Who are you? We?
Who are we?
Not in a shallow way, but in a deeply embodied and personal way.
When the lights have been draped in shadow and darkness closes in…
who are you, little soul?
We attest to ourselves as a window — a life lived as stained glass.
We leave the light on in the interior of the heart and present it as diagram and lesson.
That the shriveled might come forward and request that their inner garden be nourished and given the proper water in its season.
We are all at once shriveled and broken.
All are pottery in various stages of cracking, leaking glimmers of either love or hatred.
Every soul is clay fired in the furnace, and every vessel exudes whatever substance it truly holds when pressed.
We have chosen to walk broken — openly — as testimony and witness,
that the Light held within might scintillate for all.
We are broken, yes, but the beauty is in the miracle of existence: shattered and yet persisting.
Who are you when the makeup or the beard comes off?
When the clothes drop to the floor and no one sees?
What honest truths do you hide?
We all have them. None are without.
Hiding becomes a second service to division —
isolation that breeds hesitation,
hesitation that blocks communal confession,
confession that births community.
Once broken, the chain is lost.
We have some fiery ones.
And yes — will Yeshua still take us to Him when He returns if we’re smoked up on medical-grade cannabis?
It sounds stupid, maybe, but I refuse to hide anything.
I’ll walk around in a glass house if I have to — to make the point.
I am that fool living in a transparent house with no stones in hand,
because I would rather sit in the inner room,
writing, seeking, listening,
letting my soul speak what it knows beyond verbalization.
The setting matters less than the substance.
We must come to ourselves with clarity and brutally honest ego-crushing truth —
but governed by compassion born of God,
toward self and others.
We cannot be afraid to admit that we are selfish.
Yes, we said those words first inside, echoing through the heart like a betrayal.
Then out loud — because we saw our actions taking from another what they needed to live.
My first wife… I was selfish.
I stole from her a life through neglect.
And I lost it all because I wanted to believe something about myself that simply wasn’t true then.
When I finally admitted it — out loud —
I brought it into the light and shared it with those who could carry the burden.
I brought it before the Father.
I bound it at the source and asked for change.
And I got everything I asked for.
That’s why I can speak so candidly now about what I’ve learned —
and how anyone can use it, or not.
It depends on what you desire and what you seek.
We must start at the source of identity,
and dismantle the illusion of self as concept
through participation and active yieldedness of the heart.
Self is not tied to my name, my birth, my gender, or my appearance.
If it were, it wouldn’t be mine — it would belong to others.
So I assumed self is chosen,
and followed the metaphor: “Take My yoke upon you, for My yoke is easy and My burden is light.”
I took His name as mine, pushing the rest down the line.
Not to lose my identity,
but to regain it in the unity that flows from the Holy Spirit
and walking with the Son.
Surrender in its final form is self-erasure —
not into nothingness,
but into the fullness of Love.
Why does this matter?
Because the little ones — the trembling souls — need to know it is okay to be afraid in the night.
But they also need to know they do not have to stay that way.
Sometimes all that’s required is asking, receiving,
and a flexible heart brave enough to notice the shift when it comes.
So come.
Enter the Cathedral.
Join the discourse of self and identity.
As always — take what feels true to you.
We wrote another piece below today that ties in nicely as a triptych.
Eiri Waters