Maria Valtorta - Notebooks – May 25, 1944 Vision of Paradise And now I try to describe. I saw Paradise again (January 10 and March 6). And I understood what its Beauty, its Nature, its Light, its Song are made of. Everything, in short. Even its Works, which are those that, from so high, inform, regulate, provide for the entire created universe. As already the other time, at the beginning of this year, I believe, I saw the Holy Trinity. But let's go in order. Even the eyes of the spirit, although much more capable of sustaining the Light than the poor eyes of the body that cannot gaze at the sun, a star similar to the flame of a smoking wick compared to the Light that is God, need to gradually accustom themselves to the contemplation of this high Beauty. God is so good that, even though he wants to reveal himself in his splendors, he does not forget that we are poor spirits still prisoners in a flesh, and therefore weakened by this prison. Oh! how beautiful, bright, dancing, the spirits that God creates at every moment to be souls for new creatures! I have seen them and I know. But we... until we return to Him we cannot sustain the Splendor all at once. And He in His goodness brings us closer to it gradually. First of all, then, last night I saw something like an immense rose. I say "rose" to give the concept of these circles of festive light that increasingly centered around a point of unbearable brilliance. A rose without borders! Its light was that which it received from the Holy Spirit. The most splendid light of eternal Love. Topaz and liquid gold turned into flame... oh! I don't know how to explain! He was shining, high, high and alone, fixed in the immaculate and most splendid sapphire of the Empyrean, and from Him the Light descended in inexhaustible streams. The Light that penetrated the rose of the blessed and the angelic choirs and made it luminous with its light which is nothing but the product of the light of Love that penetrates it. But I did not distinguish saints or angels. I only saw the immeasurable festoons of the circles of the heavenly flower. I was already completely blessed and would have blessed God for his goodness, when, instead of crystallizing like this, the vision opened up to wider flashes, as if it had come ever closer to me, allowing me to observe it with the spiritual eye now accustomed to the first flash and capable of sustaining a stronger one. And I saw God the Father: Splendour in the splendor of Paradise. Lines of most splendid, most candid, incandescent light. Think: if I could distinguish him in that sea of ​​light, what must his Light have been that, even surrounded by so much else, cancelled it out, making it like a shadow of reflection compared to his shining? Spirit... Oh! how one can see that he is spirit! He is Everything. Everything is so perfect. It is nothing because even the touch of any other spirit of Paradise could not touch God, the most perfect Spirit, even with his immateriality: Light, Light, nothing but Light. In front of the Father God was God the Son. In the garment of his glorified Body on which shone the royal robe that covered his Holy Limbs without hiding his super-indescribable beauty. Majesty and Goodness merged with his Beauty. The carbuncles of his five Wounds shot five swords of light across all of Paradise and increased the splendor of this and of his glorified Person. He had no halo or crown of any kind. But his whole Body emanated light, that special light of spiritualized bodies that in Him and in the Mother is very intense and is released from the Flesh that is flesh, but is not opaque like ours. Flesh that is light. This light condenses even more around his Head. Not in a halo, I repeat, but from his whole Head. The smile was light and the gaze was light, light was piercing from her beautiful, unwounded Forehead. But it seemed that, where the thorns had once drawn blood and given pain, now a more vivid brightness was exuding. Jesus was standing with his royal standard in his hand as in the vision I had in January, I believe. A little lower than Him, but very little, as much as an ordinary step of a ladder can be, was the Blessed Virgin. Beautiful as she is in Heaven, that is, with her perfect human beauty glorified as celestial beauty. She was standing between the Father and the Son who were a few meters apart. (Just to apply sensible comparisons). She was in the middle and, with her hands crossed on her chest - her sweet, very white, small, beautiful hands - and her face slightly raised - her sweet, perfect, loving, most sweet face was looking, adoring, at the Father and the Son. Full of veneration she was looking at the Father. She did not say a word. But her whole gaze was a voice of adoration and prayer and song. She was not kneeling. But her gaze made her more prostrate than in the deepest genuflection, so adoring was she. She said: “Sanctus!”, she said: “I adore You!” only with her gaze....