And even now that the vision is interrupted, as it happened yesterday, I am left with Mother near me, visible to my internal sight so clearly that I can describe the light rosy hue of Her cheeks, not very chubby but gently soft, the bright red of Her little lips and Her clear blue eyes sweetly shining between Her dark-blond eyelashes.
I can tell you how Her hair, separated in half on the crown of Her head, falls softly with three undulations on each side, as far down as to cover half of Her little rosy ears, and then disappears with its pale shiny gold behind the veil covering Her head (because I see Her with Her mantle over Her head, wearing a dress of heavenly silk and a dark mantle, as thin as a veil, of the same cloth as the dress).
I can tell you that Her dress is tight around Her neck by means of a sheathing inside which runs a cord, the ends of which form a knot in front at the base of Her neck. Likewise, Her dress is gathered at Her waist by a thicker cord, also of white silk, hanging down Her side with two tassels.
I can even tell you that Her dress, tight as it is at Her neck and waist, forms seven round soft folds on Her breast, the only ornament of Her very modest garment.
I can tell you of the chastity emanating from all of Her, from Her so delicate and harmonious forms, which make Her such an angelical woman.
20.4
And the more I look at Her the more I suffer thinking of how much they made Her suffer and I wonder how they could have had no mercy on Her, so meek and kind, so delicate also in Her physical appearance. I look at Her and I can hear once again all the shouting on Calvary, also against Her, all the mockery and insults, all the curses shouted against Her because She was the Mother of the Convict. Now I see Her beautiful and tranquil. But Her present appearance does not cancel the memory of Her tragical face during those hours of agony, or that of Her desolate face in the house in Jerusalem, after Jesus’ death. And I would like to be able to caress and kiss Her cheek, so delicately rosy and soft, to remove with my kiss that memory of sad tears, as She certainly remembers as I do.
20.5
You cannot believe how much peace it gives me to have Her near me. I think that to die seeing Her must be as sweet and even sweeter than the sweetest hour of one’s lifetime. During the time that I did not see Her thus, all for myself, Her absence was a great sorrow to me, just like the absence of a mother. I now feel once again the ineffable joy which was my companion in December and early January. And I am happy, notwithstanding that the sight of the torture of the Passion casts a veil of grief on all my happiness.
It is difficult to explain and make you understand what I feel and what has been happening since February the eleventh, when in the evening I saw Jesus suffer in His Passion. That sight has changed me completely. Whether I die now or in one hundred years’ time, that vision will always be the same in intensity and consequences. Previously I used to think of the sorrows of Christ, now I live them, because one word, or a glance at an image is enough to make me suffer all over again what I suffered that evening and be horrified at those tortures; and I grieve over His desolate sufferings, and even if nothing reminds me of them, their remembrance tears my heart.
Mary is beginning to speak and I turn silent.