THE COURIER

Divinity is creaking bones, the sharpness of each vertebrae shifting wrong wrong wrong. It is teeth shredding through lips, and ankles cracking with each rolling step. It is ribs straining against lungs carrying the breath of a still-living star.

Divinity is burning eyes. Burning as it tries to slip through the thinness of them. Burning as images imprint themselves on my eyelids, the lightning of holiness. Stardust is staining my eyes. They are dripping ichor.

Divinity is eating me alive, and leaving glimmering crystal sconces in it’s wake. I open my arms and welcome the devouring. It will shape me, remake me. I am eager for the Awakening.

Divinity takes no prisoners.

Women who had been named a doctor of the Church:

Thérèse of Lisieux

Hildegard of Bingen

Teresa of Ávila