hysical wound is a weakness of
your limitation. The man who is developed
psychically feels the wound of another as
keenly as his own, and does not feel his own
at all if he is strong enough to will it so.
Every one who has examined at all seriously
into psychic conditions knows this to be a fact,
more or less marked, according to the psychic
development. In many instances, the psychic is
more keenly and selfishly aware of his own
pain than of any other person's; but that is
when the development, marked perhaps so far
as it has gone, only reaches a certain point.
It is the power which carries the man to the
margin of that consciousness which is profound
peace and vital activity. It can carry him no
further. But if he has reached its margin he
is freed from the paltry dominion of his own
self. That is the first great release. Look at
the sufferings which come upon us from our
narrow and limited experience and sympathy.
We each stand quite alone, a solitary unit, a
pygmy in the world. What good fortune can
we expect? The great life of the world rushes
by, and we are in danger each instant that
it will overwhelm us or even utterly destroy us.
There is no defence to be offered to it; no
opposition army can be set up, because in this
life every man fights his own battle against
every other man, and no two can be united
under the same banner. There is only one way
of escape from this terrible danger which we
battle against every hour. Turn round, and
instead of standing against the forces, join
them; become one with Nature, and go easily
upon her path. Do not resist or resent the
circumstances of life any more than the plants
present the rain and the wind. Then suddenly,
to your own amazement, you find you have
time and strength to spare, to use in the great
battle which it is inevitable every man must
fight,--that in himself, that which leads to
his own conquest.

Some might say, to his own destruction.
And why? Because from the hour when he
first tastes the splendid reality of living he
forgets more and more his individual self. No
longer does he fight for it, or pit its strength
against the strength of others. No longer does
he care to defend or to feed it. Yet when
he is thus indifferent to its welfare, the individual
self grows more stalwart and robust,
like the prairie grasses and the trees of untrodden
forests. It is a matter of indifference to
him whether this is so or not. Only, if it is so,
he has