Scotland Odyssey Continues: What Lies Beneath the Layers?

I had made it.

It took several more days than I expected. There had been stress shopping, cobblestones with a rolly bag, and an epic graveyard I couldn't get to because, although it was behind the cathedral, neither the map nor I understood that it was separated by a fairly big road.

Glasgow. Check.

Even though it had taken more time than expected to get to Anam Cara, I still arrived a day before the training started. I had even adjusted to my jet lag!

I did need to do more shopping, as my case, although FOUND in the tracking system, was curiously still not in Inverness.

It felt a little bit like I was back in the 1980s, going to the mall with a group of women from my clan. Again, I had no idea how many days I needed to clothe myself. And, despite knowing—maybe not really understanding—that UK sizing is different than US sizing, it would take several attempts before I found what fit.

Despite all of this, I found myself adapting to what I had bought: the clothes, the moisturizer (yes, I make my own & I had to buy a chemically loaded one), the body wash (that was a little too much in scent). I didn't have a hairbrush or smoothing serum, but I had a hair tie!

The first evening we gathered, it was joyous to see all of these people in my clan who I consider family. We hugged. We laughed when I explained my ordeal, with the bonus of, “...NO, I still don't have my case!”

“You'll be wearing Twobirds skirts by the end of the week!” a lovely woman mused.

Twobirds arrived to greet us in the ethereal way she does, in lovely, upcycled skirts made by herself and long, beaded earrings. She told me to just let her know if I needed anything.

I began to understand the gift of losing my luggage.

First, it stripped me of all the stuff.

The stuff I've collected and, if I'm honest, often use as a mask.

I knew this. I understood that each outfit, each article of clothing, said something about who I was projecting.

The professional.
The student.
The mom.
The gardener.
The artist.
The baker.

I've even often quipped, “I'll try anything if it comes with a great outfit!”

I wasn't kidding.

I've even believed that I needed to “earn” certain things. Those expensive, fancy running shoes (I see so many people wearing at the airports)—no, I'm not allowed to buy them unless I actually run!

Those flowy, oh-so-comfortable-looking tops that are seen on dancers & yoga instructors. Unless I'm actually dancing or doing yoga, no, not allowed.

Am I the only one that does this?

Here I was, sans just about everything that was supposed to tell the world who I was.

And yet, I was surrounded by my clan. People who know me. People I love. People who didn't care what I was wearing or whether I had a hairbrush.

There was the gift.

Not only me seeing who I am without my various masks, but also being seen just as I am by others—and they loved me anyway.

Maybe Spirit knew that this was how I needed to start a week of training about death.

About transformation.

Here I was, letting it all go to allow me to see what has always been beneath the layers.