In a quarter of an hour of sleep this morning, I dreamt of a disembarkation in a Tyrrhenian city on a shore that was not rocky. I don’t know which one it is or whether it is a presage or a reflection of my agony. I woke up sadder than ever, convinced that I, too, was “a twig in Satan’s hands,” as Jesus says. I imitate Him in taking refuge in a heavenly direction. Not “in Heaven,” for Heaven has been closed to me for a month....