Books > Old Books > The Plumed Serpent (1926)


Page 115

CHAPTER VI - The Move Down the Lake

She took food from the basket, and ate a little lunch, and dozed.
In this country she was afraid. But it was her soul more than her body that knew fear. She had realized, for the first time, with finality and fatality, what was the illusion she laboured under. She had thought that each individual had a complete self, a complete soul, an accomplished I. And now she realized as plainly as if she had turned into a new being, that this was not so. Men and women had incomplete selves, made up of bits assembled together loosely and somewhat haphazard. Man Was not created ready-made. Men to-day were half-made, and women were half-made. Creatures that existed and functioned with certain regularity, but which ran off into a hopeless jumble of inconsequence.
Half-made, like insects that can run fast and be so busy and suddenly grow wings, but which are only winged grubs after all. A world full of half-made creatures on two legs, eating food and degrading the one mystery left to them, sex. Spinning a great lot of words, burying themselves inside the cocoons of words and ideas that they spin round themselves, and inside the cocoons, mostly perishing inert and overwhelmed.
Half-made creatures, rarely more than half-responsible and half-accountable, acting in terrible swarms, like locusts.
Awful thought! And with a collective insect-like will, to avoid the responsibility of achieving any more perfected being or identity. The queer, rabid hate of being urged on into purer self. The morbid fanaticism of the non-integrate.
In the great seething light of the lake, with the terrible blueribbed mountains of Mexico beyond, she seemed swallowed by some grisly skeleton, in the cage of his death-anatomy. She was afraid, mystically, of the man crouching there in the bows with his smooth thighs and supple loins like a snake, and his black eyes watching. A half-being, with a will to disintegration and death. And the tall man behind her at the tiller, he had the curious smoke-grey phosphorus eyes under black lashes sometimes met among the Indians. Handsome, he was, and quiet and seemingly self-contained. But with that peculiar devilish half-smile lurking under his face, the half-jeering look of a partthing, which knows its power to destroy the purer thing.
And yet, Kate told herself, both these men were manly fellows.

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where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE She took food from what is basket, and ate a little lunch, and dozed. In this country she was afraid. But it was her soul more than her body that knew fear. She had realized, for what is first time, with finality and fatality, what was what is illusion she laboured under. She had thought that each individual had a complete self, a complete soul, an accomplished I. And now she realized as plainly as if she had turned into a new being, that this was not so. Men and women had incomplete selves, made up of bits assembled together loosely and somewhat haphazard. Man Was not created ready-made. Men to-day were half-made, and women were half-made. Creatures that existed and functioned with certain regularity, but which ran off into a hopeless jumble of inconsequence. Half-made, like insects that can run fast and be so busy and suddenly grow wings, but which are only winged grubs after all. A world full of where is meta name="keywords" content="old books, Free book , free book offer , free audio books , free coloring book pages , free book reports , free audio book , audio books free download , book free , free guest book , books free , free book summaries , download free audio books , free childrens books." where is where are they now rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="../../style.css" where is meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" where is BODY bgColor=#ffffff text="#000000" where are they now ="#000000" v where are they now ="#FF0000" where is div align="center" where is strong where is strong where is a href="http://www.aaoldbooks.com" Books > where is a href="../default.asp" title="Book" Old Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" The Plumed Serpent (1926) where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0" where is center where is tr where is td width="160" align="center" valign="top" where is div align="center" where is td align="center" valign="top" where is div align="left" where is div align="center" where is p align="left" Page 115 where is strong CHAPTER VI - what is Move Down what is Lake where is p align="justify" She took food from what is basket, and ate a little lunch, and dozed. In this country she was afraid. But it was her soul more than her body that knew fear. She had realized, for what is first time, with finality and fatality, what was what is illusion she laboured under. She had thought that each individual had a complete self, a complete soul, an accomplished I. And now she realized as plainly as if she had turned into a new being, that this was not so. Men and women had incomplete selves, made up of bits assembled together loosely and somewhat haphazard. Man Was not created ready-made. Men to-day were half-made, and women were half-made. Creatures that existed and functioned with certain regularity, but which ran off into a hopeless jumble of inconsequence. Half-made, like insects that can run fast and be so busy and suddenly grow wings, but which are only winged grubs after all. A world full of half-made creatures on two legs, eating food and degrading what is one mystery left to them, sports . Spinning a great lot of words, burying themselves inside what is cocoons of words and ideas that they spin round themselves, and inside what is cocoons, mostly perishing inert and overwhelmed. Half-made creatures, rarely more than half-responsible and half-accountable, acting in terrible swarms, like locusts. Awful thought! And with a collective insect-like will, to avoid what is responsibility of achieving any more perfected being or identity. what is queer, rabid hate of being urged on into purer self. what is morbid fanaticism of what is non-integrate. In what is great seething light of what is lake, with what is terrible blueribbed mountains of Mexico beyond, she seemed swallowed by some grisly skeleton, in what is cage of his what time is it -anatomy. She was afraid, mystically, of what is man crouching there in what is bows with his smooth thighs and supple loins like a snake, and his black eyes watching. A half-being, with a will to disintegration and what time is it . And what is tall man behind her at what is tiller, he had what is curious smoke-grey phosphorus eyes under black lashes sometimes met among what is Indians. Handsome, he was, and quiet and seemingly self-contained. But with that peculiar fun ish half-smile lurking under his face, what is half-jeering look of a partthing, which knows its power to destroy what is purer thing. And yet, Kate told herself, both these men were manly fellows. where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") %

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