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Declaration
I,
Gwynneve, a sinner quite uncultivated and the least of all the faithful and
utterly despicable to many, appeal to Saint Brigit or the goddess Brigit,
whatever it is her wish to be called. I pray that she, being the guardian of
poets, will bless me with honest and strong words.
I
am what is called a
cele
de
near
the age of barrenness, when a woman's womb becomes useless and hairs sprout on
the chin. I reside in one of a cluster of hives made of stone at Brigit's
church, a place of plain beauty but always cold and damp except in summer, when
the wind is green. It is a constant temptation for me to pause in my work and
stand outside on the hill to see the valley and the waves of hills beyond.
I
live and work most days and nights in my
clochan
with
one waxen candle to light the parchment. I labor like an insect beneath its mud
dome transcribing scripture, since I am one of a few nuns who are literate. I
am fast at my work, for my teacher, Giannon the Druid, was an expert at the
magic of words and taught me both thoroughness and impatience. I have just now
completed a transcription of
sciathluireach.
There
are only a few more hours before the bell will ring for lauds at dawn, but I do
not want to sleep. I do not sleep deeply or long some nights, but linger in a
netherworld between thought and bestial images. The dead will sometimes speak
to me. An agitation overtakes me. At these times it
soothes
me to write. The relentless thoughts about what I have witnessed and heard find
some peace when I turn them into marks on parchment. I cannot keep silent about
some occurrences and observations, nor in fact would it
be
proper to do so. It is a holy duty to know the truth and tell it.
The
truth has a volume much larger than one person's body and soul. I am small both
in body and soul but will try to be like the ant who carries many times its own
weight. Those who read these pages, have mercy on me.
Beati
immaculati in via.
The
cross of Saint Brigit be under my feet.
The
mantle of Mary be about my shoulders.
The
protection of Michael over me, taking my hand.
In my
heart, the peace of the Son of Grace.
In my
soul, the protection of all good spirits in this
fierce
and beautiful land.
