A.M.

French, 7:10-50

9:15-33

Asana.

Spotty. Began too soon after Fives? Shall rest till 9:40

10:00

Some Dharana.

Some discoveries:

That this thing in which I do my work is a modification of symbol given me by Fee Wah. I work from centre of first symbol.

1. That what has of late translated itself to me as physical hunger is the solar plexus (?) striving for equilibrium; an instrument with all strings tuned (just so some people turn to cigarettes, liquors, etc.; something seeking adjustment is translated into these cravings.

3 That I shall experiment with my breakfast. The one meal of the day I thoroughly enjoy!

For one moment in Dharana I got outer circle stilled, equilibrated; when centre became steady flame. . . This does not describe properly. I self-controlled, the master, was that circle; the flame flowing through. Flame passing through asbestos might describe it.

11:00-20

Pranayama.

P.M.

2:00

Psychology of Hashish.

(Notice I am at point in Yoga where there is tendency to analyze process itself. This mentioned in Sanna. Perhaps my “perception” of February 12 was after all correct—a quality certainly was added never before experienced.)

XVIII Vinnanam. “While there is a particle of matter” . . “there is no place for Spirit”. Shall the world ever have a universal conception? I have always said: “Spirit is material body of soul”.

“Control of breath and vital nervous currents which react in sympathy with it.” I now understand what I am tackling in Pranayama and what I mean by “solar plexus”.

3:30-50

Attempt vision work. Had just got a gold sun-like object—on altar?—with 2 tall cylindrical holders either side when a raft of men arrived. I hear them moving about—they are inspecting all the doors, pictures, etc., making comments.

The disk is not flat, something is placed on the face, or the back is carved away from it.

4:01-21

Pranayama.

7:8

Walk by sea with Lea [Leah Hirsig].

9:30-46

Asana.

Nothing at all.

9:50-10:10

Harpocrates.

Nothing. Dry? Heard every little thing—got mad at a flea, felt I must get him. Not if it kills me! Finally conquered that.

I cannot work; I blow up like a balloon, all wrong. Suspect pork was in Shummie’s [Ninette Shumway] meat balls (P.S. No pork. She says the soup.)