The physical variety of exuberance, once won, makes easy the winning
of the mental variety. This, when it is almost isolated from the other
kinds, is what you enjoy when you soar easily along over the world of
abstract thought, or drink delight of battle with your intellectual
peers, or follow with full understanding the phonographic version of
some mighty, four-part fugue. To attain this means work. But if your
body is shouting for joy over the mere act of living, mental
calisthenics no longer appear so impossibly irksome. And anyway, the
discipline of your physical training has induced your will to put up
with a good deal of irksomeness. This is partly because its eye is
fixed on something beyond the far-off, divine event of achieving
concentration on one subject for five minutes without allowing the
mind to wander from it more than twenty-five times. That something is
a keenness of perception which makes any given fragment of nature or
human nature or art, however seemingly barren and commonplace,
endlessly alive with possibilities of joyful discovery--with
possibilities, even, of a developing imagination. For the
Auto-Comrade, your better self, is a magician. He can get something
out of nothing.
At this stage of your development you will probably discover in
yourself enough mental adroitness and power of concentration to enable
you to weed discordant thoughts out of the mind. As you wander through
your mental pleasure-grounds, whenever you come upon an ugly intruder
of a thought which might bloom into some poisonous emotion such as
fear, envy, hate, remorse, anger, and the like, there is only one
right way to treat it. Pull it up like a weed; drop it on the rubbish
heap as if it were a stinging nettle; and let some harmonious thought
grow in its place. There is no more reckless consumer of all kinds of
exuberance than the discordant thought, and weeding it out saves such
an amazing quantity of _eau de vie_ wherewith to water the garden of
joy, that every man may thus be his own Burbank and accomplish marvels
of mental horticulture.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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