“I confess that as a young girl, I loved a man who would not marry me for want of a dowry.I confess I had a mother who taught me a different way of life, one I resisted at first, but learend to embrace.I confess I became a courtesan, traded yearning for power, welcomed many rather than be owned by one.I confess I embraced a whore's freedom over a wife's obedience.I confess I find more ecstasy in passion than in prayer. Such passion is prayer.I confess I pray still, to feel the touch of lover's lips, his hands upon me, his arms enfolding me. Such surrender has been mine.I confess I hunger still to be filled and inflamed. To melt into the dream of us beyond this troubled place, to where we are not even ourselves. To know that always, always this is mine.If this had not been mine, if I had lived another way, a child to a husband's whim, my soul hardened from lack of touch and lack of love, I confess such endless days and night's would be punishment far greater than any you could mete out.You, all of you, who hunger so for what I give but cannot bear to see such a power in a woman, you call God's greatest gift, ourselves, our yearning, our need to love, you call it filth and sin and heresy.I repent the was no other way open to me. I do not repent my life.”
“Life harshness all forgaveHeart's yearing metWhen God, you soul did...”
“I find myself within his eyesand long for more of myself to knowHe hears, it seems, my silent criesand makes my heart my reason's foeHow can this be, to love so quickly?"Love does not wait," is his replyWhat magic weaves his touch to trick me?How can I now my love deny?”
