allowed to rejoice in the sense that it has nothing to mourn over, but something to forget.
Human concepts run in extremes; they are like the action of sickness, which is either an excess of action or not action enough; they are fallible; they are neither standards nor models.
If one asks me, Is my concept of you right? I reply, The human concept is always imperfect; relinquish your human concept of me, or of any one, and find the divine, and you have gained the right one — and never until then. People give me too much attention of the misguided, fallible sort, and this misrepresents one through malice or ignorance.
My brother was a manufacturer; and one day a workman in his mills, a practical joker, set a man who applied for work, in the overseer's absence, to pour a bucket of water every ten minutes on the regulator. When my brother returned and saw it, he said to the jester, “You must pay that man.” Some people try to tend folks, as if they should steer the regulator of mankind. God makes us pay for tending the action that He adjusts.
The regulator is governed by the principle that makes the machinery work rightly; and because it is thus governed, the folly of tending it is no mere jest. The divine Principle carries on His harmony.
Now turn from the metaphor of the mill to the Mother's four thousand children, most of whom, at about three years of scientific age, set up housekeeping alone. Certain students, being too much interested in themselves to think of helping others, go their way. They do not love Mother, but pretend to; they constantly go to her for help, interrupt the home-harmony, criticise and disobey her; then “return to their vomit,” — world worship, pleasure seeking, and
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