Okay, I've been out for a few days and need to make my contribution (in
verse, of course)
This is one of my favorite poems ascribed to Collumcille:
My hand is weary with writing,
My sharp quill is not steady,
My slender beaked pen pours forth
A black draught of shining dark-blue ink.
A stream of the wisdom of blessed God
Springs from my fair brown shapely hand:
On the page it squirts its draught
Of ink of the green skinned holly.
My little dripping pen travels
Across the plain of shining books,
Without ceasing for the wealth of the great--
Whence my hand is weary with writing.
Trans. by Kuno Meyer
On Thu, 12 Jun 1997, Bette Tomlinson wrote:
> Counting all of the posts on Columcille, this makes #10. Only two more to
> Martin, as a member of the Iona community, could you tell us about that.
> I would love to hear about your experiences. (I thought that you would
> like this story of the blessing of the dagger. I like to think that I am
> a pragmatic pacifist--certainly not as capable of faith as St.
> Columcille. I tend to believe that those who want to kill will find an
> illegal way in which to do it--while everyone else is giving up their
> His sanctity was such that people came from far and near
> seeking his blessing on themselves as well as various objects.
> On one occasion he wasn't attentive enough in giving a
> blessing and noticed only afterward that he had made the
> sign of the cross over a warrior's dagger. So he gave a
> second solemn blessing, that it only to be used with butter
> and cheese.
> It is in the stories of his life that we first
> hear of the famed Loch Mess Monster, who is said to have
> reared up in front of the boat bearing St. Columcille and
> several other missionary monks who had come with him to
> lead the Picts to Christ. St. Columcille blessed the dragon-like
> creature, which then peacefully withdrew.