I walked barefoot along a bay through sand hills and grasses, feeling the power of the wind and sea. In the light of the moon, I crossed a rocky beach and began the steep climb up a cliff side path. My soul belonged in this place. I was sure of it, though there was no recognition of the rows of stone cottages above or the body that carried me to the top. I was pure consciousness, moving through a landscape like an animal, without love or hate or fear or judgment. The cliffs were a blend of red and black rock, dotted with patches of heather and thistle. Sea gulls cried raucously and flew landward as a storm rolled in from the south, bringing thunder and lightning and cold rain. It felt like home. On an outcrop of rock overlooking the sea, my dark curls rose into the air with the wind and spray. I looked down and stretched my fingers, marveling at the fairness of my skin and the hair on the back of my hands. Flexing the muscles in my arms and back, I felt the power of a young man’s body. “Ahhh.” My voice was deep and resonant and definitely male. As I gazed below at the wild waters and treacherous rocks, I was glad to be back in the flesh. *** The vision faded and left me with a burning desire, like the longing of a river to merge with the sea. Deep in my heart, I knew that I must find this place and write its story. So began a two year trek that took me to seaports, castles, and sacred sites in Scotland, and tested my moral and spiritual beliefs. More than a dozen Seventeenth Century Scots lived in my head, guiding my pen. It was a mandate from beyond the veil.