Notes from a Time Traveller by Elke Stevens

It’s been two weeks since I found myself back on the Orkney Islands and the land, in its quiet, untamed way, has begun to speak to me again. The winds, the waves, they seem to carry insight into the journey I’ve been on, not just across seas, but through the inner wilds of my own mind. Coming back here, I can feel the transformation that took place while I was away, as if these winds know I am not the same person who once left. There’s a rhythm to it all, a rhythm I’ve learned to trust, much like the rhythm of life itself.

I look back on what brought me to this point, and it almost feels like I was once possessed by something I couldn’t control, a version of myself that I no longer recognise. Now, the fog has transformed, and I’m seeing things with clarity, or for what I feel is clarity, that only comes after wandering through the halls of dark. Somewhere along the way, I learned that pride, that silent, creeping arrogance, kills wisdom. Wisdom, I’ve come to see, can’t live in a heart full of pride. It needs room to breathe and grow, and that room comes from humility and an openness to learn from life, even when life humbles you to your knees.

I’ve come to understand that hate, too, kills faith, not just faith in the spiritual sense but faith in the broader, universal sense of belonging to something larger than ourselves. Hate narrows the soul inwards, while faith expands it outward, connecting us to everything around us. Faith is the voice that tells us we are all part of the same story, even when that story doesn’t always make sense, it’s a part that gilds us on our purpose.

Lust, with its relentless hunger, really is the opposite of love. While lust consumes, love nurtures. Love is not about the self; it is about the other. It’s patient, kind, and seeks to lift, not to possess. Lust burns bright, but it fades fast. Love, though, endures quietly, like the standing stones of Orkney, weathering storms, time, and all. So does love, which is not shaken by time.

And then there’s trust, a delicate thing, fragile as thin glass. Overthinking can shatter it before it even has the chance to take root. I’ve come to know that trust isn’t about understanding every possible outcome; it’s about letting go. It’s a leap of faith, a willingness to believe in something greater, something unexplainable. Without trust, there is no faith and no room for possibility.

Fear was once a constant companion, inflicting doubts at every turn. And fear, when allowed to grow unchecked, kills courage. I’ve learned that courage isn’t about banishing fear it’s about walking forward with it, hand in hand, knowing it’s there but choosing to move anyway. And that courage? It comes from something more profound. It comes from faith, from the belief that, despite the uncertainty, the path will reveal itself.

The knowledge of this is nothing new, but I do feel it more than I did in the past. With every season, the knowing grows into more wisdom until peace is found.

And as I stand here on these familiar shores, looking out over the cliffs, there’s a feeling that I was meant to return. The same winds that once chilled me now feel like an embrace, as if they’ve always known I’d come back. There’s a part of me that trusts in the unfolding of things. Whatever is meant to be, will be. For now, I let the island work its rough magic, as I continue to learn how to live in the flow of life, embracing the unknown with a heart that no longer resists, but welcomes the dance.

©️ Elke T.B. Stevens 08/10/2024