Life of St Teresa of Jesus - Teresa of Avila (classic books for 11 year olds TXT) 📗
- Author: Teresa of Avila
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all the rest of my life, though the pain be so very great, that I
can scarcely endure it. Sometimes my pulse ceases, as it were,
to beat at all,—so the sisters say, who sometimes approach me,
and who now understand the matter better,—my bones are racked,
and my hands become so rigid, that I cannot always join them.
Even on the following day I have a pain in my wrists, and over my
whole body, as if my bones were out of joint. [16] Well, I think
sometimes, if it continues as at present, that it will end, in
the good pleasure of our Lord, by putting an end to my life; for
the pain seems to me sharp enough to cause death; only, I do not
deserve it.
17. All my anxiety at these times is that I should die: I do not
think of purgatory, nor of the great sins I have committed, and
by which I have deserved hell. I forget everything in my
eagerness to see God; and this abandonment and loneliness seem
preferable to any company in the world. If anything can be a
consolation in this state, it is to speak to one who has passed
through this trial, seeing that, though the soul may complain of
it, no one seems disposed to believe in it.
18. The soul is tormented also because the pain has increased so
much, that it seeks solitude no longer, as it did before, nor
companionship, unless it be that of those to whom it may make its
complaint. It is now like a person, who, having a rope around
his neck, and being strangled, tries to breathe. This desire of
companionship seems to me to proceed from our weakness; for, as
pain brings with it the risk of death,—which it certainly does;
for I have been occasionally in danger of death, in my great
sickness and infirmities, as I have said before, [17] and I think
I may say that this pain is as great as any,—so the desire not
to be parted, which possesses soul and body, is that which raises
the cry for succour in order to breathe, and by speaking of it,
by complaining, and distracting itself, causes the soul to seek
means of living very much against the will of the spirit, or the
higher part of the soul, which would not wish to be delivered
from this pain.
19. I am not sure that I am correct in what I say, nor do I know
how to express myself, but to the best of my knowledge it comes
to pass in this way. See, my father, what rest I can have in
this life, now that what I once had in prayer and
loneliness—therein our Lord used to comfort me—has become in
general a torment of this kind; while, at the same time, it is so
full of sweetness, that the soul, discerning its inestimable
worth, prefers it to all those consolations which it formerly
had. It seems also to be a safer state, because it is the way of
the cross; and involves, in my opinion, a joy of exceeding worth,
because the state of the body in it is only pain. It is the soul
that suffers and exults alone in that joy and contentment which
suffering supplies.
20. I know not how this can be, but so it is; it comes from the
hand of our Lord, and, as I said before, [18] is not anything
that I have acquired myself, because it is exceedingly
supernatural, and I think I would not barter it for all the
graces of which I shall speak further on: I do not say for all of
them together, but for any one of them separately. And it must
not be forgotten that, as I have just said, these impetuosities
came upon me after I had received those graces from our Lord [19]
which I am speaking of now, and all those described in this book,
and it is in this state our Lord keeps me at this moment. [20]
21. In the beginning I was afraid—it happens to me to be almost
always so when our Lord leads me by a new way, until His Majesty
reassures me as I proceed—and so our Lord bade me not to fear,
but to esteem this grace more than all the others He had given
me; for the soul was purified by this pain—burnished, or refined
as gold in the crucible, so that it might be the better enamelled
with His gifts, and the dross burnt away in this life, which
would have to be burnt away in purgatory.
22. I understood perfectly that this pain was a great grace; but
I was much more certain of it now and my confessor tells me I did
well. And though I was afraid, because I was so wicked, I never
could believe it was anything wrong: on the other hand, the
exceeding greatness of the blessing made me afraid, when I called
to mind how little I had deserved it. Blessed be our Lord, who
is so good! Amen.
23. I have, it seems, wandered from my subject; for I began by
speaking of raptures, and that of which I have been speaking is
even more than a rapture, and the effects of it are what I have
described. Now let us return to raptures, and speak of their
ordinary characteristics. I have to say that, when the rapture
was over, my body seemed frequently to be buoyant, as if all
weight had departed from it; so much so, that now and then I
scarcely knew that my feet touched the ground. But during the
rapture itself the body is very often as if it were dead,
perfectly powerless. It continues in the position it was in when
the rapture came upon it—if sitting, sitting; if the hands were
open, or if they were shut, they will remain open or shut. [21]
For though the senses fail but rarely, it has happened to me
occasionally to lose them wholly—seldom, however, and then only
for a short time. But in general they are in disorder; and
though they have no power whatever to deal with outward things,
there remains the power of hearing and seeing; but it is as if
the things heard and seen were at a great distance, far away.
24. I do not say that the soul sees and hears when the rapture is
at the highest,—I mean by at the highest, when the faculties are
lost, because profoundly united with God,—for then it neither
sees, nor hears, nor perceives, as I believe; but, as I said of
the previous prayer of union, [22] this utter transformation of
the soul in God continues only for an instant; yet while it
continues no faculty of the soul is aware of it, or knows what is
passing there. Nor can it be understood while we are living on
the earth—at least, God will not have us understand it, because
we must be incapable of understanding it. I know it
by experience.
25. You, my father, will ask me: How comes it, then, that a
rapture occasionally lasts so many hours? What has often
happened to me is this,—I spoke of it before, when writing of
the previous state of prayer, [23]—the rapture is not
continuous, the soul is frequently absorbed, or, to speak more
correctly, our Lord absorbs it in Himself; and when He has held
it thus for a moment, the will alone remains in union with Him.
The movements of the two other faculties seem to me to be like
those of the needle of sun-dials, which is never at rest; yet
when the Sun of Justice will have it so, He can hold it still.
26. This I speak of lasts but a moment; yet, as the impulse and
the upraising of the spirit were vehement, and though the other
faculties bestir themselves again, the will continues absorbed,
and causes this operation in the body, as if it were the absolute
mistress; for now that the two other faculties are restless, and
attempt to disturb it, it takes care—for if it is to have
enemies, the fewer the better—that the senses also shall not
trouble it: and thus it comes to pass that the senses are
suspended; for so our Lord wills it. And for the most part the
eyes are closed, though we may not wish to close them; and if
occasionally they remain open, as I said just now, the soul
neither discerns nor considers what it sees.
27. What the body then can do here is still less in order that,
when the faculties come together again, there may not be so much
to do. Let him, therefore, to whom our Lord has granted this
grace, be not discouraged when he finds himself in this
state—the body under constraint for many hours, the
understanding and the memory occasionally astray. The truth is
that, in general, they are inebriated with the praises of God, or
with searching to comprehend or understand that which has passed
over them. And yet even for this they are not thoroughly awake,
but are rather like one who has slept long, and dreamed, and is
hardly yet awake.
28. I dwell so long on this point because I know that there are
persons now, even in this place, [24] to whom our Lord is
granting these graces; and if their directors have had no
experience in the matter, they will think, perhaps, that they
must be as dead persons during the trance—and they will think so
the more if they have no learning. It is piteous to see what
those confessors who do not understand this make people suffer.
I shall speak of it by and by. [25] Perhaps I do not know what I
am saying. You, my father, will understand it, if I am at all
correct; for our Lord has admitted you to the experience of it:
yet, because that experience is not very great, it may be,
perhaps, that you have not considered the matter so much as I
have done.
29. So then, though I do all I can, my body has no strength to
move for some time; the soul took it all away. Very often, too,
he who was before sickly and full of pain remains healthy, and
even stronger; for it is something great that is given to the
soul in rapture; and sometimes, as I have said already, [26] our
Lord will have the body rejoice, because it is obedient in that
which the soul requires of it. When we recover our
consciousness, the faculties may remain, if the rapture has been
deep, for a day or two, and even for three days, so absorbed, or
as if stunned,—so much so, as to be in appearance no
longer themselves.
30. Here comes the pain of returning to this life; here it is the
wings of the soul grew, to enable it to fly so high: the weak
feathers are fallen off. Now the standard of Christ is raised up
aloft, which seems to be nothing else but the going up, or the
carrying up, of the Captain of the fort to the highest tower of
it, there to raise up the standard of God. The soul, as in a
place of safety, looks down on those below; it fears no dangers
now—yea, rather, it courts them, as one assured beforehand of
victory. It sees most clearly how lightly are the things of this
world to be esteemed, and the nothingness thereof. The soul now
seeks not, and possesses not, any other will but that of
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