| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood by Howard Pyle: "Alas!" cried the Miller, falling upon his knees, "spoil not
all my good meal! It can better you not, and will ruin me.
Spare it, and I will give up the money in the bag."
"Ha!" quoth Robin, nudging Will Scarlet. "Is it so?
And have I found where thy money lies? Marry, I have a wondrous
nose for the blessed image of good King Harry. I thought
that I smelled gold and silver beneath the barley meal.
Bring it straight forth, Miller."
Then slowly the Miller arose to his feet, and slowly and unwillingly he untied
the mouth of the bag, and slowly thrust his hands into the meal and began
fumbling about with his arms buried to the elbows in the barley flour.
The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Blue Flower by Henry van Dyke: watched the girl's every step, helping her over the difficult
places, pushing aside the tangled branches, his eyes resting
upon her as frankly, as tenderly as a mother looks at her
child. In single file we marched through the gray morning,
clearing cold after the storm, and the silence was seldom
broken, for we had little heart to talk.
At last we came to the high, lonely ridge, the dwarf
forest, the huge, couchant bulk of Spy Rock. There, on the back
of it, with his right arm hanging over the edge, was the outline
of Edward Keene's form. It was as if some monster had seized him
and flung him over its shoulder to carry away.
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Little Rivers by Henry van Dyke: moderating our passions with its calm aspect. We come back from
our travels, and the sight of such a well-known mountain is like
meeting an old friend unchanged. But it is a one-sided affection.
The mountain is voiceless and imperturbable; and its very loftiness
and serenity sometimes make us the more lonely.
Trees seem to come closer to our life. They are often rooted in
our richest feelings, and our sweetest memories, like birds, build
nests in their branches. I remember, the last time that I saw
James Russell Lowell, (only a few weeks before his musical voice
was hushed,) he walked out with me into the quiet garden at Elmwood
to say good-bye. There was a great horse-chestnut tree beside the
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