“Symbols are merely the clues,” he went on. “It is a question of stimulating your own imagination. Into the images created by your own activities the meaning flows. You must play with them and let them play with you. They depend for their meaning on history and happenings, and vary according to their setting--the time of day or night, the season of the year, the year itself, the exact relation of your Self to every other Self, human _or otherwise_, in the universe. Let your life and activities now arrange themselves in such a way that they shall demonstrate the workings of the elemental powers you feel about you. Every automatic activity of your body, every physiological process in you, links you on to this great elemental side of things. Be open now to the language of action. Think of the motion of all objects here as connected with the language of symbols, a living, ever-moving language, and do not allow your mind to mutilate the moods that come upon you. Let your nerves, if they will, come into contact with the Nature Powers, and so realise that the three kingdoms are alive. Watch your own automatic activities--I mean what you do unconsciously without deliberate thinking. For what you do consciously you are learning, but what you do unconsciously you have learned before. We have to _become_ the performance by acting it--instantaneous understanding. All such attitudes are language, and the power to read it comes from a synthetical, intuitive feeling of the entire being. The heart may get one letter only, but that letter is a clue, an omen. A moth flies into the room and everything immediately looks different; it remains the same, yet means something different. It’s like the vowel in the ancient languages--put in later, according to the meaning. You have, I know, forgotten”--he paused a moment and put his hand on my shoulder--“but every wind that blows across our valley here, and every change in temperature that lowers or raises the heat and fire of your own particular system”--he looked at me with a power in bearing and gesture impossible to describe--“is a sign and hint of whether----” He stopped, glancing suddenly down the steep grass slopes. A breeze stirred the hair upon his forehead. It brushed my eyes and cheeks as well. I felt as though a hand had touched me as it passed invisibly. A momentary sensation of energy, of greater life swept over me, then disappeared as though the wind had borne it off. “Of whether your experiment will be successful?” I broke in. Turning his eyes from the sunny valley to my face again, he said slowly: “These Powers can only respond to the language they understand. My deliverance must be experienced, acted out.” “A ceremony?” I asked, wondering uneasily what “acts of language” he might demand of me and of another. “To restore them finally--where they rightfully belong,” he answered, “I must become them. There is no other way.”