cture of this world in which I find myself, a picture in a rather different key and at a different level, in which I turn t

t a

ything that pertains to my body, hands and feet, and even the most secret and central of those living and hidden parts, the pulsing arteries, the throbbing nerves, the ganglionic centres, that no eye, save for the surgeon's knife has ever seen or ever will se

isting in Time and Space. In a certain way I seem able to interfere with it and control it. The second is the interior world, having no forms in space and only a vague evasive reference to time, from which motives arise and storms of emotion, which acts and reacts constantly and in untraceable

much more precisely than this is to d

ng imperceptibly into the former. The external world impresses me as being, as a practical fact, common to me and many other creatures similar to myself; the internal, I find similar but not identical with theirs. It is MINE. It seems to me at times no more than something cut off from that extern

ught and experience, each a little different from the others. Each human being I

e motives, and they pass outward through the circle of thought and are modified and directed by it into external acts. And through speech, example, and a hundred var