Teresa of Avila (1515–1582)
In my prayer, I made every effort to keep Jesus Christ, our Lord and our Good, within myself. When I contemplated some event from his life, I exerted a lot of effort to imagine it in my soul. However, I preferred to read good books, in which I found great relief.
The Lord did not allow me to ponder with my mind, nor could I even use my imagination; it is so weak that I have never managed to envision our Lord in human form, although I did everything possible.
Those who cannot contemplate with their minds reach contemplation more quickly than others if they persevere. Their path, however, is very steep and painful; their will seems to remain still, and because they lack an object of love to engage with, their soul is as if left to itself, incapable of contemplating: solitude crushes, dryness, and intrusive thoughts do not give it a moment's peace.
(...) It is essential for such a person to dedicate themselves to reading. (...) A book helps them concentrate; they cannot do without it, even if they read little. Indeed, sometimes they must be content that their entire prayer will actually be just reading.
If they took away my book, I think I would not be able to endure amidst so much suffering and dryness. And so, it lasted eighteen years during which I did not dare to contemplate without a book except after Holy Communion. To begin prayer without a book was for me as if I were to enter into battle against a formidable army, while the book provided me comfort: it was my guide and shield, with which I deflected the attacks of many thoughts, so that without the book I was overwhelmed by a dryness I was not used to, and confusion seized my soul, while with the book I gathered my thoughts and easily plunged into prayer. Often, just opening the book was enough for me, sometimes I read only a little and other times a lot, depending on the grace the Lord was giving me.
(Life 4,7–9)
