The
thought was fresh, pure, delicate, full of a great and mirthful content.
There were no divisions of time in my great peace; past, present, and
future were alike all merged. How can I explain that? It seems so
impossible, having once seen it, that it should be otherwise. The day
did not broaden to the noon, nor fade to evening. There was no night
there. More than that. In the other life, the dark low-hung days, one
seemed to have lived so little, and always to have been making
arrangements to live; so much time spent in plans and schemes, in
alterations and regrets. There was this to be done and that to be
completed; one thing to be begun, another to be cleared away; always in
search of the peace which one never found; and if one did achieve it,
then it was surrounded, like some cast carrion, by a cloud of poisonous
thoughts, like buzzing blue-flies. Now at last one lived indeed; but
there grew up in the soul, very gradually and sweetly, the sense that
one was resting, growing accustomed to something, learning the ways of
the new place. I became more and more aware that I was not alone; it was
not that I met, or encountered, or was definitely conscious of any
thought that was not my own; but there were motions as of great winds in
the untroubled calm in which I lay, of vast deeps drawing past me.
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