yesterday a blue sky
Since denial of the finite self and its wants, since asceticism of some sort, is found in religiousexperience to be the only doorway to the larger and more blessed life, this moral mysteryintertwines and combines with the intellectual mystery in all mystical writings.
"Love," continues Behmen, is Nothing, for "when thou art gone forth wholly from the Creatureand from that which is visible, and art become Nothing to all that is Nature and Creature, then thouart in that eternal One, which is God himself, and then thou shalt feel within thee the highest virtueof Love. . . . The treasure of treasures for the soul is where she goeth out of the Somewhat into thatNothing out of which all things may be made. The soul here saith, I HAVE NOTHING, for I amutterly stripped and naked; I CAN DO NOTHING, for I have no manner of power, but am as waterpoured out; I AM NOTHING, for all that I am is no more than an image of Being, and only God isto me I AM; and so, sitting down in my own Nothingness, I give glory to the eternal Being, andWILL NOTHING of myself, that so God may will all in me, being unto me my God and allthings."
 Op. cit., pp. 42, 74, abridged.
In Paul's language, I live, yet not I, but Christ liveth in me. Only when I become as nothing canGod enter in and no difference between his life and mine remain outstanding.
 From a French book I take this mystical expression of happiness in God's indwellingpresence:-"Jesus has come to take up his abode in my heart. It is not so much a habitation, an association,as a sort of fusion. Oh, new and blessed life! life which becomes each day more luminous. . . . Thewall before me, dark a few moments since, is splendid at this hour because the sun shines on it.
Wherever its rays fall they light up with her, he would sanction everything at oncehe answered. a conflagration of glory; the smallest speck of glass sparkles,each grain of sand emits fire; even so there is a royal song of triumph in my heart <410> becausethe Lord is there. My days succeed each other; ; to day a clouded sun; a nightfilled with strange dreams; but as soon as the eyes open, and I regain consciousness and seem tobegin life again, it is always the same figure before me, always the same presence filling myheart. . . . Formerly the day was dulled by the absence of the Lord. I used to wake invaded by allsorts of sad impressions, and I did not find him on my path. To-day he is with me; and the lightcloudiness which covers things is not an obstacle to my communion with him. I feel the pressureof his hand, I feel something else which fills me with a serene joy; shall I dare to speak it out? Yes,for it is the true expression of what I experience. The Holy Spirit is not merely making me a visit;it is no mere dazzling apparition which may from one moment to another spread its wings andleave me in my night, it is a permanent habitation.