"When I was a child I thought as a child," the saint says. We come here to be children, to have bodies driven by emotion, by impulse. We come here to have an angry mind, a sad mind, a frightened mind, and to run -- like a horse before the teamster's whip -- toward whatever escape, whatever momentary respite from the pain.
The choice to run is mostly a child's choice. Because the pain is all around, the light is all around, and there is no way to get past any of it. But we keep trying to escape, and it is why our childhood goes on. In life after life -- with the luminous shards of each mistake -- the struggle to see with a child's sight continues. There is nothing wrong, nothing to be fixed. It is just long. Necessary. Forgivable.
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