Writing to Mother Teresa

Dear Mother,

This is my first letter to you. I hope that it is not too late. I know you will be able to read it, somewhere. To begin with, I am not a Christian. I can be religious and I pray to be spiritual. But in you I see God, Christ, the divine, love, compassion, the Buddha and the entire mankind. I don't see or even feel that a seperation exists among religions. When you speak of Christ, I find love emanating and when you speak of God, I sense the vibrations of the universe.

You touched my soul immensely and I find words too inadequate to tell you how I feel. But I will try. I ask that you could patiently listen to my impoverished speech.

I am a lost little child and am running in circles constantly. At times I see a light flickering out of no where and I run towards it only to find that it is an illusion. Even if I didn't imagine it, when I held it in my hands, I can't handle the heat. Very soon I pour water over it. I find excuses and the most ridiculous ones, mind you. Justifications are used to protect pains from usurping.

Maybe this is a confession, of course minus the priest and the small compartment. Maybe this is just another ego trip.

Mother, you forget about yourself completely and surrendered yourself to the divine. I am still stuck at the lowest level of materialism. If I can stop typing and seeking "I" choicelessly, perhaps I can hold your hands.

But you are a great mother. You will hold my hands irrespective of how pretentious and cruel I am. And this is what makes me weep. Because no matter what I have done, you forgave me.

I only pray that I can forgive myself.

Mother, can you...no, this is not how I want to put it.

Mother, love...love is great. Not the love for one person. But love for life. Respect and care for the elders, sick and less fortunate because then you are respecting and loving life itself. Then, love is for everyone.

Mother, the REAL thing can only be understood in silence. But I talk too much. A whole lot of rubbish most of the time. Because I think I am scared. Scared to be alone. Scared to face myself and God. So, there is a need to talk and chatter, chatter, chatter.

Mother, you know...

With what no words can spell out,
Wendy