divine knowledge, or the sweeping of a floor—without resorting to methods which have no practical bearing on life; for what is concentration but the bringing of a well-controlled mind to the doing of that which has to be done?
He who does his work in an aimless, a hurried, or thoughtless manner, and resorts to his artificial “concentration methods”—to his door-knob, his picture, or nasal extremity—in order to gain that which he imagines to be some kind of mystical power—but which is a very ordinary and practical quality—though he may drift towards insanity (and I knew one man who became insane by these practices), he will not increase in steadiness of mind.
The great enemy of concentration—and therefore of all skill and power—is a wavering, wandering, undisciplined
