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Have you never noted, Theotimus, with what ardour
little children sometimes cleave to their mother's
breast when hungry?
You will see them, with a deep soft murmur, hold
and squeeze it with their mouths, sucking so eagerly
that they even put their mother to pain; but after
the freshness of the milk has in some sort allayed
the urgent heat of their little frame, and the
agreeable vapours which it sends to the brain begin
to lull them to sleep, Theotimus, you will see them
softly shut their little eyes, and little by little
give way to sleep; yet without letting go the breast,
upon which they make no action saving a slow and
almost insensible movement of the lips, whereby they
continually draw the milk which they swallow
imperceptibly. This they do without thinking of it,
yet not without Pleasure; for if one draw the teat
from them before they fall sound asleep, they awake
and weep bitterly, testifying by the sorrow which
they show in the privation that their content was
great in the possession.
Now it fares in like manner with the soul who is
in rest and quiet before God: for she sucks in a
manner insensibly the delights of his presence,
without any discourse, operation or motion of any of
her faculties, save only the highest part of the
will, which she moves softly and almost
imperceptibly, as the mouth by which enter the
delight and insensible satiety she finds in the
fruition of the divine presence.
But if one trouble this poor little babe, or offer
to take from it its treasure because it seems to
sleep, it will plainly show then that though it sleep
to all other things yet not to that; for it perceives
the trouble of this separation and grieves over it,
showing thereby the pleasure which it took, though
without thinking of it, in the good which it
possessed. The Blessed Mother (S.) Teresa having
written that she found this a fit similitude, I have
thought good to make use of it.
And tell me, Theotimus, why should the soul,
recollected in its God be disquieted? Has she not
reason to be at peace and to remain in repose? For
indeed what should she seek? She has found him whom
she sought, what remains now for her but to say: I
found him whom my soul loveth: I held him and I will
not let him go.(1)
She has no need to trouble herself with the
discourse of the understanding, for she sees her
spouse present with so sweet a view that reasonings
would be to her unprofitable and superfluous. And
even if she do not see him by the understanding she
cares not, being content to feel his presence by the
delight and satisfaction which the will receives from
it.
Ah! the mother of God, our Blessed Lady and
Mistress, while she did not see her divine child but
felt him within her, - Ah! my God! what content had
she therein! And did not S. Elizabeth admirably enjoy
the fruits of our Saviour's divine presence without
seeing him, upon the day of the most holy Visitation?
Nor does the soul in this repose stand in need of
the memory, for she has her lover present. Nor has
she need of the imagination, for why should we
represent in an exterior or interior image him whose
presence we are possessed of?
So that, to conclude, it is the will alone that
softly, and as it were tenderly sucking, draws the
milk of this sweet presence; all the rest of the soul
quietly reposing with her by the sweetness of the
pleasure which she takes.
Honied wine is used not only to withdraw and recall
bees to their hives, but also to pacify them. For
when they stir up sedition and mutiny amongst
themselves with mutual slaughter and destruction,
their keeper has no better remedy than to throw
honied wine amidst this enraged little people;
because, when they perceive this sweet and agreeable
odour, they are pacified, and giving themselves up to
the fruition of this sweetness, they remain quieted
and tranquil.
O Eternal God! When by thy sweet presence thou
dost cast odoriferous perfumes into our hearts,
perfumes more pleasing than delicious wine and honey,
all the powers of our soul enter into so delightful a
repose and so absolute a rest, that there is no
movement save of the will, which, as the spiritual
sense of smell, remains delightfully engaged in
enjoying, without adverting to it, the incomparable
good of having its God present.
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