|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Nada the Lily by H. Rider Haggard:
We are the king's kine, bred to be butchered,
You, too, are one of us!
We are the Zulu, children of the Lion,
What! did you tremble?
Suddenly Chaka was seen stalking through the ranks, followed by his
captains, his indunas, and by me. He walked along like a great buck;
death was in his eyes, and like a buck he sniffed the air, scenting
the air of slaughter. He lifted his assegai, and a silence fell; only
the sound of chanting still rolled along the hills.
"Where are the children of Zwide?" he shouted, and his voice was like
the voice of a bull.
Nada the Lily
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Salammbo by Gustave Flaubert:
And the scared face of Spendius, appearing in the wall between the
clay flagons, cried out these words:
"Fly! they are hastening hither!"
A great tumult came upwards shaking the staircases, and a flood of
people, women, serving-men, and slaves, rushed into the room with
stakes, tomahawks, cutlasses, and daggers. They were nearly paralysed
with indignation on perceiving a man; the female servants uttered
funeral wailings, and the eunuchs grew pale beneath their black skins.
Matho was standing behind the balustrades. With the zaimph which was
wrapped about him, he looked like a sidereal god surrounded by the
firmament. The slaves were going to fall upon him, but she stopped
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Weir of Hermiston by Robert Louis Stevenson:
She went slowly at first, but ever straighter and faster for the
Cauldstaneslap, a pass among the hills to which the farm owed its name.
The Slap opened like a doorway between two rounded hillocks; and through
this ran the short cut to Hermiston. Immediately on the other side it
went down through the Deil's Hags, a considerable marshy hollow of the
hill tops, full of springs, and crouching junipers, and pools where the
black peat-water slumbered. There was no view from here. A man might
have sat upon the Praying Weaver's stone a half century, and seen none
but the Cauldstaneslap children twice in the twenty-four hours on their
way to the school and back again, an occasional shepherd, the irruption
of a clan of sheep, or the birds who haunted about the springs, drinking