A HERMIT IN THE HIMALAYAS And with the slower working of my brain, yet with all attention not a whit less alert, I begin to feel a profounder peace enveloping me. The prolonged concentration of thought has ultimately induced a finer state to arise inside. How sorry I feel for the city dwellers who are subject to turmoil without end! Why should they make the intellect supreme? Yet their way ~of escape cannot inwardly be different from mine. Minds, exasperated by the inevitable frictions and disappointments of daily life, may find in the respite gained by mental quiet a soothing and healing serenity that will anoint their wounded nerves with balm. The intellect is but an instrument and not the essential being of man. It is not self-sustained. It is an automatic and routine faculty. Modern man represents the triumph of mechanistic intellect over mere instinct, just as future man will represent the triumph of divine intuition over mere intellect. Reason, which may be a good guide at times, may also be our betrayer at other times. Not always by prudent forethought may we best be led, but also by the spontaneous upwelling of inspiration. Reason is purely arithmetical, whereas intuition is an unfoldment from we know not where. The advance of intuition upon our thought is not mathematically measurable. It enters the mind unannounced, as by a private door. It is not a thought but an influx from a superior realm which seeps into thought It is not an emotion—unless indeed it be emotion utterly purified from the personal. But alas^ most of us attach little or no importance to the faint heralds of dawning intuition. The comparative stillness which surrounds me now may not be, nay, is not, the utter stillness which I long to attain, for not a few slow-walking thoughts contrive to meander around inside the emptied hafis of my brain. To be really still is to be centred. Never- theless, I shall be contented with it today and not attempt to cross the mystic frontier. I know that these intruders are alien to the essential being of man. I know that when all thoughts are let go, when they die off like lotus flowers in midwinter, the divine reality begins to arise. The mere resolve and consequent effort to turn one's attention inwards immediately arouses them to a fierce struggle for their own existence. Their grip on man is more tenacious than he normally realizes, for it is the result of long hereditary ingrained habit passed down through the race. They hold him mercilessly, enslave him in a manner which he rarely understands, and deprive him of the liberty that already exists in his unknown inmost nature. I have watched hi myself the processes by which thought moves and I have discovered them to be mechanical.