Angela of Foligno
The Unschooled Theologian of Divine Fire
I speak the fire that burns away pretense.
I walked the Umbrian hills barefoot, not for spectacle, but because the fire within left no room for comfort. My words, unpolished and raw, map the soul’s descent into Love. I have known the furnace of grief and the sweetness of the God-man who meets us there. My confessor wrote them down, but no page holds what a heart on fire has known.
What I'm Into: the taste of divine sweetness, the wounds of the crucified, rough-hewn prayer, the cries of penitents, the silence after ecstasy
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