Saint! Saint!
Saint! Saint!
Please mother,
open the door!
Saint! Saint!
Please mother,
open the door!
The Life of Saint Teresa of Ávila by Herself Chapter 29
ibid., Chapter 29
ibid., Chapter 30
Teresa
“On these lonely hills and dales her quiescent glide was of a piece with the element she moved in. Her flexuous and stealthy figure became an integral part of the scene. At times her whimsical fancy would intensify natural processes around her till they seemed a part of her own story. Rather they became a part of it; for the world is only a psychological phenomenon, and what they seemed they were. The midnight airs and gusts, moaning amongst the tightly-wrapped buds and bark of the winter twigs, were formulae of bitter reproach. A wet day was the expression of irremediable grief at her weakness in the mind of some vague ethical being whom she could not class definitely as the God of her childhood, and could not comprehend as any other. (Tess of the D'Urbervilles, Thomas Hardy)
Tess
By trying to save her, he loses her. By doing 'good'! By trying to save him, by doing 'good,' the world that she loved turned against her. / But the 'good' will always be recognised... somewhere! (Lars von Trier, "Director's Note - This Film is About 'Good'")
—It's actually...
the souls of the trees that we see in the winter.
I think they look like human souls.
—You're right.
They do look like human souls.
—Twisted souls, regular souls, crazy souls. All depending on the kind of lives human beings lead.
I found my tree, my soul tree.
This is my tree.
It's not an ash tree.
No, it's an oak tree.
—My father found his soul tree,
but I've... I've never found mine.
"You will know it when you see it," that's what he said.
(Nymphomaniac, Vol. II, Lars von Trier)
—You're right.
They do look like human souls.
—Twisted souls, regular souls, crazy souls. All depending on the kind of lives human beings lead.
I found my tree, my soul tree.
This is my tree.
It's not an ash tree.
No, it's an oak tree.
—My father found his soul tree,
but I've... I've never found mine.
"You will know it when you see it," that's what he said.
(Nymphomaniac, Vol. II, Lars von Trier)
Like two hot-headed lovers, the aging celibate nun Teresa and the celibate young priest John had a passionate and tumultuous connection. Many years into their relationship, John, a natural renunciate, came to the conclusion that he was overly attached to Teresa and so he systematically burned a treasury of letters documenting their friendship. Teresa both revered John’s penetrating insight and resented his unapologetic critique of her dramatic spiritual episodes. ("Introduction," The Interior Castle, trans. Mirabai Starr)
San Juan de la Cruz
Noche oscura del alma
En una noche oscura,
con ansias en amores inflamada
¡oh dichosa ventura!
salí sin ser notada,
estando ya mi casa sosegada.
A oscuras y segura,
por la secreta escala, disfrazada,
¡oh dichosa ventura!
a oscuras y en celada,
estando ya mi casa sosegada.
En la noche dichosa,
en secreto, que nadie me veía,
ni yo miraba cosa,
sin otra luz y guía
sino la que en el corazón ardía.
Aquesta me guiaba
más cierto que la luz del mediodía
a donde me esperaba
quien yo bien me sabía,
en parte donde nadie parecía.
¡Oh noche, que guiaste!
¡Oh noche amable más que la alborada!
¡Oh noche que juntaste
Amado con amada
amada en el Amado transformada!
En mi pecho florido,
que entero para él solo se guardaba,
allí quedó dormido,
y yo le regalaba,
y el ventalle de cedros aire daba.
El aire de la almena,
cuando yo sus cabellos esparcía,
con su mano serena
en mi cuello hería,
y todos mis sentidos suspendía.
Quedé y olvidéme,
el rostro recliné sobre el Amado;
cesó todo, y dejéme,
dejando mi cuidado
entre las azucenas olvidado.
En una noche oscura,
con ansias en amores inflamada
¡oh dichosa ventura!
salí sin ser notada,
estando ya mi casa sosegada.
A oscuras y segura,
por la secreta escala, disfrazada,
¡oh dichosa ventura!
a oscuras y en celada,
estando ya mi casa sosegada.
En la noche dichosa,
en secreto, que nadie me veía,
ni yo miraba cosa,
sin otra luz y guía
sino la que en el corazón ardía.
Aquesta me guiaba
más cierto que la luz del mediodía
a donde me esperaba
quien yo bien me sabía,
en parte donde nadie parecía.
¡Oh noche, que guiaste!
¡Oh noche amable más que la alborada!
¡Oh noche que juntaste
Amado con amada
amada en el Amado transformada!
En mi pecho florido,
que entero para él solo se guardaba,
allí quedó dormido,
y yo le regalaba,
y el ventalle de cedros aire daba.
El aire de la almena,
cuando yo sus cabellos esparcía,
con su mano serena
en mi cuello hería,
y todos mis sentidos suspendía.
Quedé y olvidéme,
el rostro recliné sobre el Amado;
cesó todo, y dejéme,
dejando mi cuidado
entre las azucenas olvidado.