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Considering that we’d only landed on the island a matter of an hour prior to this point a lot had gone on already. This was fixing up to be a worthwhile visit already. Whatever next? As though in a form of light relief I switched my attention away from the ancient mound of the giant towards the 12th Century buildings that were the focal point for the rest of the day’s tourists. They almost seemed like light relief at this point.

With the whiff of lit incense still fleetingly scented in the environs I went into the abbey grounds to trace the other end of the ‘corpse road’ that led up to St Ronan’s Chapel. I went in search of any energetic hotspots in the abbey. Dowsing rods at the ready, and now completely uninhibited about doing dowsing in public, I made my way to the ticket booth – paid my way (five pounds sterling or so) – and entered the well-coiffured lawns of the abbey.

Hotspots in the Abbey Grounds

I find it fascinating that most of the major energetic sacred sites that have had churches built upon them (i.e. Christianized pagan sites) have a story that tells how the church had to be rebuilt several times either because it fell down or was de-constructed by spirits. The Abbey of Iona has the same tale. Unaware of this at the time the focus of my investigations was wherever the rods decided was the most energetic point. They dutifully swayed in a sinewing path towards the round stone-walled well that stood before the main entrance to the larger part of the abbey building. A well, I mused? No – the rods were playing a little game as they sometimes do. They swung towards the well’s wall, skirting it closely, and then deviated away from there to point towards a small opening alongside the main building. I peered into the opening – a small archway of stone without a door. Inside the room seemed very small – big enough perhaps to hold my tall frame and not much more.

Outside the entrance was a small stone block about a foot square. On it someone had placed a few stones. In my pocket I had a couple of stones that I had picked up from Ronan’s Church. One was red and the other indigo coloured. Seemed kind of fitting at the time, so I deposited them on the stone here, almost like I was “paying” to enter the shrine, or that they were something that I couldn’t take in. One of the two. No-one else was inside so I ventured inside with my staff. This was St Columba’s Shrine.

The small room was light enough to make out the scant decorations – Christian crosses with rather Celtic looking ‘holy’ symbols on them. A book of prayer. A wooden kneeling stool. An altar with a candle flanked by simple ornaments. The wooden kneeling stool invited me to prostrate myself in devotion. Pah! Not likely! I asked the rods to define exactly which point inside the shrine was the most energetic. Right in front of the altar they crossed. Above the kneeling stool. I turned around and sat on the stool instead, preferring to face the light and greenery of the outside space than to lose myself to the dead space of the wall and to mimic the many people who had been in that shrine before me. I would do this my way.

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