They oiled the machinery
perhaps. At any rate, she soon felt better.
'I felt so enormous and unsettled,' she informed Mother later, when
the redness of her eyes was noticed and she received breathlessly a
great comforting hug. I never get anything right.'
'But you _are_ right, darling,' Mother soothed her, little guessing
that she told the perfect truth. 'You are all right, only you don't
know it. Everybody's wumbled somewhere.' And she advised her--ah,
Mother was profoundly wise instinctively--not to think so much, but
just go ahead as usual and do her work.
For Mother herself felt a little queer that day, as though something
very big and splendid lay hiding just beyond her reach. It surged up,
vanished, then surged up again, and it came closest when she was not
thinking of it. The least effort of the mind to capture it merely
plunged her into an empty gulf where she could not touch bottom. The
glorious thing ran instantly underground. She never ceased to be aware
of it, but any attempt to focus resulted in confusion. Analysis was
beyond her powers, yet the matter was very simple really, for only
when thought is blank, and when the mind has forgotten to think, can
inspiration come through into the heart. The intellect interprets
afterwards, sets in order, regulates, examines the wonder and beauty
the heart distils alchemically out of the eternal stream in which life
everywhere dips its feet.
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