Yesterday was Hildegard’s feast day.
on the lips of a lover,
'I kiss my own creation,
every image I have made out of the earth’s clay.’
In the same year of her life,
Not that it comes without question.
that the heavens were opened
and a blinding light of exceptional brilliance
flowed through my entire brain.
And so it kindled my whole heart and breast like a flame,
not burning but warming
...and suddenly I understood
the meaning of the expositions of the books.
But although I heard and saw these things,
because of doubt and low opinion of myself
and because of the diverse opinions of men,
I refused for a long time the call to write.
in a world that is interpreted for us by others.
An interpreted world is not a home.
Part of the terror is to take back our own listening,
to use our own voices, to see our own light.
and no women at all,
a Doctor of souls.
with endless green promise.