I have always been drawn to the Scottish Highlands. To me they represent a magical and mysterious place – strange and unspoiled. Here in this ever-changing weather mystics are at home. The Isle of Skye is a place where the scenery constantly shifts and yet nothing ever changes – one moment the clouds race across the craggy mountains, over the lochs and glens shrouding them in mists so thick the landscape disappears and then the scene transforms anew and the ageless lakes and mountains sparkle like gems in the watery sun. I am drawn here.
I love to wander these Highlands and I can feel the energy of the ancients coursing through my veins. I am a time traveler stepping through time. I am standing on the threshold of Caiseal Uisdean, today a shell, yesterday a fortress built for Hugh MacDonald in the 17th Century. He has plotted to become Chief of the MacDonald clan. The dramatic landscape, its steep cliffs and deadly rocks reflect the danger of the time – one false move and it could all be over. And it was. The mistakes of the usurper, Hugh MacDonald, whose letter of invitation to his uncle and murderous letter to the assassin are mixed up result in uncle Donald Gorm Mor learning of his nephew’s homicidal plan.
Waterproof boots hug my ankles and I squelch through the bog surrounding the ancient stronghold, the sea swirls beneath swallowing then spitting out the treacherous cliffs and rocks. I squeeze through a small opening in the ruin, perhaps a window long ago. I am in a large empty room carpeted by Scottish flora and fauna fighting for the little light within.
At once a magical light spills through and I sense the presence of many from the past and a dominant foreboding spirit – the spirit of Hugh MacDonald brooding over his demise. He and I are sharing the same moment in time. He turns to tell me that he died an agonizingly slow and painful death walled into the dungeon of Duntulm Castle and force-fed salted beef and fish. Now he tells me his spirit moves between Duntulm and this place where he seeks a new life, his castle restored, revenge on his uncle Donald and his place at the head of the clan. Maybe I can help him in the spirit realm but not here among these ruins.
The wind blew around the ruin as I crawl back out of my tiny entrance and stand on the cliff overlooking the sea. The castle wall is behind me with only a foot of ground between it and the cliff. I know I have been here before, braving the edge like an internal dare, pondering the same thoughts then as now. I have come to understand time and history in a new way. The ghosts of this land are present and remind us of a time that was turbulent, harsh and violent. I left the cliff at Hugh’s Castle and walked through the bog, breathing deep, relieved this time I was not running as I had hundreds of years ago.
As I walk memories flood back. They are strange remembrances of giants who roamed this landscape devouring all in their path. I am searching for a hiding place along with the ancient Tuatha De Danann. In centuries from now the MacDonald clan will begin to build their castle but in this moment nothing stands in its place. I am running, running to the edge of the cliff, its now or never, I make a split second decision and fly off the cliff like a bird taking flight over the sea.
In my Spirit Travels I have learned so much from The Tuatha De Danann not only about my own many lives but also of the souls who walked these sacred places before us. They told me how a race of giants came to Earth to take power forcing the Tuatha De Danann into the mountains and sea. The next time I would stand on that cliff was in the late 14th century once again fleeing for my life as clans battled for power. I was faced with the same predicament only this time choosing to fight. I may have lost my life on the very site where the castle ruins stand today but I would reincarnate one more time on this island in the late 17th century and visit Duntulm Castle as a healer. I was paid for my services and returned to the highlands by way of Hugh’s Castle. I walked the road instinctively careful not to go near the cliff’s edge – the place I had previously perished.
A biting cold wind brings me back to my senses. My boots feel wet and heavy as my feet sink with each step. I stop and look back towards the sea. The sun’s rays shine down through the clouds like a spot light on the ancient castle. I feel relieved and say a prayer for the souls that remain.
