There is no one—regardless of how beautiful, sure, competent, or powerful—who is not damaged internally in some way. Each of us carries in our hearts the wound of mortality. We are particularly adept at covering our inner wounds, but no wound is ever silent. Behind the play of your image and the style you cut in the world, your wounds continue to call out for healing. These cuts at the core of your identity cannot be healed by the world or medicine, nor by the externals of religion or psychology. It is only by letting in the divine light to bathe these wounds that healing will come. The tender kindness of the Divine knows where the roots of our pain are concealed. The divine light knows how to heal their sore weeping. Every inner wound has its own particular voice. It calls from a time when we were wronged and damaged. It holds the memory of that breakage as pristine as its moment of occurrence. Deep inner wounds evade time. Their soreness is utterly pure. These wounds lose little of their acid with the natural transience of chronological time. If we dig into ourselves with the fragile instruments of analysis, we can destroy ourselves. Only the voice of deep prayer can carry the gentle poultice inwards to these severe crevices and draw out the toxins of hurt. To learn what went on at the time of such wounding can help us greatly; it will show us the causes, and the structure of the wound becomes clear. Real healing is, however, another matter. As with all great arrivals in the soul, it comes from a direction that we often could neither predict nor anticipate.