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Today's Stichomancy for Elizabeth Taylor

The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Old Indian Legends by Zitkala-Sa:

vain.

"Old Iktomi wants to fly! Ah! We cannot wait for him!" sang the birds as they flew away.

Muttering unhappy vows to himself, Iktomi had not gone far when he chanced upon a bunch of long slender arrows. One by one they rose in the air and shot a straight line over the prairie. Others shot up into the blue sky and were soon lost to sight. Only one was left. He was making ready for his flight when Iktomi rushed upon him and wailed, "I want to be an arrow! Make me into an arrow! I want to pierce the blue Blue overhead. I want to strike yonder summer sun in its center. Make me into an arrow!"

The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Youth by Joseph Conrad:

the carpenter--What is it?--Some accident--Submarine volcano?--Coals, gas!--By Jove! we are being blown up--Everybody's dead--I am falling into the after- hatch--I see fire in it.'

"The coal-dust suspended in the air of the hold had glowed dull-red at the moment of the explosion. In the twinkling of an eye, in an infinitesimal fraction of a second since the first tilt of the bench, I was sprawling full length on the cargo. I picked myself up and scram- bled out. It was quick like a rebound. The deck was a wilderness of smashed timber, lying crosswise like trees in


Youth
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Aeneid by Virgil:

They line their trenches, and they man their walls. In front extended to the left they stood; Safe was the right, surrounded by the flood. But, casting from their tow'rs a frightful view, They saw the faces, which too well they knew, Tho' then disguis'd in death, and smear'd all o'er With filth obscene, and dropping putrid gore. Soon hasty fame thro' the sad city bears The mournful message to the mother's ears. An icy cold benumbs her limbs; she shakes; Her cheeks the blood, her hand the web forsakes.


Aeneid