I traveled with good personal friend and UFO researcher Robert Hulse to various interesting UK sites in May of 2016. One of the most profoundly personal experiences happened to me when we visited Lacock Abbey. So intensely personal in fact that it has taken me over a year to even think about writing about it.
The Abbey itself dates back to the 13th century. The original constructions are fluid and the Arches give you a beautiful feeling of being held, of being safe and of being at peace.
Lacock Abbey in the village of Lacock, Wiltshire, England, was founded in the early 13th century by Ela, Countess of Salisbury, as a nunnery of the Augustinian order. The abbey remained a nunnery until the suppression of Catholic institutions in England in the 16th century. It was then sold to Sir William Sharington who converted the convent into a residence where he and his family lived. It was fortified and remained loyal to the crown during the English Civil War, but surrendered to the Parliamentary forces once Devizes had fallen in 1645.
There are many interesting details through the hallways. I started to take pictures of each of the details individually as I went down the hallway.
At the end of the first hallway we found two small rooms with wonderfully interesting windows. One could get a sense of what it was like to live here at the time the nuns were at their heyday.
Note these rough carved out caskets compared to the ones I saw in ancient Egypt.
After coming out of these small side Chambers I began to continue taking pictures of the details of the ceiling down the second hallway.
As I raise my camera to take the first photograph I realize there is blood on my hands.
Earlier in the day at the campsite I had inadvertently pinched my right hand thumb in the door of the Caravan. I had quickly wrapped it up with a plaster then we carried on towards Lacock and our planned afternoon.
We had spent a few hours walking around the grounds and visiting a museum before arriving at the Abbey. There have been absolutely nothing wrong with my thumb under the Band-Aid for a very long time.
Yet suddenly now as I raise my camera to the ceiling, I can see my left hand, not the original right thumb injury, but my left palm, completely full of blood.
Looking quickly to my right hand holding my camera I realize in a flash my camera is now full of blood, my right hand is full of blood and I need to sit down.
I suddenly feel pushed out of my body, slightly to the left of myself, as I sit on the cool Stone bench in the beautiful hallway. I see that there’s even blood drips down my thigh on my pants. I look at the clots trying to form on my camera.
Looking up at Robert who was looking down at me with some concern I stutter
“I think you should go get someone.” and he does.
As he departs my left hand goes to catch the blood coming from the stream pouring off my right palm.
As I moved to catch the blood that’s seemingly like water, a voice speaks to me in my mind. It says, ‘Stop. don’t try to catch the blood. Let it hit the floor. You must spill your blood here.” I obey. I remove my left hand and watch as my blood drops fall on to the stone floor of Lacock Abbey.
Was my blood a blessing ? Was it my obligation ?
The modern English language term bless likely derives from the 1225 term blessen, which developed from the Old English blǣdsian (preserved in the Northumbrian dialect around 950 AD). The term also appears in other forms, such as blēdsian (before 830), blētsian from around 725 and blesian from around 1000, all meaning to make sacred or holy by a sacrificial custom in the Anglo-Saxon pagan period, originating in Germanic paganism; to mark with blood. Due to this, the term is related to the term blōd, meaning blood.
I noticed that with each drop a beautiful flower is made on the floor by the splatter. My eyes cast back across the floor tracing the drops of blood I had left previously. I can see they stop in the middle of the hall or I suppose that’s where they started.
Suddenly Robert has returned with the first aid lady who begins to quickly attend to my needs. When she takes the small plaster off it doesn’t look as bad as all the blood suggests. She does a wonderful job of bandaging my thumb up again. She tells me if the bleeding doesn’t stop I should go to the Medi center, which somewhat concerned me.
At this point I had completely lost all interest in taking photographs. So we basically floated through the rest of our visit through the house at Lacock Abbey or Layock Manor.
One interesting thing I do recall was a window we passed where one of the first photographs was taken. I was lucky enough to catch two young siblings as they arrived to look out. They had just ran up to be the first at the window and were now pausing for the view. They no longer lit there, then quickly turned and ran away. I was lucky to catch them.
There was a mark on my thumb nail in the shape of the number 7 after this healed. It grew out eventually. I will never be sure what happened that day but one thing is true. I left my blood at Lacock Abbey.