Her Wild Ways - Part IV
A 7-part series following a Modern Goddess-in-Training stumbling towards the Divine
“Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven” - translated from the original Aramaic:
May your deepest desire and longing for this world be fulfilled on earth as it is in the realm of light from which it came.
At first, we stopped at Lunga to see the puffins. Thousands of them lived along the terraced landscape, moving with a kind of cheerful absurdity that softened me. Their bright faces and awkward bodies made me giggle. They were ridiculous and beautiful. They belonged completely to themselves.
But it was Staffa that struck me. The island rose from the sea in dark geometric cliffs—black basalt columns stacked like something built rather than formed. The narrow passage into Fingal’s Cave seemed to exist at the edge between worlds. I had always been afraid of heights and small spaces. The path to the cave offered both.
Newly constructed cement steps allowed visitors to leap from the ferry onto the island, and a simple rope railing followed the narrow ledge between rock and open water. As we made our way toward the cave, I wanted to wait until everyone else had entered to have more space. But we only had forty-five minutes before returning to the boat. I couldn’t wait. As people came back through the tight passage, I squeezed past them, apologizing: “I’m going to hug you now because I am not letting go of this railing!” Nobody looked at me strangely. The world did not collapse because I was afraid.
At the end of the cave, three of us found a small opening where we could stand and chant. The waves crashed below. The wind moved through the stone. We sang at the top of our voices into the rush of earth’s cavernous opening.
With only minutes before we needed to return to the boat, Monette and I decided to climb the stairs above the cave. The upper ledge was covered in thick grasses. At one point I needed to pee and found what seemed like a private nook. Of course, a family appeared over the hilltop. Fully exposed. Fully human. I laughed.
When the body calls.
Soon we were alone again. At the far edge of the island, we found a hollow of the softest green earth. The land rose gently around us, creating a bowl that opened toward the sea. Along the cliff edge grew circles of wild Sea Pinks, their blossoms spilling over the precipice like a foaming wave. I crawled toward the edge on my belly. Directly underneath me, the waves surged into Fingal’s Cave. The island received it. I felt the water move into my own body.
I looked out across the ocean. Far away I saw a tiny island, a dark silhouette surrounded by endless water. Immediately, without thought, I heard:
That is me.
I didn’t ask whether the voice was mine. Or Hers. It didn’t matter. The knowing arrived before the explanation. Like the island, I was alone. But an island is not only land. It is the ocean around it, the water that shapes it. It is the relationship between what stands apart and what holds it.
I lay there above the cave, my body pressed against the earth, the Sea Pinks at my chest and chin, the wind moving over me. The waves entered the black basalt walls below. The island received the ocean. And I received the moment. I crashed into myself. And into Her.
“The island received the ocean. And I received the moment.”