I descend deep into my soul, to see who is being born in her and who goes forth from her.
How dread is the depth of the soul of man, O Heavenly Bride, when a man dares to plunge into it! Through the world and through hell the daring man plunges, even to the milk-white angelic choirs that stand around you like your outer vestment.
I was aghast when I surveyed all the numberless brood of my soul, which took fright at me and darted aside like startled ravens from a carcass.
And my soul lay debauched like a wench from the marketplaces of Babylon, who has forgotten her betrothed.
And in the anger of the powerless, and after the custom of the guilty, my soul began to justify herself, and before any accusation began to justify herself, saying: do I not bear you sons? do I not send you spirits?
But I covered myself with shame and said: truly, in this lies both my ruin and yours—that you bear me sons when I need the Son, and that you send me spirits when I need the Spirit.
You have borne me not sons but servants and robbers. You have sent me not spirits but the filthy inhabitants of hell.
As a maiden you were given into my keeping, to me your kinsman, that you might conceive of the Holy Spirit and bear me the Son. But you, wretched one, conceived not of God but of the world, and bore me not God but the world.
Why did you not await the Spirit of God in virginity, but received the spirits of darkness, who multiplied within you and took my heart captive?
You were raised up to be a temple to God, but you turned yourself into a wayside tavern, where robbers turn in and lie down.
Why did you not bear the Son of Wisdom, who would have given light and voice to you also, but bore me sons of evil, who seized my mind and repaid even you with darkness and unreason?
Behold, whatever fruit you bear, on that same fruit you feed. And all that goes out of you returns to you multiplied.
Oh, if you knew, my soul, if you only knew the beauty of the bridal Maiden, whose image you were meant to be in me! How wondrous and mighty is the Spirit who overshadows her! How surpassingly fair and majestic is the Son who is born in her! I assure you, you would weep tears of blood, my hideous one, for stamping the seal of your hideousness even upon my body.
And you would renounce the filthy spirits, my soul, and drive them into the swine. And you would chase out of the house your brood, which feeds both you and itself on the food of swine.
And you would cense your house with the most fragrant myrrh, and light it with altar candles. And you would adorn it with flowers and stars. And the angels, who stand like the milk-white vestment of your Heavenly Lady, would come freely to visit you and bring glad tidings, at which your womb would tremble. Your womb would tremble like morning dew on the mountain beneath the tender strokes of the sun's rays.
And you would rejoice, my soul, among the fading souls of earth. And you would bear a son, who by his light would drive the unreal shadows out of my mind, and by his fire would burn up the desires of the world in my heart. And he would free my whole life from the dominion of evil spirits, and wrap it wholly in the mantle of the power and glory of the Spirit of God.
I see tears in place of anger in your eyes, and I rejoice, O penitent soul.
I perceive your silence, in which a revolt is being born against your own self.
Repent and be renewed, my soul; repent while you still have time. Clothe yourself in virginity quickly—more quickly, before your filthy temporality becomes filthy eternity.