The following is an introduction to my new blog entitled:
The Geography of the Soul
Discovering Healing through Journey, Land, and Dreams
Royce Fitts, D. Min., LMFT, LMHP
Spiritual Counselor and DreamWorker
I love the land, in all of her forms, across this earth. I love the journeys that beckon from people and place. I love the dreams that come unbidden in our sleep and, even if ignored, form us as souls and beings. The land, journeys and dreams yearn to heal us, to expand our souls, to mystically commune and converse with “the all that is…”.
This blog, and eventual book, seeks to invite us to move toward personal and community healing, and a deeper connection to each other and the world.
We must live with more vulnerability and the risks of love.
We haven’t much time.
We need each other to survive. We need the earth, all the beings therein, and our dreams to live.
This blog and book offer stories, journeys, and dreams across our geography of earth and soul. Some are next door. Some faraway. Some only in our sleep and take flight into the netherworld, surfacing mysteriously as we wake. Our souls and earth are deeply connected.
Let’s converse about these journeys, lands, and dreams. Let’s share our stories, journeys, and dreams with each other. Let’s become vulnerable, taking the risk of love with each other, that Sacred Risk of the ones who have gone before, and is the reason we are even here now.
Throughout my sabbatical, I’ve continued to meet amazing people on my Geography of the Soul journey. About a month ago or so I was in Central Park in New York City. I did not know how much I would love that kind of environment. The energy of the city, the intrigue and friendliness of the people. No kidding 🙂 friendly! 🙂
I went to Central Park a couple of different times. One day as I was walking alone, I said hello to this wonderful friendly saxophone player. A couple of hours later I came by and he was still there and we again made connection. This sacred conversation took place:
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Does a land have a soul? Can “the rocks and stones sing”, truly sing, as ancient words insist? Ah-h-h…yes, for I have seen and heard. There are moments (if this were my dream, and it is! , mind you!) when I hear the land sing, when the blades of dry and green grasses swoosh their melody across the meadows, across the rocks, soil, water, pebbles, carried by it’s beloved friend, the wind…
It is Nebraska. It is Wyoming. It is Scotland. It is Iona. It is the prairie where ever it exists and lives to love it’s rooted-ness in earth. It is true, rocks and stones and grasses and water and wind and sky and clouds, let alone “the birds of the air, the fishes of the sea”, the insects, animals, the particles of all dust of the star-dust of life, all these and more, sings. The heavenly hosts, called stars and suns and planets, and the nothings and the every-things of life, sing. THAT is a lot of music, I admit, and I have missed and not given credit to even more…for my mind is tiny and I miss a lot. Thank you, life, for forgiving my lack of seeing the vastness of the vast of The All That Is.
However, yesterday and today (this first day of October) I have seen and heard more of the songs of the earth. As I am writing these clumsy words, trying to describe the indescribable, I am sitting at a tiny BnB, gazing out the window at a gigantic hump and lump of rich green grass and craggy rocks, on a tiny outpost of earth. In the near distance, I see even larger, mountainous (for here) rocks and sand and grasses. All of this is called the Isle of Iona.
Poets and lyricists haven written love songs and odes and hymns to this Isle. Kings have literally died to be buried here. Landscape artists and photographers (I promise to add pics here soon!) oddle over the light, the scape, the space. The Isle is, what? A God, a Goddess, How does an isolated chunk of land do this to us? It is just a chunk, right? I donno. We should ask that chunk of land in the sky, the Moon. I think she/he may have some knowledge of that stuff more than us humans. Unbelievable, again, I say, unbelievable, as to where I am sleeping and walking…and dreaming…
Before there was time, there was Scotland. Before there was Scotland, there was Iona.
I am sitting now on some of, perhaps even, the oldest land on earth, on Iona. Australia, too, speaks of this possibility, being the oldest of the old rocks and land. Both can be true, in the graciousness of age and life. Here now, I am in Scotland, and she, he, Life of Rocks and Land, is old, very old.
Before there was time, there was Scotland. Before there was Scotland, there was Iona
I came here at this moment because I had finished The Ridgeway Walk last week. And that, for all practical purposes (and my needed bragging “rites and rights!!”) was a 100 mile wonder! It was a wow!, a big WOW! Walking where 8,000 years of humanity has walked. Obviously, I love ancientness, that connection to the earth, and us, calls me. Always has. I like to see how I fit in with all the molecules of existence. I find sacredness in these journeys of ancientness.
So, Iona, this little more than a sort of mile of land, or three, depending on how you count, has existed forever, at least as how humans count time. As I was getting here by bus, well, first by ferry (fairy, if you believe in what some of what the Scots believe, and why not?) my brain, which is always looking for patterns of previously experienced stuff, you know, kept wanting to say, “whoa, this looks like…the Nebraska Sand Hills (it does), or the Colorado Rockies (it does), or…whatever. Finally, when I was here for two hours, walking on the little “one-track” (as they call it) from my “little bungalow” to the village, I got it. Iona is like nothing else. Nothing. Like no place on earth.
It was raining off and on yesterday, for a couple a days, actually. Honestly, this is the first day or two I have spent in honest to goodness rain in all of Great Britain in the time I have been here. Unusual, of course, and great for me. But, the rain in Scotland, on this Isle is spiritual to me…the weather gods speak.
And it has stopped. The rain stopped early this morning. The sun, mind you, Ol’ Sol is brilliant here! It is like double light! It reflects off the ocean and does a double ray of light. Amazing, I say, amazing! It is blinding and welcoming, all at the same time.
I went for two short runs this morning. The “one tracks” beckon, so you go…One was to see where the one track ends on this side (west-ish) of the island. It ends at the ocean, of course (-: And, it ends on the most blessed green carpet of grasses imaginable. It is a natural green for a golf course…Wait!! it IS a golf course! with sheep! THIS IS the country where golf was created, you know—do you? do I care? no, but it is cool to know…and the rolling swaths and hills of lush green grass (I saw three golfing holes with flags posted, along side of grazing sheep) flowing to the beach and rocks and eternal waves of sea. That was before breakfast. Then, I slowly trotted after breakfast toward the village (east-ish) to attend morning services in one of the oldest Christian communities in the world. Ancient, again. See? There I go again.
The ancientness of Iona is what called me. I have been soooo curious over the years of wondering about the formation of faith here, on this tiny dot of earth. This dot held (holds) some kind of powerful draw, that it is a kind of spiritual portal that makes humans, maybe other life forms, too, lose their sense-abilities and seek the non-rational, dream-time connections to the soul. There are rumors here that long before Christianity existed, others came here for their faith formation. Druids (no one knows what they believed, really), others…unknown to us moderns except by guesses and projections, that humans, at least, came here to Iona to experience the draw of the holy, the scared.
Is that enough, that wonder, to draw me here?
And, my dreams disturb me here.
A good sign in dream language. The “not feel good about these dream images” that are always about pushing me to grow. Growing on Iona. Now that sounds cool.
Perhaps I will write more on this at a later time. However, the sun is brilliant at the moment, and I need to bask. To visit with Sol about my soul. Join me?
Now several hours later, an awareness unfolds, and more. I needed to say the above about Iona and I realized more that some truths to me were left unsaid. I must say these, too.
How did the Christians take over? Was it like the Vikings of later times, who murdered almost 70 monks on the beautiful nearby beach? The Vikings did their plunder thing several times over the years. My cousins, the Vikings do not give me a calm and happy family connection here. Or how ’bout the Romans? Not nice in their exploitations of any Isle. Sort of like the American imperialists, too, or the British later, or…name your flavor of dominance. The legends seem to point that St. Colombo, the priest that came over from Ireland to found Christianity on Iona about 1,300 years ago (?), had some pitched battles with those Druid folks. But that stuff isn’t really talked about right now. We just talk about the current light and grace that we feel as we walk this land.
What does this mean to me? It means that I have to acknowledge the terror of this lovely Isle’s past as well as love this amazing healing space she/he offers in the now. It means that our whims (OK, mine, if I have to admit it) of lust and greed and power and “absolute” truth will not prevail against the Iona of the sea. Iona does offer grace and offers the portal into our souls without conditions, except one, that is we face our soul, and look into our mirrors and see/own who we are. Then the light of the sea, reflecting from the stars, moon and Sol will hold us. Forever.