I repeat once more that I am not obliged to be timid and wary in my deductions, and, as I said before, no one is so near mysticism as the sceptic. I realized it once more in myself when I began spreading my wings, like the bird which has been caged and delights in its new freedom. I saw before me endless space covered with new life. I did not know whether it was on another planet or farther still, beyond the planetary sphere,--enough that the space was different from ours, the light brighter and softer, the air cool and full of sweetness; the difference consisted mainly in the closer union of the individual spirit with the spirit of the universe; it was so close that it was difficult to understand where the individual ceased and the universe began. I felt at the same time it was upon that very dimness of the boundary that the happiness of this other life rested, as the being did not live in opposition or exclusion but in harmony with his surroundings, and thus lived with the whole power of universal life. I do not say it was a vision; it was only a crossing of the narrow boundary beyond which reasoning leaves off and conscious feeling begins,--a feeling which as yet is only a conclusion of former premises, but carried so far as to be difficult to grasp, as a golden thread spun out to its utmost length. Moreover, I did not know how to incorporate myself with that new life and new space,--how to melt in it my own self. I had kept to a certain extent my own individuality, and there was something wanting near me,--something I searched for. Suddenly I became aware it was Aniela I was searching for. Of course, only her and always her. What could another life matter to me without her? I found her at last, and we roamed about together like the shadow of Paolo with the shadow of Francesca di Rimini. I write this down because I see in it an almost terrifying proof how far my whole being has been absorbed by this love. What connection is there between Bunge's Neo-Vitalism and Aniela? Nevertheless, even when thinking of things far removed, it all brings me back to her. Science, art, nature, life,--all are carried back to the same denominator. It is the axis around which turns my world. This is of great importance to me, for, in presence of all this, is it possible that I should ever listen to the advice of reason and that inward monitor that bids me to go away? I know it all will end in ruin. But how can I go away; how summon strength and will and energy when all these have been taken from me? Tell a man deprived of his legs to go and walk about. On what? And from myself I add: "Why? whereto? My life is here."