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Now that she is gone — meningitis in a Brazilian convent — perhaps it will be easier to put everything into perspective. Perhaps now I can figure out what I never fully understood while she was alive. Was she really conversing with the Christ or was she raving mad? Was she a soul especially blessed by God — with visions only a few are privileged to see — or was she delirious, schizophrenic and self-deluded? Were Saint Teresa and Adalenie kindred souls or was Adalenie transported to insanity by the words of the Spanish mystic? It was in a class on Spanish literature that we first read the works of the sixteenth century nun from Spain. And it was during that class that Adalenie — previously a militant atheist — announced to me and the whole class that she had been converted to Catholicism overnight. What this woman says is the truth. I have decided to join her faith. As she got deeper and deeper into the process, she grew to consider her very involvement in the normal world to be abhorrent. After the class, Adalenie and I went to eat lunch at the college cafeteria. I immediately asked her about her conversion. That is quite remarkable even for you. It was the culmination of years of disquiet and doubt, of questioning the meaning of my life. My eyes have been opened only so recently. One thing I will definitely do is commence a life of abnegation and prayer. I must learn to have contempt for all the vain pleasures of this earth. Saint Teresa teaches that the room where God dwells is surrounded by many mansions. For me to reach the center, I must first travel through the surrounding rooms. As a college undergraduate, it will be very difficult to do so. There are temptations everywhere as you well know. It would be so much easier if I were a cloistered nun. Did you read all the times she calls herself a wicked woman? And yet she found solace in God. Of course, only her Confessor knows the gravity of her trespasses, but I would wager that her sins were not as grave as mine. If Saint Teresa feared perdition because of her petty transgressions, where does that leave me with my multiple mortal sins? You can attend Mass, go to Confession and leave the rest in the hands of God. Your focus on God must be at the core of your being. He must be your sole obsession, your most important friend. Loving other human beings is well and good, but only if you love God through them. Adalenie gradually became more and more religious. At first, she attended Mass once a week as required by the Church, but soon she began to attend services daily. She went to the Thomas More Center early in the morning, before classes started, and initially did not take the Eucharist, for she thought herself to be unworthy. We once had a long conversation, just about the Eucharist, and Adalenie told me she fervently believed it was the immanent body and blood of Christ Himself. She had no truck with those who claimed it was symbolic, as even some Catholics are wont to do. In fact, I now know that Adalenie believed her experience with the Eucharist was her first step toward becoming a mystic. Even at the beginning of her journey, Adalenie was transfixed by what she perceived to be the intrusion of the divine into her daily life through the Holy Host. After taking the Eucharist, she felt awe, magnificence, delight. She felt that God Himself was directly communing with her soul. I enter into His Passion and in a very real sense I am crucified with Him. What greater bounty could Christ have given us than the wondrous ability of harboring Him in our bodies and our souls? The instructor of the class — an Argentine with steel-blue eyes and thick beard named Vecchini — violently protested. We are focusing on twentieth century novels in the next semester, and I will not suppress them to satisfy your scruples. What do you find so offensive in the novels of Vargas Llosa for example? The Green House is about a brothel in Piura. La Chunga is about how three men and a lesbian play cards to determine who will spend the night with a young woman. And I definitely think it matters what you read. In your soul, there are two warring wolves, one signifying virtue, the other vice. Depending on which wolf you feed, your spirit shall either be ennobled or made base. That applies to literature as well. Are the hagiographies of the saints the only works worthy to be read? Not only will you have to drop this course, but you probably have to switch your major from Comparative Literature to something else. And I will have to change my major to religious studies. I have decided to avoid all that would offend the Lord so I cannot continue reading trash. I hate to see you go. By gradually avoiding all occasions of sin — including books — I shall obtain the miracle of self-mastery. I still regret having convinced Adalenie to attend the Despierta Boricua party, for it almost resulted in her ruin. In fact, I think what happened that night led her to the brink of suicide. But how was I to know how easily she could be led astray? She seemed so secure in her faith that I never thought she could lapse back to her prior life merely because she had a few too many drinks and a sniff of cocaine. We had begun the evening in my dorm room, which was adjacent to hers, listening to some records Adalenie had just received in the mail from her older sister, mostly by musicians from la nueva trova, a type of folk protest music which began in Cuba and then spread to Puerto Rico. I was somewhat surprised that she still liked to listen to such music, for it is decidedly political, socialist and anti-Yankee, but I suppose her transformation was never political to begin with and the musicians from la nueva trova never attacked the Catholic Church nor was their work in any way pornographic. The Puerto Rican dish is made from deep-fried green plantains mashed together with pork. We also drank some beer — not enough to be intoxicated — but it was probably not a good idea. Initially Adalenie was reluctant to attend — she had grown to see such parties as occasions for sin — but I told her it was harmless to listen to music and dance, that even the Christ had participated in the wedding at Cana where He had miraculously transformed water into wine for the guests to imbibe. The evening began well enough. We chit-chatted with other Yalies of Latin American descent and drank a few cuba libres. We danced salsa, merengues and cumbias. As the night progressed, Adalenie got tipsier and tipsier, de copa en copa 1 as they say in Spanish. She had abstained from hard liquor for so long that even a small amount could get her drunk. I thought of warning her — was afraid she might do something she might regret — but figured it was a good thing for her to be a little more patient with herself. He was a handsome Cuban American with deep-green eyes and jet-black hair, which he held in a ponytail, known as the most shameless womanizer on campus. And perhaps snort a little Yeyo. And who are you anyway? What right do you have to tell her what to do? I could understand if you relaxed them somewhat to go to bed with a man you love. But to do so for this vile worm I find it impossible to comprehend. I pushed him back forcefully and made him fall on the ground. He got up and punched me hard in the face. I felt a trickle of blood run down my nose. I was about to respond when Adalenie stood between us. You have to trust me. If you insist on taking steps on your road to ruin, who am I to object? Snorting a little blow is at most a venial sin. And then they departed. I finally understood what the Church means when it says one must avoid occasions of sin at all costs. The woman was disheveled and shivering, and her eyes were reddened from so much crying. Hold me! I did it! And when he was done, he ordered me to leave, said he had an early class tomorrow morning. You followed the wolf into his lair. What did you expect him to do other than devour you? And for what? Still, he made me commit unspeakable sins which I am embarrassed even to recount. Drunk and high as I was, it was as if I was in a dream. I was like a barely conscious automaton without thinking or feeling. And I was getting so close, Javier, so close to the Christ, almost in the third mansion of the interior castle. Keep praying. Make a firm decision never to get drunk or snort blow again since you know that was the source of your weakness. As the months passed, Adalenie increasingly put Christ at the center of her life. Not only did she decide to irrevocably change her behavior — at some point she made a vow of chastity before an image of the virginal Madonna — but even her appearance was transformed. At first, it was just cutting her hair short and avoiding the use of lipstick or makeup in order not to incite men to thoughts of concupiscence. Then she started wearing a white habit daily in honor of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, a full-length woolen dress with a large red cloth belt about her waist and a crucifix-shaped brooch at the neck symbolizing purity. Were it not for the fact she wore no veil on her head you could easily confuse her for a nun. She was certainly walking in that direction, even as I was discovering that I felt more than a simple friendship for my Adalenie. It also manifested itself in multiple acts of charity which took so much of her time that I was frankly surprised that she had any time remaining for her classwork. She once told me she was reading such works to nourish the good wolf in her soul — the love of virtue — just like she thought reading certain scandalous texts would only feed the bad wolf of her spirit — the inclination toward vice. For her junior essay — no surprise — she wrote a hundred-page dissertation on The Interior Castle , a work with which she was becoming increasingly obsessed. At all events, Adalenie practiced what she preached when she said she could find the face of Christ in the faces of the outcast and the downtrodden. Every weekend, she spent hours at the communal soup kitchen for the poor located on Elm Street, not too far from the Old Campus, delivering food to homeless people. I remember once when I accompanied her to the soup kitchen, and an ancient woman with bleeding pustules and a lost look on her face appeared. Not only did Adalenie immediately serve her a hot plate of beans and rice, but she also kissed her on the forehead like Saint Francis once kissed the leper. During the week, in the afternoons, she took the Eucharist to the residents of an old age home in downtown New Haven, believing it was just as important — perhaps more important — to nourish the soul as to feed the body. At some point, she acquired a spiritual director, an old Jesuit priest by the last name Colosimo, whom I thought was a good influence on her, as he helped moderate some of her most extremist instincts. When she told him she intended to begin to fast on a daily basis, he advised her it was not necessary to punish the body for the benefit of the soul. When she said she planned to protest against abortion at the New Haven Planned Parenthood clinic, he told her it was important to bear witness to the truth but that one must never forget to pray for the women facing such personal dilemmas. Adalenie reported that Father Colosimo was also guiding her on her way into the interior castle. I must! He said that sinful pride could make her lose her way even after having been admitted into the first mansions of the interior castle. Never believe that you deserve to enter the next mansions due to your own merits for that very expectation will send you back to the moats. God will work them for a soul when He so chooses. She wrote it for all Christians, making it clear that those who were humble in prayer could enter the innermost rooms of the magnificent interior castle. It is because I can think of no other grace which is as wonderful as being at one with God, like the joy of a newly married woman with her beloved for the first time. It seems to me that very few souls ever reach this station. Are you comparing yourself to Saint John of the Cross? What I saw when I walked into her living room shocked me to the core. Adalenie was sitting on a sofa with her eyes wide open, immobile and unresponsive to any stimuli. When I talked to her, she did not acknowledge my presence in any way and kept staring at the wall on the other side of the room with a blank expression. When I shook her by the shoulders in an effort to rouse her, she did not react in any manner. Her arms were stiff. Her hands and body were as cold as if the soul had fled, and it even seemed that she was no longer breathing. Then I threw water at her face in an effort to wake her. She did not move and continued in her mutism and her failure to respond to anything I did. Desperate, I decided to slap her hard across the face, once, twice, three times, but she remained motionless. I found her phone and immediately called for an ambulance. The paramedics arrived within twenty minutes and immediately force-fed Adalenie two pills whose names I do not know, but they did not seem to have any effect. Once we arrived at the emergency room at Yale-New Haven Hospital, the head of the psychiatry department approached me and asked me a number of questions. Adalenie had still not risen from her stupor as two attendants ushered her into a private room in the psychiatric ward. When she prays, sometimes it seems that she is in an ecstasy, but nothing like this has ever happened. Catatonia is a symptom of several different mental illnesses. She quit her Comparative Literature major because many of the authors we studied wrote works that she claimed were offensive to her God. Being religious per se is obviously not an indicator of any mental disorder. To the contrary, psychiatrists have found that seeking solace in prayer is often a powerful palliative for those who suffer from mental illness. The tricky part is separating those who are zealous in their faith from those who have succumbed to religious insanity. Is it insanity to believe one can become a mystic through perseverance? The mystic is asleep to all earthly matters. Many religions hold steadfastly to beliefs which may seem irrational to others and yet they are not insane. The Catholics, myself included, believe that the consecrated bread and wine are literally the body and blood of Christ, but no one can argue that billions of Catholics around the world are somehow mentally deluded. Are you her boyfriend? I consider her one of my dearest friends. At that moment, a psychiatric nurse approached us and told us that Adalenie had regained her faculties. We immediately went into her hospital room and found her sitting up on her bed, beaming as if nothing had happened. I had a supreme consciousness of God. What I understand is that my soul has never been more alive to spiritual things nor so full of light and of knowledge of His Majesty as it is now. The Lord gave me a sense of inebriation as He inhabited me. I look forward to the sixth. I read The Interior Castle years ago while I was still in high school. Catatonic episodes usually happen when the person is already suffering from another serious mental disorder. And most catatonics never express experiences such as those of Adalenie. We might have an authentic mystic in our midst. Contrary to the advice of Father Colosimo, her fasting became more and more severe such that her once buxom body became as thin as that of a waif. And at some point, I discovered that she only slept two to three hours at night, for she spent the rest of the evening praying. Doctor Hren had suggested that she give me a key to her room just in case she ever had another rapture or incident of catatonia. When I entered her room, I found her on her knees, immersed in prayer. She turned around with a radiant face. Sometimes He makes me wait for several hours, at other times He is kinder and lets me sense His presence soon after I begin praying. Only then can I fall asleep. I can hear Him as I pray, but I do not yet see Him. That will be the culmination of my prayer life, when the prayer of union is answered and I become one with God, like a bride with her beloved. I need more crosses. And perhaps Father Colosimo as well. Tell me the truth, Adalenie. Have you had any more catatonic episodes? But the Lord gives me that special grace very seldom. The answer is yes, but my raptures have been very brief, lasting no more than thirty minutes. And yet I know I am getting closer to Him, for I have also levitated. As I pray, sometimes I feel my body rise from the ground and find myself floating in the air hearing the words of my beloved Bridegroom. Fear not. And I assure you I do not lose consciousness when it happens. I am suspended and lifted up by happiness. Saint Francis of Assisi is recorded as having been suspended above the earth, often to the height of a tree. Saint Catherine of Sienna levitated during prayer too. Her levitations were witnessed repeatedly by many people, including one time when she was together in choir with the other nuns at her convent who had to hold her down so she would not fly above them. She speaks of the flight of the spirit in both The Interior Castle and in her Autobiography, and she calls it a gentle and joyful flight. Levitation is a miracle bestowed by God to certain souls, even sometimes to those like me who are completely undeserving. You admit that your conduct is not saintly enough for you to deserve such a gift. I urge you to consider an alternative, though it pains me to say it. I urge you — you know how much I love you — I urge you to get treated before men in white clothes put you in a straitjacket and force you to a sanatorium. Who cares about the travails of the body when the soul — through no merits of its own and despite being so vile — is getting closer and closer to God? How can one be demented when her condition leads her soul to such jubilation? As far as my not being a saint, there is nothing God delights in more than to communicate Himself to a worm. The graces I receive are not the imaginations of a twisted but fertile mind. I hope you can understand this, Javier. The locutions and the miracles come directly from the Godhead. I am sure now that I have entered the seventh mansion of the interior castle the one closest to the Divine in the center of the soul a mansion reserved for God Himself where the spiritual marriage with the Bridegroom can happen more magnificent than the wedding at Cana brighter than the careening sun at Fatima I have had this premonition since this morning that things were coming to a head Father Colosimo and Doctor Hren both subjecting me to an interrogation the poor priest suddenly conflicted for he believed in the levitation of saints long dead but could not bring himself to believe that it could happen to someone that he knew could outlandish miracles happen now in New Haven to a Puerto Rican undergraduate at Yale College? After the class was over, I hurriedly returned to our dormitory on Elm Street to see what was happening. After knocking on her door several times, I opened it with the key that she had given me. I once again found her in a state of catatonia, sitting on a sofa with a blank expression in her eyes and the beginning of a smile upon her lips. Unlike the previous time, however, this time she reacted when I shook her by the shoulders. You missed our class on the Bible as Literature, and I was wondering what was going on. For the first time the Christ appeared to me in person, and we entered a mystical marriage. Oh why, Javier, why did you rouse me? I would have preferred to continue with my rapture for a hundred years. During my ecstasy, the good Lord told me that He would enlighten the old priest. His church is only two bus stations away. We found Father Colosimo in his rectory, where he had been watching a baseball game on television. The small, grizzled priest greeted us with a smile as he extinguished his cigarette on an ashtray. An angel pierced her heart as well. She was so close to God that her heart was literally pierced by His love. Padre Pio also went through the invisible piercing of his heart. And many prelates of the Church thought he was deluded as well or — worse than that — they said he was a dissembler. And I think the logic is the same with respect to the piercing of her heart. We have two possibilities here. Either Adalenie is deluded — the victim of some mental illness — or she actually experienced a miracle. Do you know what that is, Javier? But if I were in your shoes, Adalenie, I would pray that the raptures cease in order for you to think about their message. But in order for you to discern your vocation, it would be useful if the visions stopped. But there is something you must realize. Pray that you can understand his message without being catatonic. God speaks to us every day in the silence of our hearts if we only have the willingness to listen. The mind is capable of receiving direct infusion from God. When we allow our minds to be given to God, He imparts a knowledge and wisdom directly from His own Mind. And there is nothing crazy about that. The Son of God already exists within you. Malignant catatonia in particular can be fatal. If you lapse into one of your ecstasies, they will know what to do. And that way you can also see what life as a religious is like. In other words, maybe He wants me to become a nun. The Mother Superior is a joy. I learned that Adalenie had died of meningitis while tending to the poor in the favelas of Sao Paulo. One Sunday, after the Mass was ended, he approached me and took me by the arm. From the beginning, the Mother Superior thought Adalenie would make an excellent nun, for she was hard-working and exceedingly pious. There was no task that was beneath her, no requirement too onerous for her. In speaking with the Mother Superior, I concluded that her visions returned after the end of her first year at the convent, by which time Adalenie had already made her first vows of poverty, chastity and obedience. The Mother Superior determined that her raptures did not come from madness but from a certain inclination of the spirit, a special blessing from God. But the Lord was kind with Adalenie, and her ecstasies never lasted more than half an hour. As far as levitation, the Mother Superior reports that Adalenie was never again in such a state, at least not in the presence of others. But what we do know is that her experiences brought her closer and closer to her God, that she entered the innermost place in the interior castle. Is it the soul? Is it a place in Heaven? Is it a state of prayer? A pilgrimage of the soul on its way to God. When one enters the final mansion, one finds God in the recesses of his own soul. I left the church and decided to walk back to Yale Law School, thinking about my Adalenie with a grief I could not contain. The truth is that she had been one of the persons I loved most on this wretched planet. Most of his stories revolve around Latin American mythical or historic themes, told with a modern twist. The Ecstasies of Adalenie Santaliz. Sandro F. Long Short Story. Issue 79, January Photo by Jr Korpa on Unsplash. At some point Adalenie approached me, with Hijuelos next to her. Are you saying the Christ appears to you? What are you doing here? He mentioned him by name? Let Adalenie tell me the full story. I immediately objected. Adalenie was only twenty-two. About the Author Sandro F. Our Mission. Author Index. Submission Guidelines. Short Story. Novel Chapter. Creative Nonfiction. Search Submit Clear.
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