My thoughts—the simplest, clearest, and therefore most wonderful thoughts—give me peace. For the first time in my life the possibility of life presents itself to me—not in relation to any worldly matter or with reference to its effect on others, but simply in relation to myself, to my own soul—vividly, plainly, wonderfully, and as a certainty.
And from the height of this perception all that had previously tormented and preoccupied me suddenly became illuminated by a warm white light without shadows, without perspective, without distinction of outline. All life appears like impressionistic pictures at which I have long been gazing by artificial light through a glass.
I suddenly see these badly daubed pictures in clear daylight and without a glass.
“Yes, yes! There they are, those true images that clarify, complete, and comfort me,” I said to myself, passing in review the principal pictures of life and regarding them now in the warm white daylight of my clear perception of life.
“There they are, those beautifully painted figures that once seemed foreign and mysterious. The love of God, the love of my self, the unconditional love of others, meaning in life—how important these pictures appear to me, with what profound meaning they seem to be filled!”
And it is all so simple, warm, and complex in the warm white light of this morning which has dawned for me.
“Oh, what a man I have become!” I said gladly. “Ah me! I now believe in ideal love which is first to love God, second to love my self, and in turn love others. Like the trees of the field I am clapping…. It is simple…. It is all very simple and wonderful.”
Life has come and hurled me by the neck away from the herd that I may not die under their thumbs, and new conditions of life arise, which seem quite ordinary to others but about which I know…reflectively.
“To live… to be understood… to know that I am…
That all this (the love of God, the love of my self, the unconditional love of others, meaning in life) can actually be…
…and I am…wonder-fully made.”Note: These thoughts are inspired and paraphrased from a riveting passage in Tolstoy’s War and Peace.