Himself in so real a way, but wishes to have the body also, though it be mortal and of earth so foul.”  “Ofttimes the soul is absorbed—­or, to speak more correctly, the Lord absorbs it in Himself; and when He has held it thus for a moment, the will alone remains in union with Him”—­not the intelligence alone.  We see, therefore, that it is not so much vision as a union of the will, and meanwhile, “the understanding and memory are distraught ... like one who has slept long and dreamed and is hardly yet awake.”  It is “a soft flight, a delicious flight, a noiseless flight.”  And in this delicious flight the consciousness of self is preserved, the awareness of distinction from God with whom one is united.  And one is raised to this rapture, according to the Spanish mystic, by the contemplation of the Humanity of Christ—­that is to say, of something concrete and human; it is the vision of the living God, not of the idea of God.  And in the 28th chapter she tells us that “though there were nothing else to delight the sight in heaven but the great beauty of the glorified bodies, that would be an excessive bliss, particularly the vision of the Humanity of Jesus Christ our Lord....”  “This vision,” she continues, “though imaginary, I did never see with my bodily eyes, nor, indeed, any other, but only with the eyes of the soul.”  And thus it is that in heaven the soul does not see God only, but everything in God, or rather it sees that everything is God, for God embraces all things.  And this idea is further emphasized by Jacob Boehme.  The saint tells us in the Moradas Setimas (vii. 2) that “this secret union takes place in the innermost centre of the soul, where God Himself must dwell.”  And she goes on to say that “the soul, I mean the spirit of the soul, is made one with God ...”; and this union may be likened to “two wax candles, the tips of which touch each other so closely that there is but one light; or again, the wick, the wax, and the light become one, but the one candle can again be separated from the other, and the two candles remain distinct; or the wick may be withdrawn from the wax.”  But there is another more intimate union, and this is “like rain falling from heaven into a river or stream, becoming one and the same liquid, so that the river and the rain-water cannot be divided; or it resembles a streamlet flowing into the sea, which cannot afterwards be disunited from it; or it may be likened to a room into which a bright light enters through two windows—­though divided when it enters, the light becomes one and the same.”  And what difference is there between this and the internal and mystical silence of Miguel de Molinos, the third and most perfect degree of which is the silence of thought? (Guia Espiritual, book i., chap. xvii., Sec. 128).  Do we not here very closely approach the view that “nothingness is the way to attain to that high state of a mind reformed”? (book iii., chap. xx., Sec. 196).  And what marvel is it that Amiel in his Journal