Everything I have learned about freedom in religious life was distilled into one moment at my final profession of religious vows two years ago. I was lying face down on the floor of the cathedral sanctuary in the act of prostration, spread out in the shape of Christ’s cross, feet together and arms flung wide, waiting obediently for my prioress to summon me back to my feet with a knock of her hand. As I lay there with my forehead pressed into the cold stone, I could feel every muscle in my body growing tense, as if my impending consecration was a physical weight bearing down upon me – as if I would need to push myself back onto my feet with all my strength once this act of prostration was finally brought to an end.
The prioress spoke from her seat. “What do you seek?”
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