vely little is able to come in the reverse direction.

This, of course, is a distorted method of existing: there should ever be
in the mind a process corresponding to the in-breathing and
out-breathing of the lungs. The active and acquisitive consciousness
procures the mental food: the subconscious stores this up, assimilates
it, and turns it into a kind of inner mentor or conscience which in due
course issues its orders and offers its advice. But just as we are said
to stifle the "still, small voice," so also do we strangle our possible
inventions and discoveries, and so do we cause our inspirations to
remain still-born. This is the price we pay for our mad rush after the
things that do not matter. We have said that no aspirant ever lacks a
teacher, but we would further say that when a person is content to make
use of the subconscious powers he possesses, he will find that the
knowledge and the inspiration he earnestly seeks will be granted him.
"With an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of
joy, we see into the heart of things."[10] The acorn is already in the
garden of the mind, we need only to provide the requisite conditions for
growth, and the oak tree will then follow as a matter of course.

[Note 10: Wordsworth.]

Things grow and fashion themselves in this under-mind, as the novelist
and dramatist will testify. The artist finds his picture forming itself
before his inner vision, and so the musician hears his composition. "It
comes," they say: so does the oak. But like the oak it can only come
when conditions allow, and one of the main conditions is that the
consciousness should not rule the roost, and hold sway and dominance to
the exclusion and smothering of the still, small voice. "Be still, and
know."

Many things and conditions clog communication from the under-mind to the
consciousness. The well-being of the body is of the utmost importance: a
clogged and constipated body is no medium for inspiration. High living
kills the genius of inspiration, and masterpieces are more often
produced in the garret than where luxury rules. Success is an even
greater test of true genius than is poverty. A bilious attack will put a
stop to the most perfervid outpourings of genius, and a common cold in
the nose will play havoc with a work of Art. An unstable temperament
will have its moments of exaltation and its hours of despair: this is
sensitiveness uncontrolled. Sensitiveness is indeed the stock