Josè’s thought swept over his past. Had his own wrong thinking, or the wrong thought of others, been the cause of his unhappiness and acute mental suffering? But why personalize it? What difference whether it be called his, or the Archbishop’s, or whose? Let it suffice that it was false thought, undirected by the Christ-principle, God, that had been externalized in the wreckage which he now called his past life.
He again stood face to face with the most momentous question ever propounded by a waiting world: the question of causation. And he knew now that causation was wholly spiritual.
“Padre dear, you said just now that God was mind. But, if that is true, there is only one mind, for God is everywhere.”
“It must be so, chiquita,” dreamily responded the priest.
“Then He is your mind and my mind, is it not so?”
“Yes––”
“Then, if He is my mind, there just isn’t anything good that I can’t do.”
Twilight does not linger in the tropics, and already the shadows that stole down through the valley had wrapped the man and child in their mystic folds. Hand in hand they turned homeward.
“Padre, if God is my mind, He will do my thinking for me. And all I have to do is to keep the door open and let His thoughts come in.”