handmade pottery, clay cups and plates, jewelry… Have we fallen through a worm hole in time? It looks like a Medieval Faire!

Someone is coming towards us as we stand transfixed by this vision. Our friend Elspeth is smiling, greeting us. Now we know we’re in the present time.

"What's happening?" Karen asks. "What is all of this?"

Elspeth's smile broadens. Her grey eyes are warm with delight: "This, my dear ones, is our Harvest Fair! We've brought the goods not already purchased last week by the tourists drawn here to Iona. Since you began holding your Gathering Space here, some mysterious energy has increased the flow of tourists. "Come. Move around the displays. Enjoy all that we’ve brought for you. There’s hot apple cider, mulled wine, scones, cakes, pies. If you’re drawn to something lovely, a necklace or bracelet, a shawl or scarf, it’s yours for the asking. The village of Iona offers this as a thank you for all you’ve brought to our small island."

What joy to mingle, to greet the other women from Iona, many of whom we’ve met on past visits. Some are the quilters who created the magic carpets of colour for our Gathering Space. We explore the craft table with delight, each choosing a either a beautiful piece of jewelry, or a colourful scarf, or a warm hand-woven shawl. Then we choose cider or mulled wine and sample the baking.

Afterwards, drawn by the crackle of flame, the scent of burning wood, we gather around the fire pit which the women from Iona have created. Its welcoming blaze invites us to stay a little longer. We find places to sit on the grass, feeling the fire's warmth, sipping mulled wine.

Once everyone in our Communion has formed a circle around the fire with the Iona women, Clara asks a question that many of us have wondered about.

"Elspeth, what do you know of the beginning of this Nunnery? Are there any stories of its founding, or of the nuns who lived here so long ago?"

"Well now, I’m glad you asked, Clara." Elspeth’s face is lighting up with a storyteller's eager joy. "You may have heard of the great Celtic Scots leader Somerled, known as Lord of the Isles? He had a dream of uniting the Irish and Scots Celts, at the time when Viking raiders were attacking the isles. He is honoured for creating a Celtic Renaissance and through his wife, Ragnhild, daughter of Olafr Godredsson, King of the Isles, claimed for himself and his descendants the Kingdom of the Isles.

"One of his unfulfilled dreams had been to bring Irish Monasticism to Iona. In the last year of his life he attempted to persuade the Columban monastic community in Derry to relocate from Ireland to Iona, for this sacred island was within Somerled's sphere of influence.

"Unfortunately for Somerled, his death denied him this hope. Somerled was slain in 1164 at the Battle of Renfrew, during an invasion of mainland Scotland while he was commanding forces drawn from all over his kingdom. We believe that Somerled was buried here on Iona.

"Somerled's son Reginald, founded the nunnery in 1200 and installed his sister, Beatrice, as its first prioress. It was one of only two Augustinian Orders in Scotland. The nunnery earned itself the name 'An Eaglais Dhubh' - the black church - after the colour of nuns' robes.

"Unlike the rest of the Abbey buildings, as you know well, the nunnery has not been restored since being made derelict during the Reformation. The pink granite walls that remain, despite being ruinous, are amongst the best examples of a medieval nunnery left in Britain. Little is known of the nuns who lived here. Like the Benedictine monks, they followed a strict life of prayer and contemplation. A few clues have been left which shed some light on aspects of the nuns' lives. For instance, the tomb of Prioress Anna Maclean is so detailed in its carving as to give a clear depiction of her dress. Some of the nuns were thought to have fled to the nearby Island of Mull where they lived in a cave during the Reformation. This cave is called the 'Nun's Cave' and is to be found on the coast at Carsaig on Mull. It has crosses carved into its inner walls."

While Elspeth’s story unfolded, the light of evening faded. Darkness now enwraps us like a cloak. Deep silence pervades as each of us is lost in our own imaginings of those long ago times, of the mysterious life that went on for more than three centuries, of the terror of the nuns' escape to the Island of Mull.

"What a sad story!" Colette says.

Elspeth stirs as if waking from a dream. "Sad? I’ve never thought so. Does this Garden feel sad to you? You know there’ve been a few times when I’ve been walking here in the evening and heard music, ethereal, lovely, as though coming from far away. There was one eve of Samhain…. But no, that story is too strange for such a night as this.

Low murmurs begin, sounds of wonder, of awe, grow louder. Our companions are looking upwards. We follow their gaze. The full moon is rising above the Garden of Iona, clothed like us in an aura of colour.

Gathering Space for October 14, 2021

Galadriel’s Mirror: Part Two

This evening, as the women of our communion come into the Garden of the Ruined Nunnery on Iona, each looks about the grassy enclosure, then beyond to where trees obscure a pathway. Some of the looks are hopeful, expectant; others are cautious, a few even fearful. No one has yet spoken.

Finally, someone asks, “Is she here? Or do you think she is coming?” A chorus of questions follows. Everyone seems to be wondering about Galadriel. Will she return? Will we have another opportunity to gaze into her Mirror?

Kate is looking thoughtful. “If I understand Galadriel, her coming will depend on whether or not we want her to return.” Kate pauses while we take this in, then she asks, “Well do we want her to come?”

“I’m not sure I want to know anything more than what I saw last time,” Carol says. “It will take me a while to really understand it.”

Colette agrees. “Once is enough for me, too.”

“I’m wondering…” Clara begins, and everyone looks her way. “Well, I just wonder how it would be if we asked Galadriel to show us something about our whole communion, since we’ve each had our chance to see a personal vision.”

This suggestion is greeted with relief, even enthusiasm. The mood of the group quickly shifts to a subdued excitement.

“How shall we invite her to return?”

Yet no answer is needed. Galadriel is already standing among us, gesturing for us to follow her along the path that leads to her mirror. In moments, we are gathered around the tree-shaped pedestal, watching as Galadriel fills her silver ewer with water from the nearby stream, pours it into her shallow silver bowl.

“Do not stand too near, and be careful not to touch the water,” Galadriel advises.

“Make a large circle allowing two metres between each of you, so that everyone can see the surface of the mirror.”

Although we seem to have only arrived minutes before, the sky is now fully dark.

There is no moon. We gaze upwards towards more stars than any of us have seen or even imagined. There are so many that it is impossible to make out the shapes of the familiar constellations, riddled as they are with flickering lights within and around them.

“Now look carefully at the surface of the water, and wait,” Galadriel says.

And so we gaze, and wait. And wait. And wait.

Someone whispers, “There is nothing to see.” Another voice says, just as softly, “I don’t think anything is going to happen.”

“Quiet,” Galadriel speaks in a voice of command. “You must wait or the vision will not come to you.”

We see a bowl. It holds dark water. The surface begins to fold as though someone were blowing a breath of air across it. The folds grow larger until they look like waves. We are gazing into a dark sea whose waves rise and fall and rise again. At the edge of the bowl a tiny radiant star is rising until it stands above the waves. A guiding light.

“Star of the sea”, someone whispers. But no one hears, for now on the surface of the sea, a little boat has appeared. It is enclosed, made of wood, looking like an ark from a child’s picture book. It moves over the waves, rising and falling with them. The tiny star is leading it forward.

Suddenly the vision fades. We are looking at a bowl of water that holds starlight in its clear unruffled surface.

“What did you see?” Galadriel asks.

“A sea.” “A ship”. “A star.” The responses carry disappointment.

Now the white lady smiles, and seems on the edge of laughter. “But what did you desire to see?”

It takes us a moment to put the expectation with the result.