Mirabai Starr's Blog, page 2
November 10, 2014
Free Virtual Class: The Divine Ordinariness of St. Teresa of Avila
I am grateful to have the opportunity to take a deep dive into my favorite mystic, Teresa of Avila, with a 7-month tele-course through the Shift Network:
In The Footsteps of Teresa of Avila:
A Feminine Pilgrimage From Silence to Union to Service
From the comfort of our own favorite chair (or wherever you happen to be — I have one student who listens on her underwater mp3 player whilst swimming in the Arabian Sea), we will be navigating the 7 dwellings of Teresa’s Interior Castle, drawing on all the world’s religious and spiritual traditions (surprise).
But first you can dip in and have a taste to see if this is a good fit for you in a free hour-long introductory class on St. Teresa of Avila.
The Divine Ordinariness of St. Teresa of Avila:
What you Can Learn from the West’s Most Provocative, Practical and Ecstatic Mystic
Find out more or register
In The Footsteps of Teresa of Avila:
A Feminine Pilgrimage From Silence to Union to Service
From the comfort of our own favorite chair (or wherever you happen to be — I have one student who listens on her underwater mp3 player whilst swimming in the Arabian Sea), we will be navigating the 7 dwellings of Teresa’s Interior Castle, drawing on all the world’s religious and spiritual traditions (surprise).But first you can dip in and have a taste to see if this is a good fit for you in a free hour-long introductory class on St. Teresa of Avila.
The Divine Ordinariness of St. Teresa of Avila:
What you Can Learn from the West’s Most Provocative, Practical and Ecstatic Mystic
Find out more or register
The post Free Virtual Class: The Divine Ordinariness of St. Teresa of Avila appeared first on Mirabai Starr.
November 9, 2014
Interview on BUDDHA at GAS PUMP
While attending the SAND conference in San Jose, CA in October, I had the pleasure of being interviewed by Rick Archer for his show Buddha at the Gas Pump. It was a great discussion. Enjoy!
The post Interview on BUDDHA at GAS PUMP appeared first on Mirabai Starr.
February 25, 2014
Live Q&A with Mirabai Starr: The Way of the Feminine Mystic Course
For those who listened to the free teleseminar course and are interested in signing up for the Feminine Mystic intensive course, but still have questions, I will be holding a special Q&A session tomorrow night.
Here’s how you call in:
Live Q&A with Mirabai Starr
Wednesday, February 26th
5pm Pacific | 8pm Eastern
Connect to the webcast at http://InstantTeleseminar.com/?eventid=51966525
Or dial (425) 440-5100 (find your local number here) and enter the PIN 862166#
For those who have not yet heard the free introduction to this course, listen here.
Join me for my 9 month The Way of the Feminine Mystic intensive course by signing up here.
I look forward to being with you. “See” you soon.
The post Live Q&A with Mirabai Starr: The Way of the Feminine Mystic Course appeared first on Mirabai Starr.
February 21, 2014
Rudy Rap-Ode to Mirabai
I am delighted to be the subject of a Rudy Rap by my friend Rudra Ram, AKA Alan Hutner, host of the legendary Transitions Radio Magazine:
(http://transitionsmedia.com/)
Feeling seen….
Ode to Mirabai: Bringing the Saints to You and I
01/15/14
Author Mirabai Starr
How dear you are
To explore Saints…and Sinners
From near and far
Across the centuries
Teachings from their seeming quasars
Addressing common themes
Of human beings
Pain and suffer-ing
Deep wounds covered by bling
Or any other avoidance thing
To mask the sting
Of hurts and wound-ings
Yet these Saints know what to bring
To help mitigate the cling
To the wrong thing
To wake up and sing
I to was a sinner
I just missed the mark
Like an arrow missing the bullseye
Hitting the wrong target part
Some Hebrew or Latin word
Corrupted in our language absurd
To mean the work of the devil
But Sin hath no hell
Other than a wake up bell
If you missed the mark
Then restart
Like Brother Saint Francis
Who learned the fine art
Of unconditional love
One of the first peace doves
Who knew God’s natural order
Below and above
Brother Sun, Sister Moon
His (Franco) Zaffarel movie
Will put you in a swoon
The story of a man
Given a Divine boon
To be a conduit for love
As Mirabai points out
“The prevailing culture urges us
To stand up for our rights”
Even to the extent we excessively fight
As she also reminds, the culture urges us
“to assert our own individuality,
To be somebody”
While Francis of Assisi
Teaches us to become nobody,
So that the Holy one may radiate through us
The bottom line, Now mine
True power comes from love sublime
From “opening to our essential
Interconnectedness with all beings”
That’s what Mirabai and the Saints are seeing
That includes living and forgiving
Another aspect of love
Also expressing compassion
Francis gave a leper a hug
Don’t even squash a bug
End the ego tug
Separation is like a drug
So pull the plug
On anything unlike love
If it’s not real love
Just give it a shrug
Pass the miracle jug
Take a sip
To the All That Is
Bow and dip
And let true love
Map your next mystical trip.
By Alan Hutner AKA Rudy, Copyright © 2014
(http://transitionsmedia.com/)
Feeling seen….
Ode to Mirabai: Bringing the Saints to You and I
01/15/14
Author Mirabai Starr
How dear you are
To explore Saints…and Sinners
From near and far
Across the centuries
Teachings from their seeming quasars
Addressing common themes
Of human beings
Pain and suffer-ing
Deep wounds covered by bling
Or any other avoidance thing
To mask the sting
Of hurts and wound-ings
Yet these Saints know what to bring
To help mitigate the cling
To the wrong thing
To wake up and sing
I to was a sinner
I just missed the mark
Like an arrow missing the bullseye
Hitting the wrong target part
Some Hebrew or Latin word
Corrupted in our language absurd
To mean the work of the devil
But Sin hath no hell
Other than a wake up bell
If you missed the mark
Then restart
Like Brother Saint Francis
Who learned the fine art
Of unconditional love
One of the first peace doves
Who knew God’s natural order
Below and above
Brother Sun, Sister Moon
His (Franco) Zaffarel movie
Will put you in a swoon
The story of a man
Given a Divine boon
To be a conduit for love
As Mirabai points out
“The prevailing culture urges us
To stand up for our rights”
Even to the extent we excessively fight
As she also reminds, the culture urges us
“to assert our own individuality,
To be somebody”
While Francis of Assisi
Teaches us to become nobody,
So that the Holy one may radiate through us
The bottom line, Now mine
True power comes from love sublime
From “opening to our essential
Interconnectedness with all beings”
That’s what Mirabai and the Saints are seeing
That includes living and forgiving
Another aspect of love
Also expressing compassion
Francis gave a leper a hug
Don’t even squash a bug
End the ego tug
Separation is like a drug
So pull the plug
On anything unlike love
If it’s not real love
Just give it a shrug
Pass the miracle jug
Take a sip
To the All That Is
Bow and dip
And let true love
Map your next mystical trip.
By Alan Hutner AKA Rudy, Copyright © 2014
The post Rudy Rap-Ode to Mirabai appeared first on Mirabai Starr.
February 4, 2014
Walking an Interspiritual Path
Here’s a half-hour video of a talk I gave for the Sage Institute on Interspirituality.
The post Walking an Interspiritual Path appeared first on Mirabai Starr.
January 30, 2014
The Cave
Greetings from the cave.
You probably know what I mean. Those times and spaces–often in winter, or following a loss, or preceding an anticipated cataclysm–when we turn inward and linger there.
There is nothing particularly cataclysmic on my horizon–other than the ordinary miracle of the human condition–but I have a job to do: I’m writing a memoir. And it requires my full attention. My loyalty. My ferocity. I am a bear.
This is a memoir about loss and transformation. But it is not heavy. It is shot with light. I am writing about deaths, divorces, and deflowerings. I am also writing about food and sex and leaping off jungle cliffs into volcanic pools. It’s not all hard, but some of it is.
This is the quiet time. Starting in a few weeks I begin traveling and speaking again. So I must take advantage of this access to the cave. This refuge of relative stillness. This invitation to dwell in darkness. If I don’t answer when you knock, I know you’ll understand. You may be hanging out in a cave of your own.
My love to you.
You probably know what I mean. Those times and spaces–often in winter, or following a loss, or preceding an anticipated cataclysm–when we turn inward and linger there.
There is nothing particularly cataclysmic on my horizon–other than the ordinary miracle of the human condition–but I have a job to do: I’m writing a memoir. And it requires my full attention. My loyalty. My ferocity. I am a bear.
This is a memoir about loss and transformation. But it is not heavy. It is shot with light. I am writing about deaths, divorces, and deflowerings. I am also writing about food and sex and leaping off jungle cliffs into volcanic pools. It’s not all hard, but some of it is.
This is the quiet time. Starting in a few weeks I begin traveling and speaking again. So I must take advantage of this access to the cave. This refuge of relative stillness. This invitation to dwell in darkness. If I don’t answer when you knock, I know you’ll understand. You may be hanging out in a cave of your own.
My love to you.
The post The Cave appeared first on Mirabai Starr.
January 17, 2014
January 1, 2014
Welcome Home
Welcome home to your life, to this mysterious new year, to the grace of exactly what is.
May 2014 unfold in beauty.
And welcome to my new website!
This moment:
Our old dog, Gita, and our young dog, Lola, are sprawled in identical positions on the floor at my feet. There is a tea light burning in the amethyst candle holder my brother Roy gave me years ago, the smoke from a stick of jasmine incense given to me by my dharma friend Henry curling toward the aspen ceiling of my office, which used to be my daughter Jenny’s room and still pulses with her playful spirit, and a cup of Sumatra with heavy cream and honey at my side. My beloved is at the gym, where I would like to be too, but I have dedicated this day to writing. I’m working on the chapter called “The Guru & the Girl,” which I had been dreading, but as it turns out I am having fun making fun of the man who tried (and failed) to steal my soul. The high desert sky is unbroken blue. Soon I will wake the dogs and load them into my dirty red Toyota and head up to the mountains for our daily hike through juniper and piñon.
Most days are too much. This one is just enough.
The post Welcome Home appeared first on Mirabai Starr.
October 17, 2013
All Will Be Well: The Radical Optimism of Julian of Norwich
“All will be well and all will be well and every kind of thing shall be well.” (Julian of Norwich)
Sometimes I can hardly believe what I get to do for a living. As a translator of the mystics, I plunge into the wellspring of their wisdom and remain immersed, until they have told me all they have to say. In the Hindu tradition, this is known as darshan: sitting at the feet of a saint and receiving their transmission. It can be done whether the being is still in the body or has left it. It is not an exchange that is ruled by the common laws of time and space. This flow spills across the centuries and, in my case, across religious lines.
I am Jewish by birth, not-Jewish by upbringing, and Jewish-again by inclination. I have a lifelong Buddhist sitting practice and a Hindu guru. And I translate and write reflections on the teachings of the Christian mystics. My most recent encounter was with Julian of Norwich, the medieval English anchoress (1342-1416). My new translation of her masterwork, The Showings–an extravagant account of a series of visions Julian had during a near death experience—came out earlier this month (Hampton Roads 2013).
We do not know much about Julian’s life. In fact, that was not even her real name, but rather a reference to the Church of St. Julian in Norwich to which she attached herself—literally–cloistering herself forever inside a small stone anchorage built against the outer wall of the sanctuary. What we do know was that by the time Julian entered her cell she had already witnessed three rounds of Plague, had probably lost almost everyone she loved, and had nearly died herself. We also know that when she was very young she asked to bear witness to the passion of Christ. Her wish came true. The visions she had on her near-deathbed were of Christ’s crucifixion, which she endured in every cell of her own body.
This kind of corporeal identification with Christ is not unique to Julian. Other saints and mystics, known and unknown, have reported similar experiences. But what is unusual about Julian’s story is that Christ’s death was not dreadful to her. That is, he certainly suffered and she hated to see her beloved in such pain, but he also radiated warmth, sweetness, and a kind of ineffable joy. His countenance was “friendly and courteous.” And try as she might, Julian could not detect one iota of condemnation in him toward any member of the human family. She tried to line up the content of her visions with the “teachings of Holy Church” but sometimes they just didn’t mesh. Like the matter of our fallen nature.
Sin, says Julian, turns out to be “no thing.” This has been a controversial passage in Julian’s work. But she is quite clear: “Nowhere in all that was revealed to me did I see a trace of sin,” she writes. “And so I stopped looking for it and moved on, placing myself in God’s hand, allowing him to show me what he wanted me to see.” In Julian’s exceedingly practical view, “sin has no substance, not a particle of being, and can only be detected by the pain it causes.” When we make mistakes and create suffering, we humble ourselves and God loves us all the more. For those of us non-Christian and post-modern types, try substituting the word sin for shame, or blame, or even karma. In other words, we screw up, but that only opens the tender heart of the cosmos where we can find refuge and come back into wholeness.
The other startling thing about Julian’s homespun theology is her view of the feminine identity of God. Julian sees the Godhead in the Trinitarian context of Christianity, but with this radical twist: the Second Person (Christ) is actually the Mother (not the Son). “As truly as God is our Father,” she says, “just as truly is God our Mother.” Who else but a mother, she asks, would break herself open and pour herself out for her children? “Only God could ever perform such duty.” Not only that, but Julian’s God-as-Mother remains available at all times, especially present in our darkest hours–some kind of spiritual hybrid that encompasses the unconditional love of Mother Mary in the Catholic tradition, the infinite compassion of Tara in the Buddhist tradition, and the indwelling holiness of the Shekhinah in the Jewish tradition.
It baffles Julian that we don’t get this. When we miss the mark, we want to run away and hide. But “our courteous Mother doesn’t want us to flee,” Julian says. “Nothing would distress her more. She wants us to behave as a child would when he is upset or afraid: rush with all our might into the arms of the Mother.” For Julian, the good news is not merely the reward we will receive one day when we slough off this mortal coil and go home to God. Every moment is an opportunity to remember that we are perfectly loved and perfectly loveable, just as we are.
“And so when the final judgment comes,” Julian writes at the end of The Showings, “… we shall clearly see in God all the secrets that are hidden from us now. Then none of us will be moved in any way to say, ‘Lord, if only things had been different, all would have been well.’ Instead, we shall all proclaim in one voice, ‘Beloved One, may you be blessed, because it is so: ALL IS WELL.’”
Sometimes I can hardly believe what I get to do for a living. As a translator of the mystics, I plunge into the wellspring of their wisdom and remain immersed, until they have told me all they have to say. In the Hindu tradition, this is known as darshan: sitting at the feet of a saint and receiving their transmission. It can be done whether the being is still in the body or has left it. It is not an exchange that is ruled by the common laws of time and space. This flow spills across the centuries and, in my case, across religious lines.I am Jewish by birth, not-Jewish by upbringing, and Jewish-again by inclination. I have a lifelong Buddhist sitting practice and a Hindu guru. And I translate and write reflections on the teachings of the Christian mystics. My most recent encounter was with Julian of Norwich, the medieval English anchoress (1342-1416). My new translation of her masterwork, The Showings–an extravagant account of a series of visions Julian had during a near death experience—came out earlier this month (Hampton Roads 2013).
We do not know much about Julian’s life. In fact, that was not even her real name, but rather a reference to the Church of St. Julian in Norwich to which she attached herself—literally–cloistering herself forever inside a small stone anchorage built against the outer wall of the sanctuary. What we do know was that by the time Julian entered her cell she had already witnessed three rounds of Plague, had probably lost almost everyone she loved, and had nearly died herself. We also know that when she was very young she asked to bear witness to the passion of Christ. Her wish came true. The visions she had on her near-deathbed were of Christ’s crucifixion, which she endured in every cell of her own body.
This kind of corporeal identification with Christ is not unique to Julian. Other saints and mystics, known and unknown, have reported similar experiences. But what is unusual about Julian’s story is that Christ’s death was not dreadful to her. That is, he certainly suffered and she hated to see her beloved in such pain, but he also radiated warmth, sweetness, and a kind of ineffable joy. His countenance was “friendly and courteous.” And try as she might, Julian could not detect one iota of condemnation in him toward any member of the human family. She tried to line up the content of her visions with the “teachings of Holy Church” but sometimes they just didn’t mesh. Like the matter of our fallen nature.
Sin, says Julian, turns out to be “no thing.” This has been a controversial passage in Julian’s work. But she is quite clear: “Nowhere in all that was revealed to me did I see a trace of sin,” she writes. “And so I stopped looking for it and moved on, placing myself in God’s hand, allowing him to show me what he wanted me to see.” In Julian’s exceedingly practical view, “sin has no substance, not a particle of being, and can only be detected by the pain it causes.” When we make mistakes and create suffering, we humble ourselves and God loves us all the more. For those of us non-Christian and post-modern types, try substituting the word sin for shame, or blame, or even karma. In other words, we screw up, but that only opens the tender heart of the cosmos where we can find refuge and come back into wholeness.
The other startling thing about Julian’s homespun theology is her view of the feminine identity of God. Julian sees the Godhead in the Trinitarian context of Christianity, but with this radical twist: the Second Person (Christ) is actually the Mother (not the Son). “As truly as God is our Father,” she says, “just as truly is God our Mother.” Who else but a mother, she asks, would break herself open and pour herself out for her children? “Only God could ever perform such duty.” Not only that, but Julian’s God-as-Mother remains available at all times, especially present in our darkest hours–some kind of spiritual hybrid that encompasses the unconditional love of Mother Mary in the Catholic tradition, the infinite compassion of Tara in the Buddhist tradition, and the indwelling holiness of the Shekhinah in the Jewish tradition.
It baffles Julian that we don’t get this. When we miss the mark, we want to run away and hide. But “our courteous Mother doesn’t want us to flee,” Julian says. “Nothing would distress her more. She wants us to behave as a child would when he is upset or afraid: rush with all our might into the arms of the Mother.” For Julian, the good news is not merely the reward we will receive one day when we slough off this mortal coil and go home to God. Every moment is an opportunity to remember that we are perfectly loved and perfectly loveable, just as we are.
“And so when the final judgment comes,” Julian writes at the end of The Showings, “… we shall clearly see in God all the secrets that are hidden from us now. Then none of us will be moved in any way to say, ‘Lord, if only things had been different, all would have been well.’ Instead, we shall all proclaim in one voice, ‘Beloved One, may you be blessed, because it is so: ALL IS WELL.’”
The post All Will Be Well: The Radical Optimism of Julian of Norwich appeared first on Mirabai Starr.
May 24, 2013
Otherizing
As a Native New York Jew who grew up in the counter-culture of New Mexico and spent my early twenties in northern California, the American South is as foreign to me as Mongolia. Maybe more. And so visiting the Bible Belt is a perfect opportunity for me to walk my talk and reject the impulse to “otherize.”
Otherizing is a word I thought made up, but then I found it in the Urban Dictionary online. Also my friend Elizabeth Lesser uses it in a TED talk. So I’m in good company. Thou shalt not otherize is one of the pillars of the Judeo-Christian traditions. It did not make it onto the stone tablets, but (IMHO) it should have.
As I travel the country sharing the common teachings of lovingkindness at the core of the world’s diverse religions, I place special emphasis on the Abrahamic tradition of “welcoming the stranger.” Recently, I taught an interspiritual workshop in the South and all my own otherizing responses were triggered. It was one of the only times that my message of the universal love that lies at the core of all faiths was met with anything besides a resounding YES. In fact, the minute I started talking about the beauty of Islam, I saw smoke coming out of people’s ears. And when I led the group in chanting the name of God in Arabic, mature grown-ups began to leave the room. I was flabbergasted. What happened to the love fest I had come to expect? I found myself catapulted into the role of stranger, and I was not welcome there.
That night I spoke to my husband on the phone. “Tough crowd,” I said.
“Remember where you are,” Jeff said. “You are in Martin Luther King country. Be a prophet of peace.”
“Good idea,” I said.
And so I showed up again the next day disarmed and ready. By the end of our time together, heart-gates were swinging open and the most dogmatic were testifying to the connecting power of love.
But what about me? What about my close encounter with breaking the commandment? I almost otherized. I started to tell myself a whole story about how these people are not like me. They are narrow minded and racist; I am open and inclusive. I support universal health care; they voted against their own interests. They believe in heaven and hell; I dismiss such notions as being something along the lines of “the opiate of the masses”—delusional and dangerous. Even our costumes were radically different: conservative polyesters (them); flowey silks and low-cut linens (me). I have way more in common with Mongolians stirring pots of goat stew over dung fires on the Steppes. Off I went, spiraling into my lonely little superiority.
But then I caught myself. I reminded myself that if we are all one, we are all one. That the illusion of separation is what causes violence and oppression. The minute we identify an individual or a group as being the Other, we banish ourselves to a spiritual wasteland and justify treating someone else with anything less than lovingkindness. This is the sin. This is what it means to miss the mark: the drawing of artificial boundaries to bisect the circle of our interconnectedness with all beings.
Here’s a practice I try to cultivate: When I travel to a different community, I show up. I ask my hosts to share with me what they love most about their lives, their landscapes, their faith. I accompany them to religious services in their church and I hang out with their kids; I eat their regional foods, swim in their waters, hike in their mountains, and explore their neighborhoods. I listen to them. This discipline is bearing fruit. Rather than feeling depleted and beaten down when I return home to my safety zone (where people are more like me and I can count on being agreed with), I am stretched and gratified—like a good workout at the gym. My love muscles are growing.
It’s nice when I can preach to the choir and everyone nods their heads, tears of gratitude springing to their eyes in response to my suggestion that we are naturally interspiritual beings who are specially designed to embrace the sacred everywhere we encounter Her. But it feels good to extend myself beyond the confines of my own little sub-culture once in a while and sing this love-song in foreign lands where people may actually believe that all Muslims are terrorists and all Jews are greedy and all gays are going to burn for eternity. Because when we sit together and begin to peel back the layers of possibility, it turns out that just about everyone everywhere affirms that Ultimate Reality is a unified field and that no matter what names we ascribe to it, God is One. And its true name is Love.
Otherizing is a word I thought made up, but then I found it in the Urban Dictionary online. Also my friend Elizabeth Lesser uses it in a TED talk. So I’m in good company. Thou shalt not otherize is one of the pillars of the Judeo-Christian traditions. It did not make it onto the stone tablets, but (IMHO) it should have.
As I travel the country sharing the common teachings of lovingkindness at the core of the world’s diverse religions, I place special emphasis on the Abrahamic tradition of “welcoming the stranger.” Recently, I taught an interspiritual workshop in the South and all my own otherizing responses were triggered. It was one of the only times that my message of the universal love that lies at the core of all faiths was met with anything besides a resounding YES. In fact, the minute I started talking about the beauty of Islam, I saw smoke coming out of people’s ears. And when I led the group in chanting the name of God in Arabic, mature grown-ups began to leave the room. I was flabbergasted. What happened to the love fest I had come to expect? I found myself catapulted into the role of stranger, and I was not welcome there.
That night I spoke to my husband on the phone. “Tough crowd,” I said.
“Remember where you are,” Jeff said. “You are in Martin Luther King country. Be a prophet of peace.”
“Good idea,” I said.
And so I showed up again the next day disarmed and ready. By the end of our time together, heart-gates were swinging open and the most dogmatic were testifying to the connecting power of love.
But what about me? What about my close encounter with breaking the commandment? I almost otherized. I started to tell myself a whole story about how these people are not like me. They are narrow minded and racist; I am open and inclusive. I support universal health care; they voted against their own interests. They believe in heaven and hell; I dismiss such notions as being something along the lines of “the opiate of the masses”—delusional and dangerous. Even our costumes were radically different: conservative polyesters (them); flowey silks and low-cut linens (me). I have way more in common with Mongolians stirring pots of goat stew over dung fires on the Steppes. Off I went, spiraling into my lonely little superiority.
But then I caught myself. I reminded myself that if we are all one, we are all one. That the illusion of separation is what causes violence and oppression. The minute we identify an individual or a group as being the Other, we banish ourselves to a spiritual wasteland and justify treating someone else with anything less than lovingkindness. This is the sin. This is what it means to miss the mark: the drawing of artificial boundaries to bisect the circle of our interconnectedness with all beings.
Here’s a practice I try to cultivate: When I travel to a different community, I show up. I ask my hosts to share with me what they love most about their lives, their landscapes, their faith. I accompany them to religious services in their church and I hang out with their kids; I eat their regional foods, swim in their waters, hike in their mountains, and explore their neighborhoods. I listen to them. This discipline is bearing fruit. Rather than feeling depleted and beaten down when I return home to my safety zone (where people are more like me and I can count on being agreed with), I am stretched and gratified—like a good workout at the gym. My love muscles are growing.
It’s nice when I can preach to the choir and everyone nods their heads, tears of gratitude springing to their eyes in response to my suggestion that we are naturally interspiritual beings who are specially designed to embrace the sacred everywhere we encounter Her. But it feels good to extend myself beyond the confines of my own little sub-culture once in a while and sing this love-song in foreign lands where people may actually believe that all Muslims are terrorists and all Jews are greedy and all gays are going to burn for eternity. Because when we sit together and begin to peel back the layers of possibility, it turns out that just about everyone everywhere affirms that Ultimate Reality is a unified field and that no matter what names we ascribe to it, God is One. And its true name is Love.
The post Otherizing appeared first on Mirabai Starr.
