Some readers may recall that "Far Side" cartoon in which a cowpoke is seen leaving an outhouse trailing toilet paper which has become snagged on one of his spurs. As an aside, I hope Mr. Larson periodically feels some malaise for prematurely abandoning his many thousands of admirers to the mediocrity of epigones. Shame! Anyway, how true it is that the toilet paper of subtle false beliefs are uncannily picked up by those out-of-sight spurs of material sense which skulk in consciousness, thereafter to be found tagging malevolently and tenaciously along.
Scientists cannot say, however, that they haven't been alerted to the problem by Mrs. Eddy. "Christian Scientists cannot watch too sedulously, or bar their doors too closely, or pray to God too fervently, for deliverance from the claims of evil. Thus doing, Scientists will silence evil suggestions, uncover their methods, and stop their hidden influence upon the lives of mortals." (Mis 114: 21-26)
It may take three days for fish and visitors to smell, but animal magnetism should offend instantly and be put summarily out or off. Mrs. Eddy doesn't say one extracts error from mortal mind with frugal dabs and dollops of Love, but "flood-tides of Love". Christian Science isn't fussy finger food, the metaphysical equivalent of dainty watercress sandwiches with the crust cut off. The student who sincerely seeks and desires Christian Science would do well to make daily a dagwood of truths from the Bible and writings of Mrs. Eddy and ingest every nourishing morsel of it he can. Thus materialistic thought rowels will be blunted or removed, the toilet paper left in the outhouse where it belongs, and the student's spiritual strength and vitality increased.
Note: For good or ill the primary intent of this blog is to convey content, thoughts, the wondrous musings and insights of its indefatigable scribbler. As has been said here before, poetry is a hard medium in which to convey information and expository tidbits. If a poet concentrates overmuch on content it is easy for him to end up with a "poem" that is merely prose broken up and arranged to look like poetry, thereby failing to become, as Marianne Moore desired, an imaginary garden with real toads in it ("Poetry"). I'm not shutting the door to more poetry as time and inspiration permit, but it is important that a cobbler stick to his last, however pedestrian the resulting shoes.