George MacDonald

The Flight of the Shadow George MacDonald

I am old, else, I think, I should not have the courage to tell the story I am going to tell. Allthose concerned in it about whose feelings I am careful, are gone where, thank God, thereare no secrets! If they know what I am doing, I know they do not mind. If they were alive toread as I record, they might perhaps now and again look a little paler and wish the leafturned, but to see the things set down would not make them unhappy: they do not lovesecrecy. Half the misery in the world comes from trying to look, instead of trying to be, what one is not. I would that not God only but all good men and women might see methrough and through. They would not be pleased with everything they saw, but thenneither am I, and I would have no coals of fire in my soul's pockets! But my very naturewould shudder at the thought of letting one person that loved a secret see into it. Such aone never sees things as they are-would not indeed see what was there, but somethingshaped and coloured after his own likeness. No one who loves and chooses a secret can beof the pure in heart that shall see God. Yet how shall I tell even who I am? Which of us is other than a secret to all but God!Which of us can tell, with poorest approximation, what he or she is! Not to touch themystery of life-that one who is not myself has made me able to say I, how little can any ofus tell about even those ancestors whose names we know, while yet the nature, and stillmore the character, of hundreds of them, have shared in determining what I means everytime one of us utters the word! For myself, I remember neither father nor mother, nor oneof their fathers or mothers: how little then can I say as to what I am! But I will tell as muchas most of my readers, if ever I have any, will care to know