because it is the dining hall and I would disturb those who are eating.” So I dragged myself and my burden entirely around the long building and stumbled into the doorway of the large, cheerful community room, where a big fire burned in the hearth and groups of people stood and sat about talking quietly and happily. Several looked up when I entered, but none came to my assistance, looking at me in a more detached, impersonal manner.

With a final effort, I staggered in the direction of a couch I knew to be in that room, to lay my burden down. When I saw that the couch had been moved, in utter desperation, and spent beyond further endurance, I turned toward the others, and cried out: “Won’t someone please help us!”

At that, several came to us, and relieved me of my burden, but still in that detached, impersonal manner, that was not concerned about us in any way.

(2). I WALKED about in an autumn garden, where the frost had blackened and shriveled the foliage. The earth was heaved in many places because of the frost and because plants had been pulled up by the roots. In other places were piles of dried and withered vegetation.

Yet in this garden, I was gathering (I use this word because I was not picking or cutting) the most exquisite, waxy, long-stemmed white roses that had no thorns and no foliage. The roses were unfolded to just that stage I most loved—when the petals are just curling back from the tight bud but are still wrapped precisely one petal about the other.

It seemed I was gathering these roses from every part of the garden and they were lying over my left arm, but I seemed to be confused and annoyed because in gathering them, I was also gathering much dried up foliage and the “brush” that lay about the garden. This did not seem in any way to detract from, or cover up the lovely roses, for they raised their heads above and all around this withered stuff, but I did not at all—in fact was quite disturbed by it, but seemingly did not know how now to dispose of it, or how not to gather it in the first place.

Note—Of course I have interpreted the significance of this up to a certain point, but I cannot understand the symbol of the withered foliage and brush. I would interpret it to be rubbish or “dead”