I rambled on ecstatically, and in the midst of it I suddenly broke off to ask myself why I was so happy.
Wandering along the rosy paths of the fig garden, sitting in contemplation in the bluish shade of the grove, washing his limbs in the daily bath of atonement, offering sacrifices in the depths of the shady mango wood with complete grace of manner, beloved by all, a joy to all, there was yet no joy in his own heart. Then, one day, there was a birthday party for a mutual friend. But they made a major tactical error. That was the mystery.
As a marionette whose thread the operator has let go for a moment wakes to new life after a brief paralysis of death and coma and once more plays its lively part, so did I at this jerk of the magic thread throw myself with the elasticity and eagerness of youth into the tumult from which I had just retreated in the listlessness and weariness of elderly years.
And so nothing changed.
Next point: you always have more trouble when you are in Boston. It seemed, just for a moment, that a new point had now been reached. He sighed deeply, for what he was about to do would cost money to repair.
The present has many perils.
God said, “Will you accept it, now?”
In conclusion, you got to feel Him inside you as if He had set up a tiny radio in the middle of your forehead.
A feeling of deep sadness is always a warning to be heeded.
