A friend started it years ago- asking me if I wanted to come on one of his wilderness retreats. The idea was simple: a group of people travel to an uninhabited island – a different one each year- off the West Coast of Scotland.
I said yes, reluctantly: I’ve never been a fan of camping, let alone wildcamping, but it has become a mainstay of my spiritual/existential/ Christian life when other things that I thought important have fallen away or lost their meaning.
We live together for a couple of days, survive together, share community, silence, laughter & sometimes tears, talk about life, listen to each other, and the wilderness overwhelms us. It helps my soul catch up with my body.
I went just over two months ago and I haven’t posted about it until now: my body has raced ahead of my soul (again)- it is still racing, comfortably outpacing my soul.
This year, as ‘payment’ for where we stayed in an isolated corner of Mull, we had to shift many barrowloads of slates from the road a mile or so away, down a rutted and unmade track, to help in the eventual reroofing of a derelict outward bound centre. I tried as best as I could: I’ve never been strong and two months later my back still, at times, twinges.
The pile of slates: I’m weak, but they were heavy.
I am – just- into my seventh decade. Much that sustained me and I thought important no longer does, but spending two hours with others, to help build a future in that place that I’m unlikely to see or benefit from is something that has stayed with me: I still find it moving.
There’s a temptation with age to moan that things aren’t what they used to be and for our regrets to overwhelm our hopes, but there’s always the option that Bruce Cockburn recommends: ‘Got to kick at the darkness till it bleeds daylight’. If that means shifting slates to contribute to a future that I won’t share, that’s the kind of legacy I want to leave for others.
Deo Gratias
That’s from my friend’s garden: I find it to be true.
Wearily Hopeful 