Expectations

This was written after our first full day on Iona.  Somehow fittingly, it was a Sunday.  For those not in the Episcopal Church family, Fort Worth is a diocese which is working to re-order its life after a sizeable group split off.  I sat at Sunday breakfast with the Chancellor (read: lawyer) of the re-ordered diocese.  She is facing October court battles over who owns what church property.  This was not what I expected to find on a small, isolated island in Scotland.  

Today is a day

I did not do things

On the list.

After church and lunch,

A long nap was in order.

Now I think

A glass of wine before dinner.

The group

Grown to 40,

Hiked to the North End beach.

I slept instead.

Here I see well

Sea?  I hear well too.

This morning*s breakfast

Brought Fort Worth

To the table,

To the flow of things I imagined

Differently.

I knew it would not be quite

What I expected,

Even when I tried

To expect nothing.

Iona: a beginning

This was written upon arrival in Iona, before dinner.  We had traveled all day by coach and ferry from Inveraray.  

I came here for space and time,

Came to this rocky small outcrop

Of a place

2 planes

2 coaches

2 ferries away.

No wonder the Romans

Never bothered.

There is little hope

I can help much

With the family kitchen renovation

From here.

My room is the accessible sort:

Handbars and grips,

A seat in the shower.

I will be reminded every morning

I am limited.

Not a bad reminder.

Not a bad thing to see.

Not a bad thing

To wake up to.

Lady in purple

I am re-acclimating to Chicago time.  In the process I will post from the last couple weeks.  I met this woman close to the beginning of my journey.  How many women in purple cassocks have you seen recently... in the airport?  I still have her book.  

I have only seen people

In purple cassocks,

Clerical collars,

In precious spaces.

Usually it signifies

The presence of a bishop.

Yesterday

The Newark airport was graced

With a woman in a purple cassock,

A clerical collar,

Ebony cross.

She told me she was

Mother Clare,

Spiritual and Teaching Master,

Co-founder and Priest

Of the mystical Christian Order

Of Christ Sophia.

She was delighted

I was on my way to Iona.

She was on her way

To Stockholm,

All in purple,

Next gate over.

She gave me her book

And brochure.

I didn*t dare leave it

In Newark.

flute

I have never been to Iceland.  Much less bought a flute there.  In three and a half weeks I fly to Scotland for a pilgrimage to Iona.  I wonder what I will carry back home with me.  I somehow know it will be beautiful.  I imagine it will take some time to learn its use.

I dreamed I bought a flute

In Iceland.

I figured I would learn to play

On the flight home.

I opened my eyes

As we prepared to land.

I had slept all the way

Across the Atlantic.

It is a beautiful flute.

I cannot play a note.

Still

It is a beautiful flute.

Still

I cannot play a note.