'Behold, I send an Angel before thee, to keep thee in the way, and to bring thee into the place which I have prepared. Beware of him, and obey his voice, provoke him not; for he will not pardon your transgressions: for my name is in him.'

Upon reflection, (and I have a little time now for reflection as I wait for the commencement of my most recent voyage) the path my life has now taken is not what I had thought it would be. Until a month ago I had no conception of the wonders that walk this earth, those mentioned in no illustrated chronicle or tale of history. Indeed, I aspired to a humble life of dedication and labour. Solitude, tranquillity and the slow contemplation of the Lord's work were to be my reward for my service. Now, as I prepare to travel hidden towards a strange city, in a land not of my birth, I cannot help but think again upon the events which have led me to this place.

I was born in the year of Our Lord 1268 to a loving family, rich in the bonds of affection and kindness. I believe it was wholly natural for my thoughts to tend towards the Lord, as a seed tends towards the light. Certainly I cannot remember a time when I was without an awareness of His presence, whether in the warmth of my fathers grin as we moved the sheep to the summer grazing, or in the golden glimpse of an eagle in the hills, or in the translucent perfection of a single icicle in winter. The monks from the monastery of Dewi Sant near our village grew used to me haunting their steps whenever they visited, I plaguing them with every question I could think of. Their kindly answers only kindled my desire to learn more. So it was that when I was of the age of nine, I begged my father to be allowed to take holy orders and dedicate my soul to the glory of the Lord. Though he questioned me sternly (as I thought it at that age) on my determination, it had been plain to him for a long time that this path was one I already walked, and he took but a short time in giving his assent. The abbot of Dewi Sant similarly accepted me, and I was free to follow my soul's desire.

For many years I dwelt in happiness at the monastery, After completing my novitiate the rhythm of my life and prayers flowed in an endless perfect ribbon of Matins, Lauds, Prime, Terce, Sext , None, Vespers Compline and the Midnight Office. The companionship of my brethren was a boon and comfort to me, yet also I yearned for a test, a hardship and tempering to prove myself a true servant of God. Looking back, I wonder if there was a touch of youth's pride in my desire - for who has not imagined himself as rejecting the Devil's temptations, even as did our Lord, spurning earthly companionship for the desert, the stones? Nevertheless I do think that it was a true calling that so drew me to a life of solitude, and thus I petitioned my Abbot. For a while he was reluctant to grant my request, but as he also became convinced of my true passion for that life, he granted his permission for me to become an eremite, giving me the occupation of an island ceded to the monastery long since by some forgotten prince, uninhabited these recent years due to its difficulty of access and windswept nature. There I planned to bring myself in prayer closer to very essence and being of God. I spent my remaining months at the monastery in preparation. Without a priest to turn to, I would be unable to celebrate the sacrament of Mass, and so I must train for my own ordination, that I might not be denied this grace even in utter solitude. As he was permitted to do, the Abbot granted my ascension to priesthood, so I would remain able to partake of the greatest Mystery of Our Lord. Every instant of that ceremony is graven in my mind and soul forever. It is a shining memory to me here in this darkness, an eternal bond forged of my faith and God's love.

When the time came I begged the aid of two local fishermen, and made the journey from the mainland O Gymru. The trip was strange to me. Though I had been born and lived within sight of the sea, I had never been borne upon it before. At first I rode in the small boat with uncertainty, swiftly turning to delight as I gazed at the far horizon, fancying that to the uttermost west I saw the faint green shores of Iwerddon, where the great Saint Patrick had trod many years ago. At last I saw a hazy grey-green mound ahead, as the island where I planned to live for the rest of my days rose before me. High hills to the North and West, dropping to lower, flatter ground before me, and a rough shingled shore where I was able to take my leave of the kindly men, who were pleased to accept a blessing for their trouble.

It had no name. In my spirit I called it Ynys Wintog, and held it in my heart as if each inch was hallowed. Undulating like a wrinkled rug from the rocky cliffs in the north to a sheltered valley I found in the south, I felt that no land could be as apt for the measured turn of my devotion as this. I built a hut of stones and sod, tamed the feral goats that I found roaming the hills, tilled the good earth, and made my observances by the progression of the hours of God. I had copied the Vulgate Bible many times at the abbey, and the Abbot had kindly permitted me to bring one with me. This I read. So my days passed in prayer and meditation, and might have passed so unending, were it not for the disturbance that came in my fifth year upon the island.