Returns to the account of her life and tells how the Lord removed many of her trials by bringing to the city in which she lived the saintly Friar Peter of Alcántara, of the order of the glorious St. Francis. Discusses the great temptations and interior trials she sometimes underwent.
AWARE THEN OF THE LITTLE, or nothing at all, I could do to avoid these impulses, which were so great, I also feared having them; I didn’t understand how suffering and happiness could go together. Bodily suffering and spiritual happiness I already knew were truly possible; but such excessive spiritual pain with such very great joy—this bewildered me.
I still didn’t stop trying to resist, but I could do so little that sometimes it tired me. I protected myself with the cross and wanted to defend myself with the means by which the Lord protected all of us. I saw that no one understood me; I knew this very clearly. But I didn’t dare mention it except to my confessor, for to have done so would have amounted to saying truly and clearly that I wasn’t humble.
2. The Lord was pleased to remove a great part of my trial and then all of it—by bringing to this city the blessed Friar Peter of Alcántara, whom I already mentioned; and I said something about his penance.1 Among other things, it was verified for me that for twenty years he continually wore a hairshirt made of tin plate. He is the author of some small books in the vernacular on prayer that are now popular, for as one who practiced it well himself he wrote in a very helpful way for those who are given to prayer.2 He observed the first rule of the blessed St. Francis in all its rigor besides the other things mentioned to some extent above.
3. Well, that widow, the servant of God and friend of mine whom I mentioned,3 knew that so great a man was here; and she knew also of my need. She was a witness to my afflictions, and she comforted me greatly because her faith was so strong that she couldn’t but believe that what all the others attributed to the devil was from the Spirit of God. Since she is a very intelligent and trustworthy person to whom the Lord has granted much favor in prayer, His Majesty desired to enlighten her in matters about which the learned men were ignorant. My confessors gave me permission to confide some things to her, for there were many reasons for trusting her. Sometimes the Lord shared with her the favors He granted me together with counsel very profitable for her soul.
Once she knew that this saintly man was in the city, without saying anything to me, she obtained permission from my provincial that I stay at her house for eight days so that I might be able to talk with him more easily. Both in her home and in some of the churches I spoke with him frequently during this first time he was here; afterward at various times I conversed with him a great deal. I gave him a summary account of my life and manner of proceeding in prayer as clearly as I knew how. I always tried to speak with complete clarity and truthfulness to those with whom I conversed about my soul. I desired that they know even about any first stirrings, and I accused myself of matter that was doubtful and questionable with arguments against myself. Thus without any duplicity or covering over I discussed my soul with him.
4. Almost from the outset I saw that he understood me through experience, which was all that I needed. For at that time I didn’t understand myself or how to describe my experiences as I do now (for afterward God enabled me to understand and describe the favors that His Majesty granted me), and it was necessary that the one who understood me and explained these experiences to me should himself have experienced them. Friar Peter greatly enlightened me; I couldn’t understand that such an experience was possible, at least as regards the visions that were not imaginative. It seemed to me that I didn’t understand either how those I saw with the eyes of my soul were possible. As I have said,4 only those that were seen with the bodily eyes seemed to me to merit attention, and I didn’t experience these.
5. This holy man enlightened me about everything and explained it to me, and he told me not to be grieved but that I should praise God and be so certain that all was from His Spirit that with the exception of the faith nothing could for me be truer or more believable. He was much consoled along with me and showed me every kind regard and favor, and ever afterward he was very solicitous for me and shared with me his own concerns and business matters. Since he saw that I had desires for what he possessed in deed—for the Lord gave me these in a very definite way—and saw that I had so much courage, he was glad to talk to me. For anyone the Lord brings to this state finds no pleasure or consolation equal to that of meeting someone to whom they think the Lord has begun to grant these desires. I couldn’t then have had many more, in my opinion, and please God I may have them now.
6. He took the greatest pity on me. He told me that one of the worst trials on earth was the one I had suffered (which is contradiction on the part of good men), and that I had still a long way to go; for I was always in need and there was no one in this city who understood me. But he said that he would speak to my confessor and to the one who troubled me the most, for that was this married gentleman whom I’ve already mentioned. As the one who felt the greatest goodwill toward me, this gentleman waged the whole opposition. He is a God-fearing and holy man; but since he had seen that I had so recently been so wretched, he wasn’t able to feel assured. Thus the holy Friar Peter assured them, for he spoke to both of them and gave them motives and reasons for feeling safe and not disturbing me any more. My confessor had need of little assurance; the gentleman needed so much that the reasons were still not entirely enough, but they helped to keep him from frightening me so much.5
7. We agreed that from then on I would write to him about what happened to me and that we would pray a good deal for each other. For such was his humility that he esteemed the prayers of this miserable one—which brought much embarrassment to me. He left me with the greatest consolation and happiness and the ability to feel secure in my prayer and not doubt that it was from God; he told me that if I had some doubt about anything, for the sake of greater security, I should make it known to my confessor, and that in this way I would live safely.
But I wasn’t able to feel this assurance completely, because the Lord led me by the way of fear, in which I believed an experience was from the devil when they told me it was. Thus no one could make me so feel either fear or assurance that I could give my experiences more credence than that which the Lord placed in my soul. Hence even though Friar Peter consoled and calmed me, I didn’t give his words such credence as to be totally without fear, especially when the Lord left me in the trials of soul of which I shall now speak. Nevertheless, I remained, as I say, very consoled. I couldn’t give enough thanks to God and to my glorious father St. Joseph, for it seemed to me that since Friar Peter was the general of the commissariat, it was St. Joseph who brought him here; for the commissariat is under the guardianship of St. Joseph,6 to whom I prayed very much, as I did also to our Lady.
8. It sometimes happened to me—and even now it does, although not so much—that I had such very bitter trials of soul together with severe bodily torments, pains, and sicknesses that I wasn’t able to help myself. At other times I had more serious bodily illnesses; yet, since I didn’t have the sufferings of soul, I suffered them with great gladness. But when they were all joined together the trial was so severe that it afflicted me very much. All the favors the Lord had granted me were forgotten. There only remained the memory so as to cause pain; they were like a dream. For the intellect became so stupefied that it made me walk in the midst of a thousand doubts and suspicions making it seem that I had not understood and that perhaps I had fancied the visions and that it was enough that I was deceived without my in turn deceiving good people. It seemed to me I was so evil that all the wickedness and heresies that had arisen were due to my sins.
9. This was a false humility the devil invented in order to disquiet me and try, if he could, to bring my soul to despair. I have so much experience now of when something is from the devil that since he at present sees that I understand him, he doesn’t torment me in this way as often as he used to. He is recognized clearly by the disturbance and disquiet with which he begins, by the agitation the soul feels as long as his work lasts, by the darkness and affliction he places in the soul, and by dryness and the disinclination toward prayer or toward any good work. It seems that he smothers the soul and binds up the body so that it profits from nothing. Even though the soul knows its own wretchedness and grieves to see what we are, and even though we have exaggerated thoughts about our wickedness, as exaggerated as those mentioned,7 and these are genuinely felt, true humility doesn’t come to the soul with agitation or disturbance, nor does it darken it or bring it dryness. Rather, true humility consoles and acts in a completely opposite way: quietly, gently, and with light. From another point of view, this pain gives the soul comfort in that the soul sees what a great favor the Lord grants it through the experience of that pain and how well employed it is. It grieves for its offenses against God; yet, on the other hand, His mercy lifts its spirits. It has the light to be confounded about itself, and it praises God for having put up with it so long. In that other humility caused by the devil, there is no light for anything good; it seems God lays everything to waste with fire and sword. The devil represents justice to the soul, and although it has faith that there is mercy—because he can’t do so much as to make it lose its faith—it receives no consolation from this faith; rather, when it beholds so much mercy, this knowledge contributes to its torment because it supposes it was obliged to do more.
10. This is one of the most painful, subtle, and beguiling inventions of the devil that I have known. Thus I should like to warn Your Reverence so that if he should tempt you in this way you may have some light and recognize it—if he allows the intellect to recognize it. Don’t think it’s a question of learning or knowing, for although everything fails me at this time, afterward, when I am freed from them, I know clearly that the feelings are foolish. What I’ve understood is that the Lord desires and permits this and gives the devil license to tempt us as He did when the devil tempted job,8 although in my case—since I’m so wretched—not so severely.
11. This experience happened to me, and I remember that it happened on the day before the vigil of Corpus Christi, a feast for which I have much devotion, although not as much as I should. That time it lasted only until the feast day, for at other times the experience lasts for eight or fifteen days, or even three weeks—I don’t know if any lasted longer. It comes especially during Holy Week when prayer is my delight. What happens is that my intellect is suddenly seized by things sometimes so trivial that at other times I would laugh about them. The devil makes the soul upset in every way he wants and shackles it there without its being master of itself or able to think of anything else than the absurdities he represents to it; they have almost no importance, neither do they bind nor do they loose. He only binds the soul so as to oppress it in such a way as to make it feel uneasy. So it happened to me that it seemed the devils were playing ball with my soul and that it was unable to free itself from their power. What it suffers at this time is indescribable. It seeks out relief, but God doesn’t permit it to find any; there only remains the light of reason, which precedes the use of free will, but this light is not clear. I mean that the eyes are almost covered. It’s like the case of those who have often gone by a certain path and, although it is night and dark outside, know where they may stumble because of a previously acquired feel for this way and because they have seen it during the daytime, and they watch out for that danger. So it is with respect to not offending God, for it seems the soul moves by habit. Let us leave aside the fact that the Lord holds it in His hands, which is what matters.
12. Faith is then deadened and put to sleep as are all the other virtues—although not lost. The soul truly believes what the Church holds, but this is pronounced vocally; it seems that on the other hand it is afflicted and made numb so that it seemingly knows God almost as it does something it hears far in the distance. Love becomes so lukewarm that if it hears someone speaking about God it listens as though the truth about Him were something it believes to be what it is because the Church does, but there is no memory of what it has experienced within itself. Going to prayer or remaining in solitude means nothing else but more anguish, for the torment it feels within itself, without knowing why, is unbearable. In my opinion the experience is a kind of copy of hell. This is so, according to what the Lord made known to me in a vision; for the soul burns within itself without knowing who started the fire or where it comes from or how to flee from it or what to put it out with. Should it want to remedy the situation by reading, it would feel as though it didn’t know how to read. Once it happened that I started to read a life of a saint to see if it would absorb me, and to console myself by what he suffered; after reading a number of lines four or five times, I understood less from them than I did at the beginning, and so I stopped. This happened to me often, although I recall this instance more particularly.
13. To carry on a conversation with anyone is worse, for the devil gives a spirit of anger so displeasing that it seems as if I want to eat everyone up, without being able to help it; or it would seem to me an accomplishment if one could control one’s temper; or the Lord does so by keeping in His hands the soul that is in such a condition lest it say or do anything against its neighbors that might hurt them and offend God.
Well, with regard to going to my confessor, it is certain that what I am about to say happened many times. Although the confessors I dealt with and am dealing with at this time are very holy, they spoke harshly and scolded me; afterward when I told them, they themselves were surprised and told me that to refrain from doing so was not in their power. They tried hard not to do it again, for afterward they felt sorry and even scrupulous about having done this. But when I had similar trials of body and soul and they were determined to comfort me with compassion, they were unable to do so. They didn’t say any evil words—I mean that would offend God—but said the most unpleasant allowable in a confessor. They must have meant to mortify me; and although at other times I was glad and ready to suffer such mortification, during the time of this experience everything was a torment to me.
I also got the feeling that I was deceiving them, and I went to them and warned them very earnestly to be careful of me since I could deceive them. I saw clearly that I wouldn’t do it deliberately nor would I lie to them, but everything made me afraid. One of them once told me,9 since he understood the temptation, not to feel grieved, that, even if I wanted to deceive him, he had the intelligence not to let himself be deceived. This gave me great consolation.
14. Sometimes (or almost ordinarily—at least, quite often) after receiving Communion I was at peace. And sometimes in approaching the Sacrament I felt at once so good in soul and body that I was surprised. It seems that in only a moment all the darknesses of the soul disperse; and once the sun is out, the soul recognizes the foolishness in which it was held. At other times, by one word the Lord spoke to me. Only by His saying, “Don’t grow weary, don’t be afraid,” as I’ve already mentioned elsewhere;10 I was left completely cured; or by seeing some vision, as though I had not suffered anything. I delighted in God; I complained to Him for consenting that I should suffer so many torments. But this suffering was well repaid, for almost always the favors afterward came in great abundance. I only think that the soul comes out of the crucible like gold, more refined and purified, so as to see the Lord within itself. So afterward these trials that seemed unbearable become small, and one wants to return to suffering if the Lord will be more served by it. And even though there may be more tribulations and persecutions, if they are undergone without offending the Lord but in being happy to suffer them for Him, everything will be for a greater gain—although I don’t bear them as they should be borne, but quite imperfectly.
15. At other times the experience is of another sort. It happens that all of a sudden, I believe, there is taken away the possibility of my thinking any good thing or wanting to do it, and the body and soul feel completely useless and weighed down. I don’t have those other temptations and worries, but a displeasure, without understanding why; nor does anything give satisfaction to my soul. I tried to perform good exterior works so as to occupy myself half by force—I well know the little a soul amounts to when grace is hidden. It wasn’t very painful, because this sight of my lowliness gave me some satisfaction.
16. At other times I find that I can’t even form in a fitting way a thought about God or of any good, or practice prayer, even though I’m in solitude; but I feel that I know Him. I understand that it is the intellect and imagination that does me harm here, for the will is all right it seems to me and disposed toward every good. But this intellect is so wild that it doesn’t seem to be anything else than a frantic madman no one can tie down;11 nor am I master of it long enough to keep it calm for the space of a Creed. Sometimes I laugh at myself and know my misery, and I look at this madman and leave it alone to see what it does; and—glory to God—it surprisingly enough never turns to evil but to indifferent things: to whether there is anything to do here or there or over yonder. I then know better the tremendous favor the Lord grants me when He holds this madman bound in perfect contemplation. I wonder what would happen if the persons who think I’m so good were to see this delirium. I greatly pity the soul to see it in such bad company. I want to see it free, and so I say to the Lord: “When, my God, will I finally see my soul joined together in Your praise, so that all its faculties may enjoy You? Do not permit, Lord, that it be broken any longer in pieces, for it only seems that each piece goes its own way.”
I often undergo this scattering of the faculties; sometimes I understand clearly that my lack of physical health has much to do with it. I frequently recall the harm original sin did to us; this is the source, I think, of our being incapable of enjoying so much good in an integral way. And my own sins must be a cause; if I hadn’t committed so many, I would be more integrated in good.
17. I also suffered another great trial. Since it seemed that I understood all the books I read that treat of prayer and that the Lord had already given me such favors, I thought I had no need of these books and so did not read them but read only lives of the saints. Since I felt so lacking in the ways they served God, reading about them seemed to benefit and encourage me. I thought it showed very little humility to think that I had attained these favors of prayer, and since I couldn’t bring myself to think otherwise, it grieved me very much until learned men and the blessed Friar Peter of Alcántara told me not to worry about it. I see clearly that I haven’t begun to serve God—although His Majesty grants me favors as He does to many good people and that I am imperfection incarnate, except in desires and in loving; in these latter I see clearly that the Lord has favored me so that I might serve Him in something. It really seems to me that I love Him, but my works and the many imperfections I see in myself sadden me.
18. At other times there comes a foolishness of soul—that’s what I call it—for it seems to me that I do neither good nor evil, but follow the crowd, as they say. I do so neither in pain nor in glory, nor does it give life or death, or please or weigh me down. It doesn’t seem that the soul feels anything. I think it goes about like a little donkey that’s grazing; it is nourished because they give it to eat, and it eats almost without perceiving that it does so. The soul in this state must not remain without nourishing itself on some great favors from God. For in a life so miserable it doesn’t regret living, and it endures life with equanimity; but it feels no movements or effects by which it might understand itself.
19. It seems to me now the soul is as though sailing with a very calm wind, for one travels far without understanding how. In those other kinds of favors the effects are so pronounced that the soul almost immediately sees its improvement; for then the desires are restless and the soul never succeeds in being satisfied. This is the experience of those to whom God gives the great impulses of love I mentioned.12 These impulses are like some little springs I’ve seen flowing; they never cease to move the sand upward. This is a good example of, or comparison to, souls that reach this state: love is always stirring and thinking about what it will do. It cannot contain itself, just as that water doesn’t seem to fit in the earth; but the earth casts it out of itself. So is the soul very habitually, for by reason of the love it has it doesn’t rest in or contain itself. It is already soaked in this water; it would want others to drink, since it has no lack of water, so that they might help it praise God. Oh, how many times do I recall the living water that the Lord told the Samaritan woman about! And so I am very fond of that gospel passage. Thus it is, indeed, that from the time I was a little child, without understanding this good as I do now, I often begged the Lord to give me the water. I always carried with me a painting of this episode of the Lord at the well, with the words, inscribed: Domine, da mihi aquam.13
20. This love also seems like a huge fire that always needs something to burn so as not to go out. Thus in the case of the souls I’m speaking of, even were it to cost them a great deal, they would want to carry wood so that this fire might not be extinguished. I am the kind who is made happy even with pieces of straw I can throw on it; and this I do sometimes—or many times. On occasion I laugh at myself, and at other times I grow weary. An interior stirring incites me to some service—I’m not capable of any more: arranging branches and flowers before holy images, sweeping, or putting a chapel in order, doing such lowly little things that it embarrasses me. If I performed some penance, it all amounted to little and was of such a kind that, were it not for the fact that the Lord accepted my desire, I saw that it had no importance—and I myself made fun of myself. Well, souls to whom God through His goodness gives abundantly this fire of His love suffer no small trial in lacking bodily strength to do something for Him. It is truly a great suffering. Since the soul lacks the strength to throw some wood on this fire and is dying lest the fire go out, I think that within itself it is being consumed and turned to ashes and dissolved in tears and burnt up; this is a terrible torment, although it is a delightful one.
21. Let the soul who has reached this state praise the Lord, because He has given it the bodily strength to do penance, or the learning, talents, and freedom to preach and confess and bring souls to God. For such a soul doesn’t know or understand the blessing it has unless it has experienced a taste of what it is to be unable to do anything in the service of the Lord, and yet always receive a great deal. May He be blessed for everything, and may the angels give Him glory, amen.
22. I don’t know if I’m doing well in writing about so many details. Since Your Reverence again sent me orders not to worry about enlarging this and not to omit anything, I’m dealing clearly and truthfully with what I remember. And I can’t help but leave a lot out, because otherwise I would be wasting much more time—and I have so little as I said14—and perhaps would not put down anything worthwhile.