St. Claire saving a child from a wolf. By Giovanni di Paolo (circa 1455)

Visions of Sister Moon:

An entirely fictional and imagined correspondence between Claire and Francis of Assisi.  By Cat Vibert

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Oh Francis, it pains me to attempt to explain my thoughts to you.  Indeed I am not certain I will deliver this letter to you upon your return, but must record what I have seen. I must write for the sake of understanding my own thoughts, and so I begin.

For such a time after you left for Rome, I was distraught with sadness.  I felt a great shame that I caused you to consider straying from the true path that was revealed to you in your visions. I do not know how to separate my desires to know you as a wife from the holy tryst you ask of me in becoming a bride to Our Lord.  I have never known a possession such that every room in the house of my thoughts would be filled with your image, leaving no space for contemplation of Our Lord’s will.  Indeed until this morning’s vision my night dreams were filled with a blackness such that not a sliver of moon was present to guide my sight.  Only when I woke, I would be filled again with thoughts of you, of that night we walked under the stars.  Remembering the touch of your warm breath upon my lips.  So close were mine, that night, to lips I yearn for, yet shall never know the taste of.

I have been wearing my wedding veil to ward off advances from your brother’s friends and the like.  They jest when I pass, calling me sister moon the loon, then stating vulgar epitaphs.  I seek refuge by walking the hills above the village in the afternoons, talking to the birds and squirrels I meet along the path.  I kneel at times, along the way, to pray for Our Lord to enter my visions again, and to instill discipline to my thoughts.

Yesterday as I walked, I came upon a mother who was kneeling on the ground suckling her infant child.  Her face was hidden behind a mask.  What I could see of her skin was dark, and yet her child was fair as snow, with eyes that shone of gold.  The woman was cackling like a crone.  She asked me through her laughter, if I was afraid of her.  I admit that I felt fear, a great fear, but of what I did not know.  It was as if I was afraid of myself, it was not her presence that disturbed me.  She told me I would see her again.  I offered her the flowers I had collected on my walk and wished her well.  I heard her cackle echoing through the hills as I walked back toward the village.

In the night, the moon was full and I gazed upon it as it rose in the East.  I walked out to the meadow where I last felt your hand upon mine, and imagined you with me. I imagined the meeting of our lips.  I know I should not let my thoughts linger in such forbidden places. I do not know how my feet managed to carry my legs home upon the formless structure they became in that imagined kiss.  I managed to find my way to my bed, however, and upon falling asleep in the ray of moon that shined across my eyes, I had a vision.  It began as the same vision that I have just described, I walked in the woods and came upon the same mother and child, and she asked me if I was afraid.  I asked her to remove her mask, and she did.  In her face, I saw you, and then your image melted away and I saw myself.  I then saw her child being torn apart by wolves, and this image melted into a sea of blood, with mighty waves that dashed into rocks and cliffs, spraying blood high into the air.  Then the storm calmed and her face again became a woman, beautiful with dark skin and golden eyes, like the eyes of her child, who was whole again within her arms.

She asked me to follow her, and stood, beckoning.  There appeared a cave before us, and we entered and walked into the dark, feeling along the mossy walls until we came to an underground lake illuminated by a tiny candle.  The woman then asked me to drink of the water.  I drank, and she told me that the light was Our Lord and that she was his bride and her child was the church. I then woke to the shining sun and the sound of the village bell.  I will think on the meaning of this vision today and write on it later.

Oh Francis, I do not ever think I will be able to give you this letter, but I give you my heart on wings.

All of my undying love,

Your beloved, Claire

©2010 Catherine Vibert

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6