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Charles Stansfeld Jones Diary Entry Tuesday, 28 March 1911
How can I write it, how put into words the least idea of that which is unformed? Yet I will try while yet a vestige of the thought remains. I have conceived within my womb a child. Or is it that I have for the first time realized that I have a womb? Yet it is so, that “blank” within, into which I have projected my thoughts, and from which they have come forth again “living” is for a greater purpose. Can I not form therein a child that shall be MYSELF made from the highest ideals, the essence of my pains, refined and purified, freed from dross by the living fire? This life of Service must be lived till I am “selfless” in all that I knew as myself; but all the time will not my “child” be growing within me, composed of finer materials? And by complete union therewith. . . I cannot formulate anymore now.
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