Free Moyra Caldecott by Etheldreda

call of Christ go abroad, how will we keep His word alive amongst ourselves? I feel you have a calling to establish places in this country which will become the jewels of our time, their light shining in a dark century, their spiritual riches sustaining an impoverished people.’
    He reminded her that at the time of her birth her mother, in exile at the court of the British King Cerdic, had had a dream that must surely have been prophetic. She had dreamed that her husband Hereric, Edwin’s nephew, was suddenly taken away from her, and, although she searched everywhere, she could find no trace of him. When all her efforts failed, she discovered a most valuable jewel under her garments, and as she looked closely, it emitted such a brilliant light that all Britain was lit by its splendour. Soon after this her husband was treacherously poisoned and her daughter Hilda was born. [4]
    Bishop Aidan pointed out that the first part of the prophetic dream had come about, and it was now up to her to fulfil the second part.
    ‘What shall I do?’ Hilda asked Etheldreda. She longed to travel and to see her sister again. The monastery at Chelles was a centre of learning and culture. She would have the constant stimulation of people who had travelled widely and studied deeply, whereas at home she would have to provide the stimulation for the sluggish minds of those around her. But her admiration for Bishop Aidan was deep. Not to listen to his plea would be unthinkable. It had been his example that had inspired her to give away her riches and leave her home in the first place. He had come from Iona, his training in the tradition of Saint Columba and the Irish fathers to have no possessions, walking, even at his great age, over remote and windblown moors in every kind of weather, never doubting that he would find food and shelter when he needed it, never hesitating to give help and understanding to others.
    She sighed.
    Etheldreda took her hand and squeezed it. She knew that Hilda did not expect an answer from her.

    Hilda had not long returned to the north when Bishop Felix died. Sorrowfully, on hearing the news, Etheldreda left the crowded environs of the court and went for a long walk in the woods. Her mother was dead, and now her teacher and old friend. She felt very lonely. She wondered if she would ever see them again, and if she did, how changed they would be. She could not imagine people she had known without their bodies. She tried to visualise it, but failed.
    She sat on the stump of a tree and closed her eyes. She whispered a line from the psalm she had so carefully and beautifully inscribed in the scriptorium at Dunwich.
    ‘Open my eyes, that I may behold wondrous things out of Thy law.’ [5]
    The darkness behind her eyelids became blacker and blacker until she seemed to be falling into the most utter and complete darkness that had ever existed. She was afraid. If she was to have a vision she would have expected it to be of light. Was it the Lord of Shadow who had answered her prayer, and not the Lord of Light? And then she noticed that although she could see nothing, not even the little spots and imperfections that usually floated on the inside of her lids, she was intensely experiencing a vastness in which she was perfectly conscious, and that others were with her, whom she could not see, yet was aware of. Thoughts came to her, clear and powerful, as though she were thinking with the minds of others, better minds than her own. She knew suddenly and with great excitement that clarity of consciousness was not dependent on the presence of the physical body, but on its absence.
    But even as she began to grasp what was happening and enjoy this new way of knowing… her body began to reassert itself and her eyelids itched to open. She fought to keep the experience, but it was already slipping from her. Her eyes opened and she stared astonished at the crowded visual complexity of the wood around her, the tangled green and vivid