| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Concerning Christian Liberty by Martin Luther: without which none at all of its wants are provided for. But,
having the word, it is rich and wants for nothing, since that is
the word of life, of truth, of light, of peace, of justification,
of salvation, of joy, of liberty, of wisdom, of virtue, of grace,
of glory, and of every good thing. It is on this account that the
prophet in a whole Psalm (Psalm cxix.), and in many other places,
sighs for and calls upon the word of God with so many groanings
and words.
Again, there is no more cruel stroke of the wrath of God than
when He sends a famine of hearing His words (Amos viii. 11), just
as there is no greater favour from Him than the sending forth of
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Life of the Spider by J. Henri Fabre: body outside the pit and the hinder half inside.
The eyes took their fill of light; the belly remained in the dark.
When carrying her egg-bag, the Spider reverses the posture: the
front is in the pit, the rear outside. With her hind-legs she
holds the white pill bulging with germs lifted above the entrance;
gently she turns and returns it, so as to present every side to the
life-giving rays. And this goes on for half the day, so long as
the temperature is high; and it is repeated daily, with exquisite
patience, during three or four weeks. To hatch its eggs, the bird
covers them with the quilt of its breast; it strains them to the
furnace of its heart. The Lycosa turns hers in front of the hearth
The Life of the Spider |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from 1984 by George Orwell: gazed down with a sort of fascination at the sturdy figure below. As he
looked at the woman in her characteristic attitude, her thick arms reaching
up for the line, her powerful mare-like buttocks protruded, it struck him
for the first time that she was beautiful. It had never before occurred to
him that the body of a woman of fifty, blown up to monstrous dimensions by
childbearing, then hardened, roughened by work till it was coarse in the
grain like an over-ripe turnip, could be beautiful. But it was so, and
after all, he thought, why not? The solid, contourless body, like a block
of granite, and the rasping red skin, bore the same relation to the body
of a girl as the rose-hip to the rose. Why should the fruit be held
inferior to the flower?
1984 |
