When Dewi came to this valley it was a wild and desolate place, of rock and crashing sea
At the very edge of the world, it was the edge he was looking for
Only God could give shelter from such unrelenting wind. Even the trees bent low in supplication.
Vallis Rosina was green robed and lovely when the sun finally embraced the land, uncovering its secret tranquility
But it wasn’t this that made his heart beat faster with recognition. It was the emptiness that called to him, an emptiness that he would fill with his utter conviction, his endurance.
He would rise above the cold rain and wind, his growling belly, the last shreds of desire for anything other than God. He would lead them and show them what faith is.
It is said that he made his first hearth fire here, and the smoke reached far and wide, gathering souls to his God.
There are many still drawn to this place, hundreds of years later. They come because it is a wild and desolate place, of rock and crashing sea
Where something of the soul might be recovered, in the hope that some elemental force might be stirred, a source of power like the one that kept Dewi warm in the midst of nothingness, unrelenting wind and hardship.
Modern pilgrims come, though they don’t know they are pilgrims, for they have no destination
But they cast their gazes toward that edge where sea meets sky, and they touch the rocks without knowing why.