I told you about the rather unwelcome visit and prophecy I received last night. And you saw that my face was “terrified” - you said so when you came in. I did not know what my face looked like. But I certainly am affected. And it does not pass with the hours.
It is not the first time, you know, that Satan has bothered me, tempting me in one way or another. And now that he is no longer tempting the flesh, he is tempting the spirit. He has been annoying me by snatches for a year now. The first time was when he tempted me in the days of April 1944 - tremendous for me - when he promised me help if I worshipped him. The second time was when he assaulted me with that sharp, violent, prolonged temptation of July 4, 1944, tempting me to ape the Master’s language to exterminate those who had offended me. The third was when he suggested that I make the dictated words my own work and publish it to receive praise and money. The fourth was when, in February of this year (I think it was already February), he appeared to me (the first time I saw him, for on the other occasions I only heard him), terrifying me with his appearance and hatred. The fifth was last night.
These are the major manifestations of Satan. But, in addition, I blame him for all the other smaller matters which come from others, who seek to lead me into pride, self-complacency, or falsehood in appearances, or even convince me that I am just a sick woman and everything is the result of psychological disturbances. I also attribute the obstacles with relatives and the authorities and even with truck drivers20 to Satan. He does what he can, as best he can, just to annoy me and lead me into restlessness and rebelliousness, the conviction that prayer is useless and everything is a lie.
But I confess to you that last night he disturbed me a lot. It is not the first time that he has caused me fear over being deceived and having to account to God and men, too, for this one day. You know this is my terror - always assuaged by Jesus and by you, Father, and always rearing up again. But they were “my” thoughts, instigated by Satan, but conceived of by me. Last night was an explicit, direct threat.
He said to me, “Go on! Go on! I’m waiting for you until the right moment comes. The final moment. And then I’ll convince you that you have always lied to God, men, and yourself and that you are a deceiver to such a point that you will fall into real terror, in despair over being damned. And you will say so with such words that the person assisting you will think that yours is a final retraction so as to be able to go to God with less sin. You and the person with you will be left with this conviction. And you will die like that... and the others will be left shaken.... Yes, I’m waiting for you.... And you - wait for me. I never promise without delivering. You are now bothering me measurelessly. But then I’ll be the one to bother you. I will take revenge for everything you’re doing to me.... I will take revenge as only I know how to.” And he went off. Leaving me in such bad shape.
The sweet Mother then came, gentle and loving in her white robe, to smile at me and caress me. My Jesus smiled at me with his gladdest smile. But as soon as they left me, I fell back into my chaos.... And it continues to last. When this thought comes on so forcefully, I feel tempted to say, “I won’t write another word, in spite of all pressures.” But then I think and say, “This is what Satan wants,” and I don’t pay attention to this suggestion.
It is the time of the Passion, isn’t it? Among those who, because of the idolatry instilled in even good men, adore the spokesman, the idol, forgetting that he is nothing but an instrument and the adorable one is God and among those who mock me there will be the same expectation, though with different ends, of marvelous occurrences in me, and especially in this time of the Passion. Perhaps you yourself expect them as something natural in my case. You so expect in a just manner; the others, out of mockery or idolatry. And I assure you that I prefer mockery of Maria Valtorta to idolatry of me. The latter causes me indescribable annoyance. It seems they are stripping me in the middle of a square and plundering me of my precious secret - who knows? The fact is, I suffer. Mockery hurts less if directed at Maria Valtorta. It suffices for it not to harm the “dictations” and cause them to be taken for a trick and nonsense....
But above the more or less holy and honest desire of many there is the will - or, rather, the goodness - of God, who hears his poor Maria, who has always prayed and continues to pray, saying, “Here is your ‘victim.’ Whatever You want, but not external signs.” I would not have wanted this manifestation of God in me, either. I.... But He wanted me to be his phonograph... and I’ve got to be patient. But something else - no, no, and no again. All illnesses which are diagnosable or nondiagnosable, since they lack known characteristics. All the sufferings of undergoing in myself what He suffered. All the agony of remaining bent over his agony. But may it be known to Him alone, to you, that are my father, and to me. And that’s all.
If, however, in this time of Passion, I disappoint those idolizing and mocking because I am not “the victim of the Passion” in a material way, I assure you that I am undergoing my passion. And more than the increased physical suffering of my body, which feels worn out and broken by the blows and fatigue of Golgotha; of my head, aching from the cruel ring; of the straining and cramps; of the gasping and congestion of this torture; of thirst and fever; of the faintness and excitation of the agony, what is a “passion” for me is always what I call “my Gethsemane” - that is, the thickening darkness filled with phantoms and fears... fear and terror over the future and God... and the proximity of Hatred while Love is absent. This, this really does lead to thirst, fever, tears of blood, moans, and fainting. I assure you that, in its power, it is equal to the hour I went through last year when God left me alone.21 And, indeed, I can say, “It is more forceful,” because it torments me even though God is with me.
I hope I have explained clearly. But certain tortures are very hard to explain. And they are even less understood. Whether by one who is a spiritual father, one who is an idolater, or one who is inquisitive or an observer or a mocker of the... phenomenon. The latter three would need, though, to experience for an hour what we are undergoing.... And the idolaters, too, who may feel envy, ought to try it. But of course not! It’s better for them not to try. The idolaters would run away, who knows where to, out of fear of another hour of that kind, and the inquisitive, the observers, and the mockers would come to curse God.... So... let’s put our shoulders to the yoke and take the poison... and go forward.
Lord, not my will, but your will. Here is your servant and your victim. Let what You will be done to me. But, by your goodness, just give me the strength to be able to suffer. And don’t leave me alone. Mane nobiscum quoniam advesperascit, et inclinata est jam dies....22
I am in a vast storm. Precisely one of those March storms with the alternating brightness of the sun and darkness of storm clouds. I get the feeling I am a little ship on raging waves, sometimes cresting on the waves in full sunlight, sometimes far, far down amidst two mountains of water which seem to be trying to submerge me in an abysmal darkness. I seem, by turns, to be going from a stormy sea to the calmest of ports and to be plunged, also by turns, into gall and then into honey. What suffering last night!
There are times when I am in heaven because of the brief, sweet words and blessed smiles provided by Jesus and Mary and the strength I receive from them. I then say, “Oh, I am quite sure I am not deceived and sinful” (as regards the dictations and visions, you understand). I later sink back into the dark vortex in which there is the fearful din of last night’s threatening words. And after Paradise I taste hell. The goodness of Jesus and Mary then comes to my aid again, and my poor soul is lifted up into the sun, towards the sky, in a blessedness filling me with sweetness. And back down all over again, into bitterness, darkness, and terror. I am afraid.... Help me to overcome this battle.
Today a woman who knew me as a child and was a motherly friend for many years, whom I later had to leave because of a decision beyond my control and was finally able to see again, spoke to me about Marina... and my dictations, some selections from which she has read. And, acting as if I knew nothing, I asked about the difference she had observed between the two, one of whom is well-known, while the other is relatively unknown, for she is believed to be a Servite or an infirm woman, and so on and so forth. She said that in her view Marina’s writings are recorded in a trance, whereas the others are “sublime. They cause me fear because, instead of making one feel God’s mercy, they make you feel his justice. But she has words with a special light, a spiritual elevation which rouses you. There is a prayer by Our Lady which is wonderful.” And she concluded, “Have them brought to you to read. I haven’t been able to get them any longer. But, to tell the truth, I would like to.”
I cannot say whether or not she believes I am not that person and am not familiar with them. But it was a drop of honey. Because she is a religious, cultivated woman whom I have always found to be quite well balanced. Her judgment and her wish have thus confirmed for me the fact that souls feel God in the dictations.
God! God...! To have a single goal: to serve Him and bring Him to be loved. And to be afraid of displeasing Him. This is my pain. But it is the time of the Passion.... Oh, help me, for under the apparent calm I am one big aching wound!
20 A reference to a series of events during the war which were resolved in February 1945. See The Notebooks. 1944, note 312.
21 See The Notebooks. 1944, beginning with the entry for April 9.
22 Luke 24:29. At this point we pass over five handwritten pages containing the episode of a miraculous healing found in The First Year of the Public Life.