the story of my heart-第22章

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in　vain。　The　mind　goes　on　and　requires　more　than　these；　something　higher
than　prayer；　something　higher　than　a　god。

I　have　been　obliged　to　write　these　things　by　an　irresistible
impulse　which　has　worked　in　me　since　early　youth。　They　have　not
been　written　for　the　sake　of　argument；　still　less　for　any　thought　of　profit；
rather　indeed　the　reverse。　They　have　been　forced　from　me　by　earnestness　of
heart；　and　they　express　my　most　serious　convictions。　　For　seventeen　years
they　have　been　lying　in　my　mind；　continually　thought　of　and　pondered　over。　I
was　not　more　than　eighteen　when　an　inner　and　esoteric　meaning　began　to　come
to　me　from　all　the　visible　universe；　and　indefinable　aspirations　filled　me。
I　found　them　in　the　grass　fields；　under　the　trees；　on　the　hill…tops；　at
sunrise；　and　in　the　night。　There　was　a　deeper　meaning　everywhere。　The　sun
burned　with　it；　the　broad　front　of　morning　beamed　with　it；　a　deep　feeling
entered　me　while　gazing　at　the　sky　in　the　azure　noon；　and　in　the　star…lit
evening。

I　was　sensitive　to　all　things；　to　the　earth　under；　and　the
star…hollow　round　about；　to　the　least　blade　of　grass；　to　the
largest　oak。　They　seemed　like　exterior　nerves　and　veins
for　the　conveyance　of　feeling　to　me。　Sometimes　a　very　ecstasy
of　exquisite　enjoyment　of　the　entire　visible　universe　filled
me。　I　was　aware　that　in　reality　the　feeling　and　the　thought　were
in　me；　and　not　in　the　earth　or　sun；　yet　I　was　more　conscious　of
it　when　in　company　with　these。　A　visit　to　the　sea　increased
the　strength　of　the　original　impulse。　I　began　to　make　efforts
to　express　these　thoughts　in　writing；　but　could　not　succeed　to
my　own　liking。　Time　went　on；　and　harder　experiences；　and　the
pressure　of　labour　came；　but　in　no　degree　abated　the　fire　of
first　thought。　Again　and　again　I　made　resolutions　that　I　would
write　it；　in　some　way　or　other；　and　as　often　failed。　I　could
express　any　other　idea　with　ease；　but　not　this。　Once　especially　I　remember；
in　a　short　interval　of　distasteful　labour；　walking　away　to　a　spot　by　a　brook
which　skirts　an　ancient　Roman　wall；　and　there　trying　to　determine　and　really
commence　to　work。　Again　I　failed。　More　time；　more　changes；　and　still　the
same　thought　running　beneath　everything。　At　last；　in　1880；　in　the　old　castle
of　Pevensey；　under　happy　circumstances；　once　more　I　resolved；　and　actually
did　write　down　a　few　notes。　Even　then　I　could　not　go　on；　but　I　kept　the
notes（I　had　destroyed　all　former　begin…
nings）；　and　in　the　end；　two　years　afterwards；　commenced　this　book。

After　all　this　time　and　thought　it　is　only　a　fragment；　and　a　fragment
scarcely　hewn。　Had　I　not　made　it　personal　I　could　scarcely　have　put　it　into
any　shape　at　all。　But　I　felt　that　I　could　no　longer　delay；　and　that　it　must
be　done；　however　imperfectly。　I　am　only　too　conscious　of　its　imperfections；
for　I　have　as　it　were　seventeen　years　of　consciousness　of　my　own　inability
to　express　this　the　idea　of　my　life。　I　can　only　say　that　many　of　these　short
sentences　are　the　result　of　long…continued　thought。　One　of　the　greatest
difficulties　I　have　encountered　is　the　lack　of　words　to　express　ideas。　By
the　word　soul；　or　psyche；　I　mean　that　inner　consciousness　which　aspires。　By
prayer　I　do　not　mean　a　request　for　anything　preferred　to　a　deity；　I　mean
intense　soul…emotion；　intense　aspiration。　The　word　immortal　is　very
inconvenient；　and　yet　there　is　no　other　to　convey　the　idea　of　soul…life。
Even　these　definitions　are　deficient；　and　I　must　leave　my　book　as　a　whole　to
give　its　own　meaning　to　its　words。

Time　has　gone　on；　and　still；　after　so　much　pondering；　I　feel
that　I　know　nothing；　that　I　have　not　yet　begun；　I　have　only　just
commenced　to　realise　the　immensity　of　thought　which　lies　outside　the
knowledge　of　the　senses。　Still；　on　the　hills　and　by　the　seashore；　I　seek　and
pray　deeper　than　ever。

The　sun　burns　southwards　over　the　sea　and　before　the　wave　runs
its　shadow；　constantly　slipping　on　the　advancing　slope　till　it　curls　and
covers　its　dark　image　at　the　shore。　Over　the　rim　of　the　horizon　waves　are
flowing　as　high　and　wide　as　those　that　break　upon　the　beach。　These　that　come
to　me　and　beat　the　trembling　shore　are　like　the　thoughts　that　have　been
known　so　long；　like　the　ancient；　iterated；　and　reiterated　thoughts　that　have
broken　on　the　strand　of　mind　for　thousands　of　years。　Beyond　and　over　the
horizon　I　feel　that　there　are　other　waves　of　ideas　unknown　to　me；　flowing　as
the　stream　of　ocean　flows。　Knowledge　of　facts　is　limitless：　they　lie　at　my
feet　innumerable　like　the　countless　pebbles；　knowledge　of　thought　so
circumscribed！　Ever　the　same　thoughts　come　that　have　been　written　down
centuries　and　centuries。

Let　me　launch　forth　and　sail　over　the　rim　of　the　sea　yonder；
and　when　another　rim　arises　over　that；　and　again　and　onwards
into　an　ever…widening　ocean　of　idea　and　life。　For　with　all　the
strength　of　the　wave；　and　its　succeeding　wave；　the　depth　and
race　of　the　tide；　the　clear　definition　of　the　sky；　with　all　the
subtle　power　of　the　great　sea；　there　rises　an　equal　desire。
Give　me　life　strong　and　full　as　the　brimming　ocean；　give　me
thoughts　wide　as　its　plain；　give　me　a　soul　beyond　these。　Sweet
is　the　bitter　sea　by　the　shore　where　the　faint　blue　pebbles　are
lapped　by　the　green…grey　wave；　where　the　wind…quivering　foam　is
loth　to　leave　the　lashed　stone。　Sweet　is　the　bitter　sea；　and
the　clear　green　in　which　the　gaze　seeks　the　soul；　looking　through　the　glass
into　itself。　The　sea　thinks　for　me　as　I　listen　and　ponder；　the　sea　thinks；
and　every　boom　of　the　wave　repeats　my　prayer。

Sometimes　I　stay　on　the　wet　sands　as　the　tide　rises；　listening
to　the　rush　of　the　lines　of　foam　in　layer　upon　layer；　the　wash
swells　and　circles　about　my　feet；　I　have　my　hands　in　it；　I　lift
a　little　in　my　hollowed　palm；　I　take　the　life　of　the　sea　to　me。
My　soul　rising　to　the　immensity　utters　its　desire…prayer　with　all　the
strength　of　the　sea。　Or；　again；　the　full　stream　of　ocean　beats　upon　the
shore；　and　the　rich　wind　feeds　the　heart；
the　sun　burns　brightly；　the　sense　of　soul…life　burns　in　me　like
a　torch。

Leaving　the　shore　I　walk　among　the　trees；　a　cloud　passes；　and
the　sweet　short　rain　comes　mingled　with　sunbeams　and　flower…
scented　air。　The　finches　sing　among　the　fresh　green　leaves　of　the　beeches。
Beautiful　it　is；　in　summer　days；　to　see　the　wheat
wave；　and　the　long　grass　foamflecked　of　flower　yield　and　return　to　the
wind。　　My　soul　of　itself　always　desires；　these　are　to　it　as　fresh　food。　　I
have　found　in　the　hills　another　valley　grooved　in　prehistoric　times；　where；
climbing　to　the　top　of　the　hollow；　I　can　see　the　sea。　Down　in　the　hollow　I
look　up；　the　sky　stretches　over；　the　sun　burns　as　it　seems　but　just　above
the　hill；　and　the　wind　sweeps　onward。　As　the　sky　extends　beyond　the　valley；
so　I　know　that　there　are　ideas　beyond　the　valley　of　my　thought；　I　know　that
there　is　something　infinitely　higher　than　deity。　The　great　sun　burning　in
the　sky；　the　sea；　the　firm　earth；　all　the　stars　of　night　are　feebleall；
all　the　cosmos　is　feeble；　it　is　not　strong　enough　to　utter　my　prayer…desire。
My　soul　cannot　reach　to　its　full　desire　of　prayer。　I　need　no　earth；　or　sea；
or　sun　to　think　my　thought。　If　my　thought…partthe　psychewere　entirely
separated　from　the　body；　and　from　the　earth；　I　should　of　myself　desire　the
same。　In　itself　my　soul　desires；　my　existence；　my　soul…existence　is　in
itself　my　prayer；　and　so　long　as　it　exists　so　long　will　it　pray　that　I　may
have　the　fullest　soul…life。







End