and in its last movement typifies the resurrection of the body, by means of this very return,—­a return to the order and disposal in which it was created and which it now reassumes to praise its Creator for all eternity by the harmony of the original Thought.  I looked at twilight into the tiny white heart of a flower that grew among the grasses, and out of the heart pulsed the Sacred Body in wounds all glorified, with Hands outstretched conducting the music of the worlds.  I know now that the flower was a chalice.  The sadness of it cannot die as the Man can, and I know that it is with me ready to be shared.  As I write this, there is a mist within my room.  I always sleep now like one ready to soar.  In the crowded room tonight I felt myself making the movements of swimming, as if the air were water and I an expert swimmer.

July 14.

     Views of the unveiled heavens alone forth bring Prophets who
     cannot sing.

A day of tempestuous wind and rain with all the keen dynamic life of time poised ’mid eternities.  The happiest of my days battling with the elements in wonderful silences.  At Mass with wonder the shining of the Host.  My eyes were veiled from the chalice, but I felt two angels —­guarding the acolytes.  Again at the Credo the thunder of Et Homo factus est.  With Shelley in the afternoon and a perilous walk on the cliffs. ...  I am gaining in detachment.  The desire and passion for solitude grows and I meditate a winter on the islands.  How unworthy I am to partake of mysteries!  They fill me with fear, for it is hard for the body to live in eternity.  In the evening with Gordon Craig.  Is he right about masks?  A mask is a symbol, but a face may be a sacrament.  The Mass, after all, is the supreme dream and drama of the world.  Sadness is majesty, as I found the other night, and majesty is always impenetrable, for it is a secret full of awe and mysterious silence.  Tonight I see that great drama, whether it be a tragedy or no, must reveal time poised in infinity.  Beauty, I think, contains everything save the human will, and it is the ideal of the will to be thus contained and of beauty to be the container. ...  In the supreme drama of Gethsemane and Calvary, Christ used the human body as the supreme visible instrument of drama.

July 15.

...  Tonight the fog broke through the sunset and scattered gold across the sea.  Clouds hung over the cliffs. ...  I prayed through the sunset, and won a victory for the will.

July 16.

Last night in the darkness I learned many things.  The human will is the unit, the core of flame which binds all elements together.  It is sad because it is the force of impact tearing things from their detached and comfortable places and placing them in new relations.  It is the magnet, the summoning voice, our own conscience, the expression of Majesty.  It disposes reluctant and conflicting notes in harmony.  And we have control of it given into our hands.