On the final day of my visit
I find it.
This,
the most western spot on the island.
I throw myself down upon the grass and worship as God intended.
There are no words
for a long time.
Instead,
There is the sound of the sea,
And the voices of birds.
A fresh and steady breeze on my face and the smell of heather and gorse.
I breathe
to the rhythm
of water
and open slowly to this wild place.
This is an ancient healing place where humans might give up their heavy form
and dissolve back into
wind,
or foam,
or starlight.
This is where our Great Mother’s voice sounds clear and strong over rocks and
waves and the small white sails of our ambitions,
Calling her lost and wandering children Home.
Anne Grete Mazziotta