to shop or get my things in order, sleepless nights with the voice incessantly speaking.
There was one night when the most indecent language I have ever heard was kept up without ceasing—there were other times when my name, coupled with cruel and unkind personal remarks as being this and that, was incessantly repeated. There were times when scandalous things were said of me, coupling my name with another, quite innocent, person's.
I felt I had been hypnotised or mesmerised into ideas which forced me to do most outrageous and ridiculous things at the same time giving me a feeling of terror that if such things were not done I should be endangering not only myself, but others I cared for, and my country.
I was always wondering and guessing at the source of the trouble.
First one church, then another, I blamed.
Was it likely that I could feel that the greatest peace the world could have—the Brotherhood of Man—should come through my Church? Rather it made me long for freedom, to mentally open my soul to the God I had learned to love—the freedom of Ibsen, Walt Whitman, Tagore—the belief in ideals and the unattainable.
But why this troubling of the voices? To what end? And why me?
Was it for good or evil?
Sometimes I felt there was someone directing me for my good—pointing out first one thing, then another to be done—I felt rested and calm and as if I had begun the sorting out and tidying up I felt I must go through before I could rise out of the mud of the past months and get back my old self and the ways I had so long lost.
But still it was direction—I wanted to be free.
Had it been for good? or evil?
To what end—These, my Invisible Helpers?
Day after day I used to struggle against the different influences.
There was one I called the "Baleful Influence."
It would descend on me, pushing itself into my consciousness with a hard metallic feeling and its jibing, jeering voices—And then would follow another which seemed to break through and scatter the first, and this I called the "Beneficent Influence." When this came I felt calm and in harmony with the world, and the voice of my Helper would direct me in gentle little simple ways, calling me "dear."
How they managed it I did not then know but I seemed to be watched all time and by any but friends. They commented on all I did and criticised all I did.
