SOMEONE ASKED me the other day, 'In all your travels, what place did you visit that most surprised you, especially in terms of learning something so new and different or seeing things you could never have known before?' At first I thought he was going to ask me what was my favourite place; or what place was the most dear to my heart; or in which place did I feel most that I belonged; but those things were not in the question, so I said 'The Outer Hebrides of Scotland', which was quite true. I had no preparation (only hints) for what I'd find there when I went for the first time. In fact the whole of the Outer Hebrides truly were nothing like anything I'd ever even imagined before then.
Each island is like a world of its own: it really is like that—you simply can't believe how much so. Of course since most people only Look and don't See—or when they perceive things, it is only with their minds and not their souls; so should you find nothing remarkable in these intensely magical places, it is likely in the beholder and not the beheld.
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| Clachan Calanais - Callanish Stone Circle |
I think all I'd heard about the place was of the Standing Stones of Callanish on Lewis (Leòdhas) of which there was a small pamphlet in a hostel I was staying at. The site has one of the most powerful stone circles on this earth. Even if you've never even considered stone circles before, you'd have to be quite insular and thoroughly introverted to fail to be moved by the place. I've never seen or felt anything like it before or since really. That unique. Nearby that was the Carloway Broch, a mysterious ancient building that also gives off this very living aura: an old, old place that still emanates life and roots of the past, still connecting it to today. I think if you tore it down, the feeling would still be there.
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| Dùn Chàrlabhaigh - Carloway Broch |
Although it wasn't like me in my later travels, at the time I hired a car for a couple of days. It was high summer, and the light of the sun never really went away, before it rose again about 2am or so. I recall having stopped at one point at just around that hour and stood out in the midst of the empty and silent moorlands and drank in the wonder of the stillness. I saw the mysterious glow of the sun about ready to visit this otherworldly landscape after so short a rest.
No matter how many pictures you look at or words you read, there is honestly no describing such an experience than being there could give you. It is likely different for each individual: but I can only speak for myself; and for me, I think my life would lack some new development within if I had never been there and accepted the experience as I did. The intensity of the magic that surrounded me could not really be explained in words or images. So my hope is only to convey some interest that might one day bring you there yourself, if even in the Lands of Dream.
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| Rubha Robhanais |
Way up in the northern tip of Lewis there was once a pair of lighthouses. Along the cliffs there, seals stare up at you at times. Though this time, no seals. I had an intense moment of wanting to hurl myself off the cliffs—there are worse deaths, like dying in some wretched hospital or 'passing away at your residence'; and the beauty of such a final destination is so full of sorrow and wondrousness that I could imagine at the time that it would do for me. Some bit closer to the village of Eoropaidh is the Teampall Mholuaidh, and I visited it with some weird anticipation—like I knew the site would figure in my life a number of times to come (which it did indeed), and that this first was to be the most spectacular of them. I sang
Media Vita there, and
Fortune Presents Gifts Not According To the Book; plus played
A Mighty Fortress is Our God on the alto recorder.
I recall the second night having returned to my hostel when everyone was asleep, then getting up before they even were awake. I slept in the common room on a couch in front of the fire for those few hours. Honestly, I don't think I met a single one of the people staying there—only I had stopped by to pay the warden at their house, that was all. When I went out again, it was near dawn—probably really the middle of the night still. I then drove down one side of southern Harris (Na Hearadh), then up the other. Each coast is completely different; and when you go along the one that is like a moon-scape (the 'Golden Road'), and the sun is just coming through from behind the clouds, and it is also raining in sparse, but large raindrops, you cannot imagine the magic so evoked. When I got to around the southern tip of the island, I stopped at St Clement's chapel (Tùr Chliamhainn) in Roghadal—I had the place to myself, and it was unlocked as most things were then. I was impressed with the silence of the place; then I started to make some sounds, and it was fabulous.
These chapels were on either tip of these two connected islands: St Moluag's way up north near Rubha Robhanais, and St Clement's in Roghadal at the southern edge of Harris, which I found significant. And I do know that Moluag (Mholuaidh) was built on the site of a very ancient temple indeed—one that much predates the arrival of Christianity, and that it was associated with Seonaidh, the god of the sea. This was typical in the Celtic lands; and, in my opinion, it was the peoples' way of keeping the power of the Old Ways, even in the teeth of threats against their souls and lives by the heartlessness of single-mindedness. The two chapels also created an easy means of sanctuary for any fleeing individuals who could sit tight at either end of the pair of islands and wait for their friends to come get them by boat.
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| Tùr Chliamhainn |
If you happen to be a singer or musician, the acoustics of both these churches are wonderful: I sang more beautifully than ever in my life in both, and played some recorder and tin whistle in them too. There was just something in them that brought alive even the most rudimentary vocal chanting, which led me to understand what makes monks and such chant: some of the best spaces in which to resonate one's voice and sounds of the soul.
When I'd settled in to remain in Lewis for a bit, I discovered another thing I'd read about from a pamphlet: the Lewis Chessmen. I know anyone who has heard of them will likely believe they are in some museum in England someplace—but in this year, they had come home to their rightful place for awhile. This was celebrated with a chess tournament, and some of the players were staying in the hostel I was at then. I saw those chess pieces too—and they have quite the appearance, including ones that bite and gnaw their shields, or ride little island ponies that did for the mounts of knights. These are thought to have come from Iceland, and were discovered in a cave on Lewis one day, long ago.
Sometimes it feels like only today that I was there, in these places, so alive are my memories. I think most memory is of information and inhabits the mind, and some of emotion or physical sensation inhabit the heart or the body. But memories of spirit exist in spirit, and so perhaps pervade one's Self more thoroughly and forever. And I find myself grateful for these all, and I treasure them.
When I'd settled in to remain in Lewis for a bit, I discovered another thing I'd read about from a pamphlet: the Lewis Chessmen. I know anyone who has heard of them will likely believe they are in some museum in England someplace—but in this year, they had come home to their rightful place for awhile. This was celebrated with a chess tournament, and some of the players were staying in the hostel I was at then. I saw those chess pieces too—and they have quite the appearance, including ones that bite and gnaw their shields, or ride little island ponies that did for the mounts of knights. These are thought to have come from Iceland, and were discovered in a cave on Lewis one day, long ago.
