July 11.

A day of northeast wind and upward thunder. The joy of the wind was in
me, and I lost the sense of space. The air was so buoyant that it was
closely kin to the sea. ... Today I succeeded a little better with my
will. I had a strange sensation this afternoon, which told me that
bare lonely places are the only places to write drama, since there
only can we find the pure dynamic forces of life disentangled from the
subtle and complicated web of human ambitions and interests. The air
was very thin and clear at twilight, but the sun was hidden in the
clouds. ...


July 12.

... There was a great silence this evening in the crowded room.
Closing my eyes, I raised the upper lids as far as possible without
seeing material things, and so saw myself in fearful wonder elevating
the host and chalice on high. I know now the inner meaning of "Domine,
non sum dignus _ut intres sub tecta mea_." Under these two arched
roofs of the eyes hidden from all light save Light, there is a secret
dwelling. ... A day of close-shrouded palling fog--a chrism confirming
the strength of beauty.


July 13.

This morning the wind blew through the fields of grass like countless
angels in the courts of heaven. Shadow and color and light and
movement dancing before the first syllable of the Name. A gull flew