The Soul as Castle — The Interior Castle

When the Aqueduct Runs Dry

The door of entry into this castle is prayer and meditation. If a person neither considers to whom he is addressing himself, what he asks, nor what he is who ventures to speak to God, although his lips may utter many words, Teresa does not call it prayer. Practice begins before the pleasant water. It begins with showing up as someone who knows there is an address. The courtyard recitation is the counterfeit of the gate.

“If a person neither considers to Whom he is addressing himself, what he asks, nor what he is who ventures to speak to God, although his lips may utter many words, I do not call it prayer.”

Camping With the Sentinels

Surface living, in Teresa's geography, is not laziness. It is the courtyard: sentinels, body, the care that never asks who inhabits the crystal. Beginners bring reptiles in with them. The first rooms are a gain and they are still infested. Rearranging the courtyard, polishing the outer wall, collecting insights that never cost a habit: that is the self-help she is interrupting. You already possess the house. You have been decorating the gatehouse.

“Many souls live in the courtyard of the building where the sentinels stand, neither caring to enter farther, nor to know who dwells in that most delightful place.”