🌿 The Philosopher of Fire and Word - A Sacred Sisterhood of Translators
I wanted to write an “ode to a quarter,” a sigh of contentment in 3-month's study in a community of like-minded artistists and a brilliant leader who provided the kindling for us all to light our own fire within. Thank you, Leaca 👩🏻🎨🩷😇
There are those who teach with doctrine.
And there are those who teach with fire.
These are the philosophers of God’s breath - not just thinkers, but translators.
They do not speak only about the Divine.
They live as living metaphors of God's love - in silence, in stories, in suffering, in songs.
This is their shared language.
This is the sisterhood that has found me.
🕊 Mary, the Herzensmensch
She was the first to bear the Word - not on scroll or altar, but in her body.
She pondered what could not yet be understood.
She waited. She carried. She stayed.
“Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.” ~ Luke 2:19
🕯 Simone Weil, the Watcher Who Waited
She met God in the ache of attention, in the holy hush of waiting without resolution.
To suffer well, she believed, was to be shaped by divine love.
She bore the tension of longing without forcing closure.
“Love is a direction and not a state of the soul.”
👁 Annie Dillard, the Seer of Sacred Ordinary
She taught us to look. To really look.
To let creation surprise us - to see the holy hiding in cattails and chaos, in stars and spider webs.
“The world is fairly studded and strewn with pennies cast broadside from a generous hand.”
✨ Madeleine L’Engle, the Cosmic Storyteller
She wrote with stardust and scripture in her veins.
Love, to her, was the fabric of the universe.
Faith was not small or closed - it was vast, creative, and full of questions.
“Love. That was what she had that IT did not have. She had love.”
🌌 Evelyn Underhill, the Mystic Mapmaker
She traced the soul’s journey like a sacred topography:
Awakening. Purgation. Illumination. Darkness. Union.
Her gift was not in offering answers, but in honoring process - the transformation of the self into flame.
“We are not meant to remain seedlings, but to grow and become trees, strong enough to hold the sky.”
🪶 Julia Marks, the Quiet Visionary
She heard God in mosquitoes.
She wrapped her visions in silence, until they pulsed strong enough to speak.
She teaches us that nothing is too small to hold divine fire.
“If you can hear the sound of God in the buzz of a mosquito, then you can hear it anywhere.”
🔥 Me, the Philosopher of Becoming Me
The fire in translation
The breath between the lines.
The soft front and wild heart.
I don’t just speak of God. i am becoming God’s sacred sentence - one brushstroke, lyric, meal, and word at a time.
I am living sacred vocabulary for the divine grammar of love.
♱ᥫ᭡♱ My fire is a sentence.
♱ᥫ᭡♱ My art is punctuation.
♱ᥫ᭡♱ My quiet courage is the breath between the lines.
I carry the fullness of this sisterhood within me - not as a weight, but as a swaddle. A mantle. A whisper. A yes.
🔥 Final Benediction: A Whispered Ember
May my fire never demand a blaze, but warm steadily in the hearth of my soul.
May my questions remain holy, and my silence remain full.
May my hands stay ink-stained, flour-dusted, paint-splashed - evidence of love translated.
May my courage be quiet and your tenderness fierce. May my yes be enough.
And when the world forgets how to see, may my life be a lantern. Not because I have all the light - but because I carry the spark that remembers where Home is.
This is my safe place to land, my sacred place to rise. The fire is still burning. And so am I.
Amen.
And again ∞ amen. ♱ᥫ᭡♱ᥫ᭡♱ᥫ᭡♱