he has but taken the second step, he finds his
footing more certain, and becomes conscious
that he is a recognised part of a whole.

This is one of the contradictions in life
which occur so constantly that they afford fuel
to the fiction writer. The occultist finds them
become much more marked as he endeavors to
live the life he has chosen. As he retreats within
himself and becomes self-dependent, he finds
himself more definitely becoming part of a
great tide of definite thought and feeling.
When he has learned the first lesson, conquered
the hunger of the heart, and refused
to live on the love of others, he finds himself
more capable of inspiring love. As he flings
life away it comes to him in a new form and
with a new meaning. The world has always
been a place with many contradictions in it,
to the man; when he becomes a disciple he
finds life is describable as a series of paradoxes.
This is a fact in nature, and the reason for it is
intelligible enough. Man's soul "dwells like
a star apart," even that of the vilest among
us; while his consciousness is under the law of
vibratory and sensuous life. This alone is
enough to cause those complications of character
which are the material for the novelist;
every man is a mystery, to friend and enemy
alike, and to himself. His motives are often