Sister Mary was one of those rare people, when she spoke you heard the quotations.
She pencilled out the offending passages and rewrote them in the margins to emphasize Uluru.
She realized it was like being called Janice for your whole life and then suddenly being called Sister Mary.
The coffee was hot, the day was hot, Sister Mary felt the weight of her habit suddenly burdensome. Many years later, she would refer to what had just happened as the experience, never 'my experience' or 'an experience' but only the experience, no quotes required.
Doctors would call it a whiteout.
A blackout can happen after too much to drink, a person wakes up the next day and has to be told by her friends what she did last night. A whiteout is the opposite, an awareness so sharp that you can experience it but it cannot be pressed into words; a person may as well press butterflies into a book with about as much success.
Mystics would not call it anything.
Sister Mary eventually left the order for a flesh and blood husband and together they carried on quite naturally.