perienced when one has been wholly
wrapped and folded from the outer world in perusing a favorite
author--living with and experiencing the scenes depicted; or when one
has listened for hours to the all-absorbing strains of music in the
grand operatic creations of Wagner. On returning to the mundane state
my food has often tasted like chips or straw; the fabric of my dress
would feel coarse to the touch, as though woven of cords or ropes; and
every sound seemed harsh or far too loud. Gradually these
supersensitive conditions would depart, leaving the usual state of
mind and body.

I have said it is easy to pass into that state; not so easy is the
returning to the human environment; yet one _must_ return. Like the
child bidden to the task, reluctant to leave the garden of flowers and
the freedom of the outer world, yet, constrained by love and duty, one
consents to return. I suspect that these sensations I experience, of
return to the human state, are something like those of resuscitation
after one has been nearly drowned. The drowning is easy, because one
is going into life; the restoration is painful, because one returns,
if not to death, to mere existence. The work, the duty, the loved who
are embodied here must win one to the form which has been loaned; but
the spirit seems reluctant sometimes to leave that freedom and
knowledge for the narrow walls of clay, the prison-house of sense. The
only true way is to bring that realm with one into daily life. One
learns after a time to do this: to clothe the earthly scenes with the
inner brightness, and the human tasks with the spiritual aura of love
and wisdom.

I cannot judge whether the scenes of earth seem lovelier to me than to
most mortals; whether there is more ravishing sweetness in the
springtime, more glory in summer, more richness and beauty in the
autumn, more rest and whiteness in the winter, more transcendent
splendor in the sunset sky and glory in the starlit heavens. But it is
certain that in being admitted to this inner realm the writer has not
lost any blessing of earth,--of love, of home, of friends, of
practical knowledge and interest in the daily duties and work of life;
nor, I believe, can one be barred from any needed experience, however
bitter. These teachings, visions, and experiences of soul-life have
given to earth an exquisite beauty; to life's work a meaning and
impetus; to trials a lesson and interpretation; to the change called
death a glory a