You are not a deva trapped in a body; your body is made of devas dancing before the sun.
At the center of every atom is the ecstatic cry, "I Am the bread of life, I Am the song of flesh!"
From the abysmal core of the oldest star-cast proton rings a canticle of light, the very pulsation of the dark.
Overflowing with reverberations of emptiness, each tremor of silence an angel, you are an instrument of hollows and humming strings.
Humanity is music; if you insist, "I am not this body," I will insist that you dance and sing!
Painting: Angels Dancing Before the Sun, Giovanni Paolo, 1482