Diary of a Drug Fiend

24 The Diary of a Drug Fiend conscious of all that was going on around her, absolute mistress of herself and of her environment; yet at the same time she was lost in some unearthly form of rapture of a kind which, while essentially unintelligible to me, reminded me of certain strange and fragmentary experiences that I had had while flying. I suppose every one has read The Psychology of Flying by L. de Giberne Sieveking. All I need do is to remind you of what he says :— | ‘* All types of men who fly are conscious of this very obscure, subtle difference that it has wrought in them. Very few know exactly what it is. Hardly any of them can express what they feel. And none of them would admit it if they could. . . . One realises without any formation into words how that one is oneself, and that each one is entirely separate and can never enter into the recesses of another, which are his foundation of individual life.” One feels oneself out of all relation with things, even the most essential. And yet one is aware at the same time that everything of which one has ever been aware _is a picture invented by one’s own mind. The Universe is the looking-glass of the soul. In that state one understands all sorts of non- sense. “© Thou foursquare Crown of Nothing, that _ Circlest the destruction of Worlds! I adore Thee, ' Evoe! I adore Thee,I A O!” I flushed with rage, understanding enough to know what Lou must be feeling as she rolled forth those passionate, senseless words from her volcanic mouth. Gretel’s suggestion trickled into my brain. “This beastly alcohol brutalises men. Why is Lou so superb? She has breathed the pure snow of Heaven into her nostrils.” **O Thou snow-white chalice of Love, that art