When I
have driven everything else out of my mind except the picture of the
rising arm, it rises of itself, the after-effects on nerves and
muscles being apprehended by me as the sense of effort.
We cannot, then, exercise our will with a wandering mind. So long as
several ideas are conflictingly attended to, they hinder each other.
This we verify in regrettable experiences every day. On waking this
morning, for example, I saw it was time to get up. But the bed was
comfortable, and there were interesting matters to think of. I meant
to get up, for breakfast was waiting, and there was that new book to
be examined, and that letter to be written. How long would this
require, and how should the letter be planned? But I must get up.
Possibly those callers may come. And shall I want to see them? It is
really time to get up. What a curious figure the pattern of the paper
makes, viewed in this light! The breakfast bell! Out of my head go all
vagrant reflections, and suddenly, before I can notice the process, I
find myself in the middle of the floor. That is the way. From wavering
thoughts nothing comes. But suddenly some sound, some sight, some
significant interest, raises the depicted act into exclusive vividness
of attention, and our part is done. The spring has been touched, and
the physical machinery, of which we may know little or nothing, does
its work.
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