The Madonna Secret

Each time I was born, I had to heal the rupture of my last life’s violence. I had to stand up and say, Yes. I will begin again.

But this was the work of the spirit. Her body and her being were perfectly aligned

At once I was expansive and extremely small: an ocean, an iota of ash, pulsing between omniscience and nonexistence.

What a burden I am to you, I thought. Thank you for your service. Perhaps someday, somewhere else, you will ride me.

Today, when I remember her fear of me, I try to let my anger immediately sink in my body, like dirt in water, settling slowly in my feet, and sinking lower still, safely back into the earth.

Their fur rippled over sinewy shoulders and haunches like the sky molded to the landscape. Their spots were the darkness of clouds moving between moonlight and starshine.

And the teaching was too big. Too painful. My heart was supposed to love all of it. Every moment. Momentous or insignificant. Every insect and particle of dust.

your temple is the ocean, it cannot wash away. If your temple is the mountain, it cannot burn. If your temple lives within you, you need not travel to find it.

We strive for union our whole lives: with God, with our purpose, with each other. But union is not a sport for children. It is not a game. It is the loss of a self. The rain does not just break against the ground—it becomes the ground. The river consumed by the ocean is the ocean.