white sand, shifting the order of many thousands of starry worlds.
What a chord of music if one could but hear it in its entirety! As it
was, I caught wonderful echoes that would light the beauties of many a
sunrise. The silent man reminds me of Synge in his drifting life and
the fires glowing in his eyes. Today I saw the-beauty of a flower. ...
Some day I shall write a play about the stars. The action will burn in
their seedtime and blow on the winds of Fate with all its ironies. ...
Tonight in the sitting room I heard in my heart the singing of the
sands. It is on the shifting desert, I feel, that we shall discover
the secret origin of language. How the infinitely aspiring music must
sound tonight along the dunes!


July 7.

The night before last after I retired I felt that lifted feeling
physically which represents the beating of the tides. Last night it
coalesced with the singing of the sands. At Mass this morning the
voices at the Credo thundered out _Et Homo factus est_ in a torrent of
living sound. At the elevation I saw a thin white flame rise from the
uplifted chalice and disappear. It takes a beam of light one hundred
and eight years to travel from Arcturus to the earth. Are we similar
traveling beams, and is death merely our arrival on another planet
which we illumine? Today I read aloud on the cliffs from the glories
of Plato's _Phaedrus_.


July 8.

In the morning I wandered onto the dunes leading out toward Wonder