What value have our impulses and our desires, our anguish and our violence, our sufferings and our struggles, all these inner vicissitudes unduly dramatized by our unruly imagination – what value do they have before this great, this sublime and divine love bending over us from the innermost depths of our being, bearing with our weaknesses, rectifying our errors, healing our wounds, bathing our whole being with it’s regenerative streams?
For the inner Godhead never imposes herself, she neither demands nor threatens; she offers and gives herself and forgets herself in the hearts of all beings and things; she never accuses, she never judges nor curses nor condemns, but works unceasingly to perfect without constraint, to mend without reproach, to encourage without impatience, to enrich one with all the wealth he can receive; she is the mother whose love bears fruit and nourishes, guards and protects, counsels and consoles; because she understands everything, she can endure everything, excuse and pardon everything, hope and prepare for everything; bearing everything within herself, she owns nothing that does not belong to all, and because she reigns over all, she is the servant of all; that is why all great and small, who want to be kings with her and gods in her, become, like her, not despots but servitors among their brethren.
How beautiful is this humble role of a servant, the role of all who have been revealers and heralds of the God who is within all, of the Divine Love that animates all things….
-- “Words of Long Ago”, Complete Works of The Mother, Volume 2
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