Historical Setting: A stone hovel in an unknown time
We once had a direction to sail. But surely these rocks rising here from the sea are not what we intended. We were following around the southern coastline of the English island, then we planned to go a good distance to the north expecting to one day to arrive at the community of Iona.
It was said to be an island with wide tidal beaches, and only soft sand would greet us. This place has no beach and this monk wears rough wool, woven with sticks and burrs as though it was uncarded straight off the sheep.
Here this little fellow who brought me up the rock side is shorn in the Celtic way, shaven across the front, from ear to ear, with his mane let down and flowing from the middle of the top of his head down his back. I wore this style myself in another age in Gaul. It is banned now, by the pope. The papalist tonsure is a crown, meant to show loyalty to Jesus with his crown of thorns. But it wears on earth, without the Jesus humility, so a crown to me, always seems a pretending to be king. I prefer the Celtic tonsure.
This morning the little monk is outside. I hear him at work nearby, chipping a stone. Maybe he is making a tombstone as I saw chipped in sandstone at Lindisfarne. Maybe he is honoring a burial.
The canine is watching me carefully for any breath or movement or sound. I will continue to be very still.
I’m sure it wouldn’t be a tombstone for any of us here. We are a tattered threesome of housemates: the bird the dog and the man. But all of us are more about healing than finding a grave right now. So, probably he isn’t preparing a grave marker for us.
***
The ears of the canine prick and twitch, and now I, too, hear human voices in the distance. She growls softly then moves cautiously to my side of the cave. This time her fangs are not directed at me. She seems more afraid than vicious. She climbs onto my bedcover quivering with fear as though, I, in some skewed way, represent the safest place to be in the strange circumstance of hearing human voices.
As people draw nearer, I can sort the voices as two who are coming toward this place talking between themselves.
(Continues Tuesday, June 2)
Lazarus Ink 