Edinburgh Sunshine: The First, Pure Transcendence
On a gently winding lane I stood. The sun’s warmth was still a blessing after all these hours. Ancient and wise buildings reached into a blue sky. The voices of crowds were just as barely heard as the soft afternoon breeze was felt. Then, from everywhere, a new sound manifested. Men’s voices, opening forth from the crowds. They rose, and fell, like waves on a shore. With every rise and fall the choir of voices multiplied impossibly, dominating the crowds, the ancient, wise buildings, and the atmosphere around me. My very essence connected to it, and from there…beyond-perfect, inner clarity….
I remember meeting with friends on the top deck of the ship in the morning. From there, we knew Edinburgh, Scotland was nestled in the hills, waiting for us all. Leith, the port for Edinburgh, was in the foreground. I didn’t stay on the ship for long.
This was a type of docking situation whereby we’d take a bus inbto the city-proper from a nearby town. I had already known several places like this—Civitavecchia, Italy, the port for Rome, and Motril, Spain, the port for Granada. And every time, I ended up felt bad for the places in which the ship docked, because they were inevitably overshadowed by the “main” places of interest.
Today, I perceived poor Leith almost like a wall. It served, however, as the perfect prelude to what I would perceive. The landscape along the road teased me. The white light of the sun, unimpeded by anything but giant ribbons of hills, soaked me. And my heart raced as fast as the bus slowed down, peaking as it stopped on the bridge. I was overwhelmed as soon as I stepped off the bus.
Pictures of the Balmoral Hotel on Princes Street, among the most luxurious in Edinburgh.
Overflowing in ecstasy, I knew not my immediate surroundings at all. Actually, I stepped right in front of an older woman as I took pictures frantically, gushingly, the momentum only building until, “Oi, sure; stop in the middle of the walkway to take a photo!” The woman had spun, snapping at me with harsh frustration. Oops. I was the obvious tourist. That oaf who got in the way. I apologized in my mind, more to my karma than to her—she’d stormed off by then! The negativity lasted as long as a rock floating on the water. The momentum came back, propelling me forward. Rest assured, I was more cognizant of my immediate surroundings after that. But it just goes to show: the first impressions in travel can instantly transcend all the senses with awareness of everything from the smallest pebbles to the most colossal landscape…. Ironic enough, that, because immediate surroundings are compromised!
It is a feeling I can only adequately describe. Those who have traveled know of what I speak. But today…today would set a precedent. This feeling would continue. Moment, by moment, by moment, like an otherworldly, never-ending cascade.
The first, greatest factor of that precedent was the never-ending sunshine.
The Royal Mile in the foreground, and the great thrust of Arthur’s Seat in the background, the gigantic volcanic hill that offers the greatest panoramas.
July, 2013. Summertime in Scotland. A day like this in Scotland is ridiculously rare. Year-round temperatures are only between 30-70 Fahrenheit. Clouds dominate the year, with occasional glimpses of sunlight. I instantly knew Edinburgh to be extraordinary. Unbelievable, even. The unbelievable, for today, was bathed in summer light.
The reverent clock tower of the Tron Kirk, which has stood on the Royal Mile for nearly four centuries.
The rarity of the weather gave me a realization that came steadily. It came with every new street, thin or wide, and around every corner, short and tall. The sheer number of people was staggering. I knew crowds of this size only from Disneyland, or a hot day at a California beach. This day is typical weather in Southern California, yet the thousands of Scottish people around me thought of it as paradise.
The realization? I had been taking weather like this for granted all my life….
Once I reached the Royal Mile, a great glory awaited me, augmenting the already ecstatic experience.
It’s difficult to describe the Royal Mile as more than just “beautiful.” I can only say, “you must be there.” What a blessing, to have seen an area, near-indescribable, glowing in the shine of piercing-white and deep-blue.
This defining road has been the road since the beginning. With the castle came the road, centuries and centuries ago. As the center of society, the road hosts the most significant sites of Edinburgh’s history.
St. Giles’ Cathedral, a stunning medieval church on the Royal Mile whose intricate crown-belltower adorns the skyline of the area.
A sun-drenched view of the Mercat Cross, which has both a bright side and a dark side to its history. As the center of the old town, it was used for proclamations, trade, and public executions alike.
So much history, represented by a visual, visceral beauty that defied definition. And of course, at the end of this stupendous esplanade is Edinburgh Castle.
The castle seen on the left, from Princes’ Street Gardens.
Edinburgh Castle, sitting atop Castle Rock like a crown, has dominated over the city for since the Medieval era. Much violence, demolition, and reconstruction has occurred since the first documented use of the castle from 1058 A.D. approximately. Though, according to the very grounds themselves, this was the site of a stronghold for much, much longer.
Two-THOUSAND years. But that’s still young. Archaeological evidence suggests settlements upon this place from the Bronze Age—THREE-THOUSAND years approximately. The great rock itself is a titantic volcanic mesa—an extinct volcano more ancient than the Bronze Age by eons.
St. Margaret’s Chapel, the only surviving building from the earliest Medieval period of the castle grounds: the 10th Century A.D.
Indeed, Edinburgh holds stunning history. The first king of Scotland reigned from this site in the 11th century. It has been stormed and conquered by the British. It was the place of royalty until the 16th Century, became a great military base from the 17th Century, and was made into a prison, too.
After several hours, my impressions of Edinburgh were immersed in both the brilliance of nature and history. What amazement I have in not knowing, to this day, which source of brilliance was greater.
The most significant truth, however, was that each source of brilliance intertwined with the other in a resplendent, archaic dance. It grew, and evolved, persistently more gorgeous, until it became blinding.
The mighty Gothic majesty that is the Scott Monument.
Princes’ Street Gardens are nestled in the deep, sloping valley of Edinburgh Castle and its ancient earthen-titan mount. At one end sits the Scott Monument, one of the landmarks here that stopped me right in my tracks. As I stood, thoroughly stunned, the shooting points of stone like so many arrows played with my vision, like there was supposed to be something I was missing but hovering far above. I stared until my neck muscles simmered, as if underneath a warm pillow.
I waded through the fragrances of grass and trees, strengthened by the heat of the day. People were scattered about in small groups. It was nothing like the crowded roads from which I came; this was an oasis of peace. From this veritable Eden can be seen the terraces of the medieval Old Town above, and the Neoclassical collage of the New Town. Farther still are more hills, sloping and dancing through the buildings as the buildings most certainly danced atop them.
2015, from Calton Hill, from which I’ve seen some of the most emotionally-stirring vistas.
We know tales of long-forgotten paradises-on-earth. Those that may have had technology and culture beyond other societies, like Atlantis. Or those that blend nature and civilization seamlessly into one. Edinburgh is the latter. It has been a hub for intellectuals, and the Enlightenment, too. It has seen the birthplace of conflicts that started great wars. It has held the seat of the Scottish identity for so much longer than I can imagine. Struck by all its fluctuating history, building and re-building and expansion, and world-culture exchange, I was blinded.
And there were thousands of people out on a warm sunny day!
One of my favorite pictures from nearby Grassmarket, looking right up at Edinburgh Castle and joyous people on its slopes.
I, in my mortal way, maneuvered the best I could between the blindness of my normal consciousness and the perception of that dance which blinded it. Somehow—I don’t know when or how it happened—I learned to tame myself. I learned a way in which I could both be blinded by and perceptive of the dance. It showed me all that was greater than the sum of the parts. At times, even the streams of people seemed to meld with it all.
I had carved my way through Grassmarket, that beyond-lovely promenade that sits below the gaze of Edinburgh Castle. Through humanity’s energy I swam until, finally, I reached a quiet walkway. The masses were still loud and happy, and even here the silence was not given due justice. So I continued up, and up, in search of respite from too much of a good thing.
Minutes later, my life changed.
I remember vividly the first moment when all became utterly clear to me. It was here, standing on a lilting wynd, looking back at Edinburgh Castle. The constant drone of the crowds had dimmed. But another sound eked into existence from underneath. To pinpoint its source was futile. It came from the streets. Then it came from the walls around me, and the ground beneath me. The castle itself. The white streaks in the sky. The sky itself. There was one note, from what must have been a men’s choir, but colossal in size. The decay never seemed to end before the next two notes. The intensity was delicate in volume—delicate, but infinite. As the fifth note finished, I swore I felt it in the soles of my feet, then straight up and out my body. I reverberated in it, just like the entire scene. A cathedral’s walls naturally produce such stunning reverberation. My body knew that same sensation. The phrase ended, and began again, yet no definitive ending and beginning was known. That was because this Gregorian chant was a part of the air I now breathed. Vibrations continued on, like consciousness supposedly continues on—beyond birth and death, with no beginning and no end.
Every time I think of this scene, I recall it perfectly. Those five notes are recalled perfectly, too, in all their infinite non-beginning and non-ending. As their deep, sweet, almost primordial tones permeated everything, I knew perfect clarity and understanding from the dance of nature and history, greater than the sum of its parts…. This duality manifested and danced and it was all I knew.
I still stood there. There was no activity in my mind. It was completely focused on the phenomena that transcended it all. “…huh,” I finally thought. This thought brought my back to normality: normal conceptions of time, body, and societal conditioning. “How long has it been?” The chant had gone, yet its echoes remained. They remain to this day.
How I yearned not to move on because of “time constraints.” But I had to be back on the ship eventually. Fortunately, that moment in time is readily known like the sounds of my instruments, the scratches on my phone, and the faces of my family.
What divinity I had left behind as I moved forward…. But the wisdom of the duality stayed with me. How can one forget such a phenomenon? It elevated my perspective on all things.
I meandered through the alleys lined with architecture, the gleam of the sun, and the gleam of something brighter.
I emerged from the wynds of the Old Town onto a modern road, feeling my body start to slow with tiredness. With that came thirst. I paused for a moment to drink, and decide where to go. Alongside the university was a walkway grinning with greenery. It was still quiet. Those notes were still vibrating. The peace of the moment was more energetic than all the people in this city put together.
My curiosity becomes the best thing to feel, and the best motivation, when I take “the road less traveled.” It’s a good saying, and I grew up knowing it. This was the first of many ship contracts I would do, and already I knew the road less traveled to be the most profound in the honesty it reveals. It tells you of reality better than any popular landmark can. It can be more moving than any popular landmark, too. As always, I knew not where the road less traveled would lead. But in this sense, spontaneity can often bring the best teachers.
The serendipity that lay down the path began to grow. And grow. The green wonder shrouding the path urged me along. The occasional warm breeze lifted scents of grass and leaves, decadent in the heat of the day to the point where I tasted it. The green continued to wave and wilt and everything in between when I reached The Meadows and, even then, serendipitous as it was, I soon knew euphoria.
The fields and trees might as well have covered the horizon, too, in what used to be a large loch several hundred years ago. I traversed them slowly. So slowly, to allow the 36-acre park to expand beyond its boundaries. So slowly, to allow for the bounty of my euphoria to pour forth.
This may have been the first time in my life when I felt such happiness for the happiness of thousands. They were everywhere, basking and trouncing through picture-fields. The air hugged me here, wreathed in the salty scent of cooked meats and smoke. Laughter and chatter rose and fell, almost with the impact of the Gregorian chant still reverberating through me. So I went randomly, aimlessly, and lost in humanity.
I’m reminded of New Orleans, Louisiana—that uniquely fascinating, multi-cultural hub of the world if there ever was one. The world’s cultures, especially of the African-American traditions, came together there to birth jazz, funk, and overall, a type of joy so overwhelming and infectious that one must join in. Music is the fuel. Music is what brings everyone together in such a way. And I had heard music on this day. Those five notes had been rolling through my consciousness, shifting, gaining rhythm, and finally, blooming over a New-Orleans second-line drum beat. When that beat came into my musician’s mind, I could not say; but the spirit of New Orleans seemed to fit a warm, sunny day in Edinburgh flawlessly.
It would have been nice to walk up to one of the homes along the park, find a room to rent, and stay a few days. Or weeks. Or seasons. Ahh but life would not allow that. Time was pushing me strongly now.
The curiosity of the road less traveled turns into a mess when spontaneity is used to rush somewhere. I definitely rushed back to the ship. Oh man, did I rush. I have full stories to tell about that kind of thing…but for now, all I will say is that the effort made to get to the pickup-point launched me through some interesting urban sights.
Edinburgh indeed: from beauty that is more than the sum of its parts, to the unmistakable, all-powerful collective joy of massive crowds, to nondescript city streets at their “finest”…. But of course they are part of Edinburgh, too—perhaps a bit lackluster after everything else I’d experienced, but nonetheless a part of the sum. A part of that which allowed me to transcend myself, so perfectly, for the first time in my life.
The Edinburgh Floral Clock, the first of its kind.
A sprawling panorama from Edinburgh Castle.
Princes’ Street Gardens.
Edinburgh Castle from nearby Grassmarket.
Later that night, still dressed for performance, I found myself on the top deck of the ship. My skin was angsty under the pressure of cold air. The ship was beginning to depart, rumbling so slightly with the immensity of the thrusters. It was nothing compared to the rumbling of those five notes of the chant. They filled me.
Why leave now, I thought. I was just getting to know Edinburgh.
I watched Leith in the foreground as it, too, began to shift. As it did, I realized I was much more despondent than I’d thought. My heart cracked. We were moving now. A thin strand of road far below snaked off into darkness. Sheet-metal-textured dock buildings impeded it. The music in my mind shifted as well. It shifted, weaved, and added to itself, like flowering vines in a timelapse….
Then, partly out of desperation, I sang. The five notes were first. They had to be. Then I improvised. I was searching, searching for a melody to wash away the deep sadness of leaving Edinburgh. Lo and behold: as I improvised, joy and gratitude came in a great rush. It was just me, the darkness, the memories, and the music, and…I had it. The melody emerged. It had to be this. Like some innocently bombastic child with no boundaries, it ran through my head. Suddenly the ink and the cold of night were far, far away.
The moment when I looked back at the castle, the chant permeating the air, was my first moment of deep, inner clarity. In the Buddhist traditions, the true nature of all things can be realized through deep mindfulness, and meditation is the tool to penetrate to that point. Artifacts of “true nature” include the realization of interconnectedness of all things, or the melting away of the “ego-self” along with all of your current worries, feelings, and desires. The includes the realization that everything, from the largest galaxies to the electrons of an atom, are never static, but always changing—therefore, they are impermanent. In a sense, part of the “true nature” of things is change; change is one of the only constants in the Universe.
But so is interconnectedness. From within interconnectedness emerges ever more significant, omnipresent wisdom: interbeing. Everything exists with, and is a part of, everything else. The vibrations of that Gregorian chant helped me feel the vibrations of everything I perceived, and of every atom comprising them, and how these vibrations inter-were with me, mind, body, and soul.
It is ultimately ironic that perceiving specific, defined things like Edinburgh Castle, the weather, the history, and the scenery led me toward a transcendental place in which those specific things and their definitions melted away. But their interbeing was known too, from their specific, form-defined features, because those features manifest from the impermanence of that universal constant: change.
Edinburgh Sunshine was born of that endless moment of the chant and the castle. If not for that moment and its music, I would not have Edinburgh Sunshine nor what it represents. However, I am beyond blessed to have gone on to experience many, many powerful moments of interconnectedness in my travels, experiences that whisked my mind off into lasting transcendence. That day in Edinburgh was so special because it was the first of those experiences.