such memories. I know they obsess me and I must get free of them. I could not even write these three words beautiful real things without a qualm, without hearing the echo of their jeering laughter, without a feeling of being detected in pulpy sentimentality. Oh, there I go again! What an extraordinary power and vitality the destructive mind has! How sickening the mere quiescence of good is to evil!
Oh, stop it â¦!
Here I am again, up for the next round. Hullo, Ranald! How lovelyâif you came walking in! I would take you out and try to show you that other world. Or would I?âcould I? Perhaps I had better tell you about it first. For I feel free to-day. They do say that the unconscious mind goes on thinking its own unconscious thoughts. I believe it anyway, for otherwise how could I have the feeling that what troubled me in some obscure way about the murder has been withdrawn? The sunlight looked at me this morning, then it smiled. I knew.
What I am going to tell you is very difficult to put in words. Perhaps quite impossible. All I know is that it is very, very important. For what I want to do is to take you into that other world. It isnât, of course, another world: itâs this world. But what has happened to our minds has also happened to our eyes, and we canât see it. You may think it silly of me to say that, because we see it only too well. But donât get impatient, Ranald, please. I have seen you show remarkable patience when listening to fools. And on my part I promise not to mention beauty, sunsets, love, magic, and silly words like these. All I am after, Ranald, is health; and if I have a sort of feeling that it is not my own health only, well, donât you feel in your political work that you too are after more than your own health? Let us call it our common delusion! Doesnât that even bring the smile? Let me shake you. Ah, you smile! Sunshine! I mock you, you big intellectual tough.
But where will I begin? For this is not a new discovery to me. It couldnât be, or it wouldnât have set up the conflict which broke me. For a nervous breakdown can only come from an unconscious conflict, what? Let it be whispered it may not always be so unconscious as all that!
Iâm reluctant to begin, and indeed after the last sentence I went down and did a bit of washing-up because I spotted Aunt Phemie going over to the steading. A woman from the farm cottages comes every morning to help clean and tidy up. As I was looking out of the scullery window on the field of ripening grain, I saw the wind on the grain, a fitful wandering wind. I watched it as I stood there drying a pan. I felt that the house behind me was empty, that I was alone, and there came the old old sensation of liberation which permits you to smile to yourself and think what you like. Do you know what I meanâthat curious enlargement of freedom, with a something of secrecy and gaiety about it? Talk about a vague pantheism if you like; I donât give a hoot. For my toes wanted to race my heart-beats. Suddenly I remembered long ago when the need to race cameâand I couldnât move. Let me tell you about it.
I must have been about sixteen at the time (nearly a whole decade ago!). I had had âfluâour High School had been devastated by itâand I was recovering at home. I hadnât really been very bad, for illness never troubled me much. We had a terribly strict Maths. master, too, and that wasnât my best subject by more than a bit. In fact I had rather enjoyed my illness and one day had gone for a walk up through the little birch wood. Itâs really a long straggly wood, the narrow path slanting up it, so that you can stop here and there and look out of it. When youâre very young thatâs an adventurous experience. One of my earliest memories is the surprise of thus looking out of it and seeing the little valley (we called it the Hallow) down below. I saw our cattle and I saw
Oh, stop it â¦!
Here I am again, up for the next round. Hullo, Ranald! How lovelyâif you came walking in! I would take you out and try to show you that other world. Or would I?âcould I? Perhaps I had better tell you about it first. For I feel free to-day. They do say that the unconscious mind goes on thinking its own unconscious thoughts. I believe it anyway, for otherwise how could I have the feeling that what troubled me in some obscure way about the murder has been withdrawn? The sunlight looked at me this morning, then it smiled. I knew.
What I am going to tell you is very difficult to put in words. Perhaps quite impossible. All I know is that it is very, very important. For what I want to do is to take you into that other world. It isnât, of course, another world: itâs this world. But what has happened to our minds has also happened to our eyes, and we canât see it. You may think it silly of me to say that, because we see it only too well. But donât get impatient, Ranald, please. I have seen you show remarkable patience when listening to fools. And on my part I promise not to mention beauty, sunsets, love, magic, and silly words like these. All I am after, Ranald, is health; and if I have a sort of feeling that it is not my own health only, well, donât you feel in your political work that you too are after more than your own health? Let us call it our common delusion! Doesnât that even bring the smile? Let me shake you. Ah, you smile! Sunshine! I mock you, you big intellectual tough.
But where will I begin? For this is not a new discovery to me. It couldnât be, or it wouldnât have set up the conflict which broke me. For a nervous breakdown can only come from an unconscious conflict, what? Let it be whispered it may not always be so unconscious as all that!
Iâm reluctant to begin, and indeed after the last sentence I went down and did a bit of washing-up because I spotted Aunt Phemie going over to the steading. A woman from the farm cottages comes every morning to help clean and tidy up. As I was looking out of the scullery window on the field of ripening grain, I saw the wind on the grain, a fitful wandering wind. I watched it as I stood there drying a pan. I felt that the house behind me was empty, that I was alone, and there came the old old sensation of liberation which permits you to smile to yourself and think what you like. Do you know what I meanâthat curious enlargement of freedom, with a something of secrecy and gaiety about it? Talk about a vague pantheism if you like; I donât give a hoot. For my toes wanted to race my heart-beats. Suddenly I remembered long ago when the need to race cameâand I couldnât move. Let me tell you about it.
I must have been about sixteen at the time (nearly a whole decade ago!). I had had âfluâour High School had been devastated by itâand I was recovering at home. I hadnât really been very bad, for illness never troubled me much. We had a terribly strict Maths. master, too, and that wasnât my best subject by more than a bit. In fact I had rather enjoyed my illness and one day had gone for a walk up through the little birch wood. Itâs really a long straggly wood, the narrow path slanting up it, so that you can stop here and there and look out of it. When youâre very young thatâs an adventurous experience. One of my earliest memories is the surprise of thus looking out of it and seeing the little valley (we called it the Hallow) down below. I saw our cattle and I saw
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