She had seen, abruptly, the insecurity of those defences which protect our illusions and ward off the horrors of truth. She had found a little hole in the wall of appearances; and peeping through, had caught a glimpse of that seething pot of spiritual forces whence, now and then, a bubble rises to the surface of things… (Evelyn Underhill, The Column of Dust) The chink, that hole in the wall, perturbed her as a child when she saw revealed the world of truth exposed through the fragile certainty of these fixed and fragile things. In bursts and puffs of mystery she felt a knowledge of such things as she could never truly know, and longed, Plato-like, to escape the cave of shadows, see the Real. Her journey through the cloudy shadows and between Cathedral walls, gave her glimpses of such things that made her resident between two worlds, one moving, the other still. If at times she missed the eye of Jesus, shrouded in such mystery, in a cloud of such unknowing that she failed to see simply that which was made fully known, Then we learn to keep our eyes peeled for such bursts of truth and knowledge shooting from the Word, and turn these hazy eyes upon the Truth; and yet in this she gives us treasure: To show that we, in this passing moment, are citizens of that real world – real flesh, real matter – still beyond us, yet still close; not realised but perfect; not seen yet palpable; and so We hold our eyes up to the chink and marvel with her at the world, though known, that goes beyond our knowledge of these fixed and surface things, and celebrate the hope that one day We shall walk straight through the wall and see and hear and burst through clouds into full knowing; let us think, at times, on this, lest we see things all too simply and forsake the mystery.