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Having won such great favours, the soul is so anxious
to have complete fruition of their Giver that its
life becomes sheer, though delectable, torture. It
has the keenest longings for death, and so it
frequently and tearfully begs God to take it out of
this exile. Everything in this life that it sees
wearies it; when it finds itself alone it experiences
great relief, but immediately this distress returns
till it hardly knows itself when it is without it.
In short, this little butterfly can find no
lasting repose; indeed, her love is so full of
tenderness that any occasion whatever which serves to
increase the strength of this fire causes the soul to
take flight; and thus in this Mansion raptures occur
continually and there is no way of avoiding them,
even in public. Further, although the soul would fain
be free from tears, these persecutions and murmurings
never leave her; for these all kinds of persons are
responsible, especially confessors.
Although on the one hand she seems to be feeling
great interior security, especially when alone with
God, on the other hand she is in great distress, for
she is afraid that the devil may be going to deceive
her so that she shall offend Him for Whom she has
such love. She is not hurt by what people say about
her except when her own confessor blames her, as
though she could prevent these raptures.
She does nothing but beg everyone to pray for her
and beseech His Majesty to lead her by another road,
as she is advised to do, since the road she is on is
very dangerous. But she has gained so much from
following it (for she cannot help seeing, and she
reads and hears and learns from the commandments of
God that it leads to Heaven) that, try as she may,
she feels unable to desire any other; all she wants
to do is to leave herself in His hands.
And even this impotence of will distresses her,
because she thinks she is not obeying her confessor,
for she believes that her only remedy against
deception consists in obeying and not offending Our
Lord. So she feels that she would not intentionally
commit so much as a venial sin, even were she to be
cut in pieces; and thus she is greatly distressed to
find that, without being aware of the fact, she
cannot avoid committing a great many.
God gives these souls the keenest desire not to
displease Him in any respect whatsoever, however
trivial, or to commit so much as an imperfection if
they can avoid doing so. For this reason alone, if
for no other, the soul would like to flee from other
people, and greatly envies those who lived, or have
lived, in deserts. On the other hand it would like to
plunge right into the heart of the world, to see if
by doing this it could help one soul to praise God
more; a woman in this state will be distressed at
being prevented from doing this by the obstacle of
sex and very envious of those who are free to cry
aloud and proclaim abroad Who is this great God of
Hosts.
Oh, poor little butterfly, bound by so many fetters,
which prevent you from flying whithersoever you will!
Have pity on her, my God; and dispose things so that
she may be able to do something towards fulfilling
her desires to Thy honour and glory. Remember not the
slightness of her merits and the baseness of her
nature. Mighty art Thou, Lord, for Thou didst make
the great sea to draw back, and the great Jordan, and
didst allow the Children of Israel to pass over
them.[31] And yet Thou needest not have pity on her,
for, with the aid of Thy strength, she is capable of
enduring many trials. And this she is determined to
do: to suffer them is her desire. Stretch out Thy
mighty arm, O Lord, and let not her life be spent in
things so base. Let Thy greatness appear in this
creature, womanish and base though she is, so that
men may realize that nothing she does comes from
herself and may give Thee praise. Cost what it may,
it is this that she desires, and she would give a
thousand lives, if she had them, so that on her
account one soul might praise Thee a little more. She
would consider them all well spent, for she knows
that in actual fact she deserves not to suffer the
very smallest trial for Thy sake, still less to die
for Thee.
I do not know why I have said this, sisters, nor to
what purpose, for I have not understood it all
myself. It should be realized that such, without any
kind of doubt, are the effects which remain after
these suspensions or ecstasies; the desires they
inspire are not fleeting but permanent; and when any
opportunity occurs of demonstrating the fact, it
becomes evident that the experience was not feigned.
You may ask why I use the word "permanent", since
sometimes and in the most trifling matters the soul
feels cowardly, and is so fearful and devoid of
courage that it seems impossible it can be courageous
enough to do anything whatsoever. But this, I take
it, occurs at a time when the Lord leaves it to its
own nature -- an experience which is extremely good
for it, making it realize that any usefulness it may
have had has been a gift bestowed upon it by His
Majesty. And this it realizes with a clearness which
annihilates any self-interest in it and imbues it
with a greater knowledge of the mercy of God and of
His greatness, which He has been pleased to
demonstrate to it in so small a matter. But more
usually it is as we have already said.
Note one thing, sisters, concerning these great
desires of the soul to see Our Lord: that they will
sometimes oppress you so much that you must not
encourage them but put them from you -- if you can, I
mean; because there are other desires, of which I
shall write later, which cannot possibly be so
treated, as you will see.
These of which I am now speaking it is sometimes
possible to put from you, since the reason is free to
resign itself to the will of God, and you can echo
the words of Saint Martin[32]; in such a case, where
the desires are very oppressive, the thoughts may be
deflected from them. For, as such desires are
apparently found in souls which are very proficient,
the devil might encourage them in us, so as to make
us think ourselves proficient too; and it is always
well to proceed with caution. But I do not myself
believe he could ever fill the soul with the
quietness and peace caused it by this distress; the
feelings he arouses are apt to be passionate ones,
like those which we experience when we are troubled
about things of the world. Anyone without experience
of each kind of distress will not understand that,
and, thinking it a great thing to feel like this,
will stimulate the feeling as much as possible. To do
this, however, may be to injure the health, for the
distress is continuous, or, at the least, occurs with
great frequency.
Note also that distress of this kind is apt to be
caused by weak health, especially in emotional
people, who weep for the slightest thing; again and
again they will think they are weeping for reasons
which have to do with God but this will not be so in
reality. It may even be the case (I mean when they
shed floods of tears -- and for some time they cannot
refrain from doing so whenever they think of God or
hear Him spoken of) that some humour has been
oppressing the heart, and that it is this, rather
than their love of God, which has excited their
tears. It seems as if they will never make an end of
weeping, having come to believe that tears are good,
they make no attempt to control them. In fact, they
would not do otherwise than weep even if they could,
and they make every effort they can to induce tears.
The devil does his best, in such cases, to weaken
them, so that they may be unable either to practise
prayer or to keep their Rule.
I seem to hear you asking whatever you are to do, as
I am telling you there is danger in everything. If I
think deception possible in anything as beneficial as
shedding tears may I not be deceived myself? Yes, of
course I may; but, believe me, I am not talking
without having observed this in certain persons. I
have never been like it myself, however, for I am not
in the least emotional; on the contrary, my hardness
of heart sometimes worries me; though, when the fire
within my soul is strong, however hard my heart may
be, it distils as if in an alembic. You will easily
recognize when tears arise from this source, because
they are comforting and tranquillizing rather than
disturbing, and seldom do any harm. The great thing
about this deception, when such it is, will be that,
although it may harm the body, it cannot (if the soul
is humble, I mean) hurt the soul. If it is not
humble, it will do it no harm to keep its suspicions.
Do not let us suppose that if we weep a great deal we
have done everything that matters; let us also set to
and work hard, and practise the virtues, for these
are what we most need. Let the tears come when God is
pleased to send them: we ourselves should make no
efforts to induce them. They will leave this dry
ground of ours well watered and will be of great help
in producing fruit; but the less notice we take of
them, the more they will do, because they are the
water which comes from Heaven.[33] When we ourselves
draw water, we tire ourselves by digging for it, and
the water we get is not the same; often we dig till
we wear ourselves out without having discovered so
much as a pool of water, still less a wellspring.
For this reason, sisters, I think our best plan is
to place ourselves in the Lord's presence, meditate
upon His mercy and grace and upon our own lowliness,
and leave Him to give us what He wills, whether it be
water or aridity. He knows best what is good for us,
and in this way we shall walk in tranquillity and the
devil will have less opportunity to fool us.
Together with these things, which are at once
distressing and delectable, Our Lord sometimes
bestows upon the soul a jubilation and a strange kind
of prayer, the nature of which it cannot ascertain. I
set this down here, so that, if He grants you this
favour, you may give Him hearty praise and know that
such a thing really happens. I think the position is
that the faculties are in close union, but that Our
Lord leaves both faculties and senses free to enjoy
this happiness, without understanding what it is that
they are enjoying and how they are enjoying it. That
sounds nonsense but it is certainly what happens.
The joy of the soul is so exceedingly great that
it would like, not to rejoice in God in solitude, but
to tell its joy to all, so that they may help it to
praise Our Lord, to which end it directs its whole
activity. Oh, what high festival such a one would
make to this end and how she would show forth her
joy, if she could, so that all should understand it!
For she seems to have found herself, and, like the
father of the Prodigal Son,[34] she would like to
invite everybody and have great festivities because
she sees her soul in a place which she cannot doubt
is a place of safety, at least for a time. And, for
my own part, I believe she is right; for such
interior joy in the depths of the soul's being, such
peace and such happiness that it calls upon all to
praise God cannot possibly have come from the devil.
Impelled as it is by this great joy, the soul cannot
be expected to keep silence and dissemble: it would
find this no light distress. That must have been the
state of mind of Saint Francis, when robbers met him
as he was going about the countryside crying aloud
and he told them that he was the herald of the great
King. Other saints retire to desert places, where
they proclaim the same thing as Saint Francis --
namely, the praises of their God. I knew one of
these, called Fray Peter of Alc�ntara. Judging from
the life he led, I think he is certainly a saint, yet
those who heard him from time to time called him mad.
Oh, what a blessed madness, sisters! If only God
would give it to us all! And how good He has been to
you in placing you where, if the Lord should grant
you this grace and you show others that He has done
so, you will not be spoken against as you would be in
the world (where there are so few to proclaim God's
praise that it is not surprising if they are spoken
against,) but will be encouraged to praise Him the
more.
Oh, unhappy are the times and miserable is the life
which we now live, and happy are those who have had
the good fortune to escape from it! Sometimes it
makes me specially glad when we are together and I
see these sisters of mine so full of inward joy that
each vies with the rest in praising Our Lord for
bringing her to the convent; it is very evident that
those praises come from the inmost depths of the
soul. I should like you to praise Him often, sisters,
for, when one of you begins to do so, she arouses the
rest. How can your tongues be better employed, when
you are together, than in the praises of God, which
we have so many reasons for rendering Him?
May it please His Majesty often to bestow this prayer
upon us since it brings us such security and such
benefit. For, as it is an entirely supernatural
thing, we cannot acquire it. It may last for a whole
day, and the soul will then be like one who has drunk
a great deal, but not like a person so far inebriated
as to be deprived of his senses; nor will it be like
a melancholiac, who, without being entirely out of
his mind, cannot forget a thing that has been
impressed upon his imagination, from which no one
else can free him either.
These are very unskilful comparisons to represent
so precious a thing, but I am not clever enough to
think out any more: the real truth is that this joy
makes the soul so forgetful of itself, and of
everything, that it is conscious of nothing, and able
to speak of nothing, save of that which proceeds from
its joy -- namely, the praises of God. Let us join
with this soul, my daughters all. Why should we want
to be more sensible than she? What can give us
greater pleasure than to do as she does? And may all
the creatures join with us for ever and ever. Amen,
amen, amen.
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