what the heart knows

(and the mind doesn't always understand)

Last night, at my Gaelic group, I was told the eerie tale of Loch Àirigh na h-Aon Oidhche ~ The Loch of the Shieling of the One Night. This shieling, or shelter, lies on a lonely stretch of moor nearby a loch on the Isle of Lewis, and is so-called because no one has ever spent more than one night under its grassy roof.

The reason for this is because of something that happened there long ago. Two cousins, Màiri Bhàn (fair Mary) and Màiri Dhubh (dark Mary), were up on the shieling’s high pastures to milk cattle. At the day’s end, they paused to admire the sunset. Twilight rippled over the distant sea like a lilac veil. As they were turning in, Màiri Dhubh gasped. A tall shape swayed towards them from the direction of the loch.

Màiri Dhubh squinted in the half-dark and discerned a woman clad in a thin, cloth robe. Threadbare shoes encased her delicate ankles and the tangled, ebony hair dangling past the woman’s waist probably did more to keep her warm than the insufficient dress.

The stranger peered down at them over a long but comely face. A shiver went through Màiri Dhubh at the woman’s inky eyes, so black that pupil and iris were indistinguishable.

“I’m so, so tired,” said the stranger. “My feet are all black and blue. May I spend the night?”

The wind whispered off the loch. Màiri Dhubh wrestled with the refusal hammering in her heart. It would be the poorest sort of Highland hospitality that turned away a stranger in need.

“Of course,” blurted Màiri Bhàn.

“Aye,” Màiri Dhubh murmured, despite her heart’s warning. “You’re most welcome.”

The stranger whinnied a laugh. “Ah, I’m so relieved!”

They sat down to a simple meal, but the stranger seemed more eager to get into bed.

“You must be worn out from your travels?” said Màiri Dhubh. As worn out as your shoes, she thought privately. “Although, you don’t seem quite dressed for a long journey. Perhaps you lost your way, to end up here?”

Her cousin nudged her under the table. It was rude to ettle at a guest for information they didn’t offer freely.

“I’m near dead on my feet,” the strange woman agreed without answering Màiri Dhubh’s question.

All three climbed into the shieling’s only bed. Màiri Bhàn and the stranger slept next to each other at one end of the bed, while Màiri Dhubh slept uneasily at the top. For what seemed like hours, Màiri Dhubh watched the stranger’s sleeping face, silvered blue by moonlight. Raven-black lashes fringed the woman’s lids and her hair splayed across the pillow like silky bindweed. Eventually, Màiri Dhubh’s watchful eyes slid shut.

Near dawn, Màiri Dhubh wriggled awake. The bedclothes felt wet. Wet with a warm liquid that soaked her feet and spread up her calves. She jerked upright. Tore off the sodden bedclothes. Màiri Bhàn lay dead at the foot of the bed, all the blood in her body draining through a gaping hole that had been ripped into her chest.

The stranger had disappeared, but the shieling’s door clattered open in the wind. Màiri Dhubh rushed outside in time to see a grey stallion cantering towards the loch. Moonlight revealed the creature’s bloodied forelock and a soft piece of meat dangling from its serrated jaws. At that moment Màiri Dhubh realised that they hadn’t shared their bed with a woman, but the most wicked of water-horses - an t-each uisge, the kelpie.

Afterwards, Màiri Bhàn’s remains were buried on the sheiling, and no one spent a night by the haunted loch again.

---

When was the last time you went against your gut?

I find November’s velvet embrace well suited to turning inwards. A time to lie down with the last of the leaves and listen to my heart’s quiet murmur.

I often feel that modern life pushes me towards rational, practical choices, with little regard for the wisdom of the heart. Ignoring my intuition might not have the bloody consequences in the story above, but the end result is no less deadly.

I’m aware that my mind has been influenced by external values and expectations, threadbare hand-me-downs from a society at odds with the human spirit. The things I ‘think’ I want rarely move my heart, and ignoring its pleas amounts to a string of resistances that make daily life a struggle.

But my mind isn’t at war with my heart, it’s simply out of alignment. I’ve found that it’s only by paying attention to how I feel, and not what I think, that I discover my deepest needs. The heart knows what the mind doesn’t yet understand. But once it catches up, the mind has a quick and powerful way of bringing about what the heart desires.

I hope November’s darkness reveals your deepest need, a bright candle in the dusky gloom that guides you home.

Kate xx