Iona: The Thin Place

Iona is the birthplace of Celtic Christianity, the location of the writing of the Book of Kells (which is housed in Dublin at Trinity College) and has been a world renowned site of pilgrimage for 1700 years. George Macleod started the Iona Community that runs the Abbey, hosts international guests most of the year-round, and does general community, out reach work back in 1938. They are still going strong: the Abbey holds two half-hour services a day: 9am and 9pm. The morning services are similarly formatted with readings from Scripture (the whole week I was there, the readings were from the book of Mark), responsive readings, hymns and intercessory prayers. The evening services are themed, so Monday nights are "healing", Tuesdays are "creative space", etc. I unfortunately didn't make it to an evening service, but heard that they were excellent. On Sundays, they have a "regular" church meeting with a sermon (the one I attended was about food - specifically Babbette's Feast, which makes me want to see the movie even more now!). This sharply unique island is home to the starkly well preserved ruins of a Nunnery where women served for over 300 years, though we know not one of their names. The focus on the Abbey (traditionally all-male) throughout Iona's recorded history is but a microcosm of the blemish of sexism on the human face; I connected deeply with the nunnery (pictured left): the soft presence of the servant hearts of women feathering the aging yet still-structured stone-and-brick that housed these anonymous gals, the crash-and-rip of the ocean less than 20 yards away, the whisperings of history we'll never know this side of eternity.
The island itself is 3 miles long and a mile wide; people walk everywhere and there is this intense, almost traumatic sort of freedom for people: you can walk wherever you want as long as you close any gates you open, you can scale any rock, tramp through any marsh, barrel roll down any hill in any little bay (each bears a singsong name, like "Bay at the Back of the Ocean" or "Bay of the Young Lad's Rock") or pet any cow (if they don't run away from you; although the sheep outnumber the people on the island, the people here have maintained such a low print on the land that most of their animals are appropriately un-socialized). There is, not surprisingly, a long-standing tension between locals and visitors, but I suspect that has more to do with when visitors disrespect this fragile slice of unveiled sacredness as one in throngs of people is bound to do, unfortunately.
The southern part of the island is covered in purple heather and disorientingly rolling hills, open for hiking but hearing few trails and many bogs (especially after heavy rain), most not as easy to recognize as that one. To be sure, one shouldn't leave the hostel (or either of the two other hotels on the island that house its 100,000 annual guests) without hiking boots not only because simply being out and out will probably strike up the mood for hiking but also because you're likely to do 5 or 6 miles of walking just getting around the island.
The people have a deep sense of preservation of nature (there is only one grocery store on the island, so most raise their own food, gently and patiently) and for their history; the island is home to many craft workers and has three arts and crafts co-ops; each artist with her own story and legacy. One of the ladies has made a business out of making jewelry from green stones - these serpentine marble stones you can only find on Iona's southern bays (and even then, only if you really seek). I found 6 small stones and requested dangly earrings - she'd never done earrings that way before, so I truly have a unique pair of earrings.
The culture here is truly unique - I did not even notice not having a cell phone or regular internet access - there were too many beaches to dance upon, stones to seek out and hills to climb, and so much purple heather to scurry through. The locals are rougher, but that makes them realer, and they will tell you how it is: "Iona is not a gentle place, it really makes you see." Truly, Iona made me see, and I'm sure I don't know just how much yet. I actually miss it already - I knew before I left that I didn't want to leave and thus was able to enjoy it instead of, as per my usual, oning-to-the-next-thing or waiting for time to pass before I could return home. In many ways, (too many to describe, and too deep to describe accurately), Iona was more my returning home than arriving back in the United States...