To be without sympathy was to feel apart, and to
think apart was to cut oneself off from life, from the Whole, from God
and joy--it was Death. To work at commonplace duties because they were
duties to the Universe at large, this was the way to find courage,
peace, and happiness, because this was genuine and successful work, no
effort lost, and the most distant star aware of it. Thinking was
living, whether material results were visible or not; yearning was
action, even though no accomplishment was apparent; thought and
sympathy, though felt but for a passing moment, sweetened the Pleiades
and flashed along the Milky Way, and so-called tangible results that
could prove it to the senses provided no adequate test of
accomplishment or success. In the knowledge of belonging to this vast
underlying unity was the liberation that brings courage, carelessness,
and joy, and to admit failure in anything, by thinking it, was to
weaken the entire structure which binds together the planets and the
heart of a boy. Thoughts were the fairies that the world believed in
when it was younger, simpler, less involved in separation; and the
golden Fairyland recovered in this story was the Fairyland of lovely
thinking....
In this little lamp-lit room of the Citadelle, the two listeners were
conscious of this giant, delicate network that captured every flying
thought and carried it streaming through the world.
Pages:
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460