Different from the deja vu experience is the feeling you get when a place just feels like home, and home is what Edinburgh was for me while there long ago in 1984. I haven’t been back yet, but do dream about it often. The poem I wrote there came to me in a restaurant, in one complete flow, while eating a quiet dinner alone late one evening during my visit.
It was the time of the Jesus Mary Chain and I stomped around the city in these boots:
Though I spent a great deal of time driving my folks and five year old son around Ireland and England, our short time in Scotland, mostly in Edinburgh, permeated my brain. I frequently have pleasant dreams about being there, just sitting in one place or another and plan to do that again physically some day.
It’s always been known in our family that Dad’s grandfather on his mom’s side was of Scottish stock, but we kids were always more focused on our American Indian ancestors. It’s only recently that we’ve found Dad’s father’s family originated in a lowland Scots clan and his mom’s family was from Scotland’s Orkney Islands. We’re a heady brew of ” Celtic-Native American” stew so I suppose it’s only natural that another place I get that “at home” feeling is in a sweat lodge or sun dance circle, but that’s another story.
I could give a rat’s ass about whether or not we have a clan tartan and am not a Braveheart groupie – it’s Scotland’s entire history and its peoples’ accomplishments in all disciplines of culture and science and the sheer brainy wit of the people both past and present that I think are damned remarkable. There is so very much culturally that goes on in Edinburgh that it I’d like to experience, and a trip north to Orkney is in order, someday.
Here’s a series of shots I took looking towards the firth of Forth at 1800 hrs, 2100 hrs and 2400 hrs while kicking back on a May evening with my son long ago: