"No, you aren't out of tune," said Jane, smiling at her affectionately, "or if you are, just say you're in tune and you will be, right off."
"Do you believe that?" Emily asked.
"Why, of course. I know it absolutely for myself, and I know that it's equally true for others if they have the strength to declare it."
"But how?"
"How! Why, because every declaration of good is spiritual, and proves that you are one with your soul and master over your body, just as false declarations make you one with your body and take away all power from your soul. That's how mental cures work. When anybody says 'I am well,' she declares souls can't be ill, and she makes Truth stronger by adding her strength to its strength. But when a man says 'I am ill,' he declares a lie, for souls can't be ill, and so he's claiming not to be spiritual, but just to be his own body. It's as if a weaver stopped weaving and said: 'I've broken several threads, and I'm going to be imperfect, and I won't bring any price, and I'll only be fit to cut up into cleaning cloths.' What would you think of him? You'd say: 'Why, that's only an hour's work in cloth and can be put aside without further thought. Just go right on and with your skill and judgment make the next piece perfect. It was never any of it you; it was the stuff you were making.' Bodies are the stuff we are making."
Emily laid down her work. "Jane, that's wonderful," she said solemnly. "You put that so that I really got hold of it. I understand exactly what you mean, and if only everybody else did!"
"But nobody else really matters to you," said Jane; "all that matters to you is that you believe. They have their lives—you have yours."
Emily was looking very earnest. "I'm going to try," she said, rising. "I'm going to try. I must go now, but I'm going home to go to work in my world."
Jane walked with her to the gate. "I'll help you all I can," she said, "I'm so glad you're interested. It makes life so splendid."
Emily stopped and took her hand.