Arthur’s Seat. Theory’s surrounding it’s name abound. There’s something thrilling about a debate over a historical landmark. Legends add intrigue to an otherwise predictable history. France and England will always fight. Kings will steal land. Wars are pretty well predicted. But legends…legends are unpredictable, mysterious, and will never be solved. Archaeology may add another theory. I’m positive that if evidence pointing to King Arthur’s identity as a German were irrefutible, all the world would still consider him as Brit. Why? Legend. It cannot be argued, even by truth.
It could be King Arthur’s seat, it could be a location of achery practice, or it could be the seat of the gods.
During the entire trip, I’ve felt completely safe. Even when lost, I’ve never felt desperate for shelter. Edinburgh feels safer than any of the places before. The mountains feel as though they are watching over us while we sleep, protecting, sheltering…stable and secure against the horizon.
The mountain itself looms over the city, appearing like a little stool for a giant, as if he or she may just saunter up to the edge, sit down, scoot to the edge, and dangle his or her legs off, swinging and kicking.
What if there were such places? At night, God himself comes down and sits, watching over the cities built by His people, on the mountains molded by His hands? Or perhaps He sends his angels? Perhaps they run, and jump off the edge, a contest to see who can cross the divide without a beat of their immortal wings.
It wouldn’t surprise me, really. The higher to heaven I climb, the closer to God I feel. The wind rushes through my like a wave of His Spirit. His voice sings on the air, His hand moves the grass. His Spirit speaks to mine, ever so quietly, but reassuringly, softly, kindly…beautifully.
Thank you, Father for these five weeks. Our days on earth are but a breath compared with eternity, and I am so blessed to spend only a breath of time in the closest thing to paradise this side of eternity. On top of this cliffs, reading in parks, writing in coffee shops, I feel Your pleasure. I have seen as You see, even if only for a short time. My heart is full. Your Word says, “Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart.” You keep your promises.
In A Knight’s Tale, when William announces that he is indeed going to the joust, Roland says, “All good things must come to an end, let’s end them together.” Hiking today with people who only weeks ago I could’ve have distinguished from any other random stranger on the street, I was reminded of Roland’s words. These people have engraved their names and stories on my heart. They cannot be separated from mine. Even if distance and time succeed in separate us, our stories are still intertwined irrevocably.
So as my adventures pull to a close, a top Arthur’s Seat, the only thought through my mind is how fitting it is, standing atop a mountain with all Britain at my feet. It’s a beautiful beautiful country, and these are beautiful beautiful memories.