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🌑 The Silence That Sings

There are souls whose devotion cannot be contained by creed, whose love burns too brightly for the walls built to protect it.
Marguerite Porete was one of these — a woman of France who spoke of God not as a distant authority, but as a consuming intimacy.

Her mirror was not polished for the Church’s reflection. It was a chalice for the nameless radiance that remains when all else falls away.
And for that, she was burned.

🔥 Yet the fire that silenced her body could not quiet her Love.
It is the same flame that hums beneath every mystic’s surrender, every seeker who has ever whispered, “Let me be undone, that I may become whole.”

🪞 The Woman and the Mirror

She was a beguine — neither nun nor wife — walking the narrow road between obedience and freedom.
Her book, The Mirror of Simple Souls, appeared in a time when women’s words were not meant to teach men about God. Yet Marguerite did not write to teach. She wrote because Love compelled her.

In that mirror, she described the soul’s journey toward divine annihilation — a union so total that even virtue itself is transcended.
The soul, she said, must pass through the gates of labor, love, and loss, until it no longer claims anything as its own.

✨ No merit, no will, not even the desire to be holy.

It was too much for the Church.
Her words, like the fire she would one day meet, stripped away the comforting clothes of hierarchy.
To claim that Love alone was sovereign was to dismantle the scaffold of control.

Marguerite refused to retract her words. She refused to plead.
She simply stood as flame in flesh — silent, surrendered, unbroken — while men debated the fate of her soul.

🔥 The Theology of Surrender

Porete’s theology is a paradox: to love is to vanish, and in vanishing, to finally live.
She speaks of the seven stages of the soul — from the servant who obeys out of fear, to the lover who obeys out of devotion, to the soul so united with Love that she no longer obeys at all.

🌹 Not out of rebellion, but because there is no longer separation.
Love and the soul have become one breath.

It is the sacred annihilation — the burning away of the “I” that clings, calculates, and controls.
For her, holiness was not about worthiness, but willingness.
To surrender even the need to be good — that is the final sacrifice.

She lived what she wrote: refusing to defend herself before the inquisitors, allowing her silence to preach the gospel of interior freedom.
🕯️ Her stillness was her rebellion.
Her fire, her absolution.

💫 The Mirror in My Hands

When I read her words, I feel the echo of my own journey through the fires of transformation — the slow burning away of the self who once thought survival was the same as devotion.

Pluto conjunct my North Node in Libra has taught me this same annihilation: to walk the path of relationship not as transaction, but as truth.
⚖️ To balance requires the death of pretense.
To love demands the end of control.

Like Marguerite, I have known what it is to lose identity through love, to surrender the forms of safety that no longer serve the soul’s expansion.
Her mirror shows me what my own path has always been:
🌕 The undoing that reveals devotion.
🌑 The quiet that becomes revolution.
🔥 The fire that purifies until only essence remains.

🌬️ The Fire Still Speaks

They say her ashes were scattered along the Seine, but I imagine the river carried her words farther than her judges ever dreamed.
Her mirror lives on — not as defiance, but as invitation.

To look within and see no separation.
To let Love undo what ego defends.
To trust that even in our undoing, something holy is reborn.

And so I whisper, as she once did:

“This soul is free through the freedom of Love.”

💖 The fire did not destroy her.
It revealed her.

🔔 Invitation

Beloved seeker, may Marguerite’s flame remind you that surrender is not defeat — it is the holy art of remembrance.
When the small self dissolves, what remains is the radiant pulse of God through your being.

Sit with her mirror. Let it show you the places still clinging to virtue, to performance, to control — and there, lay them down gently in the fire.
Love is waiting in the ashes.

With devotion and wonder,
The Inspired Imaginative | The Devoted Mystic

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