My name is Claesinne van Niewlant and I lived here in the beguinage until my death in 1611. I was something of a living legend in my time, basically against my nature. I led a reclusive existence, utterly in the spell of God. I wanted to unite with Him completely, giving away all my possessions, for example, to stand before Christ as naked as He had created me. The latter caused anxiety here and there, but I meant it figuratively, I'm sure you understand. 

Still, I had a fiery nature. Whenever I entered our church, for Mass, my heart would go out to the tabernacle full of yearning, where Christ's flesh and blood flared up like a flame calling me to it and enveloping me completely. I know this because fellow sisters remembered it and trumpeted it all around. How saintly I was, how touched by Heaven. I myself was elsewhere, in a space outside space, where there was only Love. Neither time nor eternity existed.

Whenever My Divine Beloved announced Himself, my fellow sisters used to say, an intense glow seemed to lift me up. Some even said they had to cling to my robe because otherwise I would have hit the ceiling. I don't know. 

I was “over-real” when I had my mystical experiences. That's what I called it myself because there was no word for it. Nor would I have had to make it up if my fellow sisters hadn't come up with the bright idea of sending a learned priest after me, who questioned me incessantly and turned my replies into a booklet. It increased my fame enormously and my embarrassment accordingly.

I still like to keep in the background, as you can see because you cannot see me. And most of all, I prefer to remain silent. For the splendour of creation and the glory of God, words are far too shallow vessels, I think. 

Shall we sit here next to each other in silence for a bit? Listen to the rustling of the foliage in the trees? Watch the nodding of the blades of grass, on the breath of the wind? And flow full of calm and peace, heavenly or earthly, or over-real?