O' Flower of Scotland

Here. I am here. I walk along a rocky lane. It leads me through the hills, bogs, and moors of the Scottish countryside. I hear a distant train running down a faraway track. What it carries I know not, but in my mind it bears within it my past. In my mind's eye, those unseen rails carry the heritage of my family. I hesitate and strain to listen as it grows ever quiet. 

The land grows still and on the silence of the wind come the ghosts of Glen Coe. The ghosts of a bygone time. It is their lonely whispers in the breeze that cross the Moor and ring heavily in my ears and in my soul. I came here, to this place, to this country, to bear the unfettered burden of my ancestors. Paisley, Scotland it was, where my family tree had derived. A long line ‘cross seas and borders, intermingled with history and peoples from other nations. But the blood of the Scots is the sound and the power which calls to me today, tomorrow, yesterday. It is the sound I hear inside my mind. It is the sound I hear in my very being that yearns to answer a grandfather’s call. It is here that I have come to listen to the land as it sings to me. It is here I have come to experience the deeply intrinsic calling of a heritage that beats incessantly inside my heart. And it is here that I lay down the heavy burden of the vanished. It is here that I take up the pure, unadulterated joy of knowing that the lineage of these hills and of its people, courses through my veins.

Here. I am here. The trail before me steep. The rocks strewn across my path seeped in the aura and the gloaming of the late afternoon sun which was struggling to penetrate the heavy mist of the moorlands. And it is that to which I write today. 

In good time I presently came upon the track, the craggy hill known throughout history as the Devil's Staircase which sat ever-present along The West Highland Way. As I struggled to reach the summit, the top of the infamous pass, I was suddenly immersed in the presence of all the common folk who crossed my path as I climbed ever higher along the trail. By sheer chance and circumstance, my journey intersects with theirs. My story intersects not just with the enduring call that I hear inside my head, not just with my heart’s blood, but with the others who chose to make this sojourn; the Scots who walk along the land as I am. Souls not of the past, but of the present. Scots one and all. I gather with them atop the highest hill. I break bread with them on the mountainside which is adrift with fog and camaraderie and laughter.

 My mind soars above the atmosphere, and my feet carry me forward: alongside, along the trail, along my heart’s desire. My day is filled with blissfulness.

Here. I am here. We came as one down the mountainside. We came with happiness in our hearts, a lightness in our steps, and songs on our lips. Some of the ancient lyrics I knew, others I did not. But, no matter. Joy was the spirit of the day, of that moment, of that space and place and time. A lull, a brief pause settles over the land. But then, as if the universe cast down upon that hill for all to hear, to feel, and to sing, a new song begins. Softly at first. Then, our voices lift into the hillside, back towards the heavens from which it fell. The voices forge, joining until all the different idioms, styles, and tones become one in unity and solidarity. The words float and echo the past, the pride, and the heritage of the ages. O' Flower of Scotland rang true. And...I was moved. 

Walking, as if to march, as if honor were the wings upon our boots. As one voice we make our way down toward the village; toward the warmth of fires, the sweet taste of cold beers, and with dreams of stories yet to be told. To my soul, I shout, “I am home!” Tears well from my eyes as a spring well up from the earth itself. I walk, I sing, I smile. I, the outsider, brought lovingly into the fold of my heritage. I was welcomed with open arms by the people of Scotland, welcomed by my brethren. And I was happy. The song, long finished, still rings in my ears, my heart, my very soul. And there it shall forever stay. Forever heard. Forever loved. Forever remembered. Forever…Scotland.