| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Westward Ho! by Charles Kingsley: rustle, that the good vicar had to remonstrate humbly with Mrs.
Leigh on the disturbance which she caused to the eyes and thoughts
of all his congregation. To which Ayacanora answered, that she was
not thinking about them, and they need not think about her; and
that if the Piache (in plain English, the conjuror), as she
supposed, wanted a present, he might have all her Mexican feather-
dresses; she would not wear them--they were wild Indian things, and
she was an English maid--but they would just do for a Piache; and
so darted upstairs, brought them down, and insisted so stoutly on
arraying the vicar therein, that the good man beat a swift retreat.
But he carried off with him, nevertheless, one of the handsomest
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Songs of Innocence and Experience by William Blake: Then Cruelty knits a snare,
And spreads his baits with care.
He sits down with holy fears,
And waters the ground with tears;
Then Humility takes its root
Underneath his foot.
Soon spreads the dismal shade
Of Mystery over his head,
And the caterpillar and fly
Feed on the Mystery.
And it bears the fruit of Deceit,
Songs of Innocence and Experience |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Uncle Tom's Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe: more brutal than ever. And, one night, when his mother, in the
last agony of her despair, knelt at his feet, he spurned her from
him,--threw her senseless on the floor, and, with brutal curses,
fled to his ship. The next Legree heard of his mother was, when,
one night, as he was carousing among drunken companions, a letter
was put into his hand. He opened it, and a lock of long, curling
hair fell from it, and twined about his fingers. The letter told
him his mother was dead, and that, dying, she blest and forgave him.
There is a dread, unhallowed necromancy of evil, that turns
things sweetest and holiest to phantoms of horror and affright.
That pale, loving mother,--her dying prayers, her forgiving
Uncle Tom's Cabin |
