was what I called “the cleanse,” the cleansing of itself. It purified itself from any teaching. The cleansing looked like tears and humility and death, the death of the personality, the death of any self that might remain. I could see that any time I spoke when someone hadn’t asked, I was met with confusion. People would look at me, and their eyes would reflect back a crazy woman. That was okay with me, but there was no value in speaking that way, except in learning to experience a truth from within and not speak it to myself outside.
