Part 14

I was passing along a quiet road, and saw her standing by a fountain. Who had created the fountain? I cannot say. There are sculptors in this world who mould for the love of the work more beautiful fountains than your sculptors mould for money. The joy of the workman in his work! Why, that _is_ heaven, is it not?

I saw a beautiful woman standing by a fountain; and as I love beauty, whether in fountains or in women, I paused to regard both.

The lovelier of the two looked up and laughed.

“I was wishing for someone to talk to,” she said. “What a wonderful world this is!”

“I am glad you find it so,” I answered. “I also do not agree with the old woman who declared that heaven was a much overrated place.”

“You don’t remember me, do you?” she asked.

“No. Have we met before?”

“We have. And, of course, you could remember me, if you should try.”

Then I recalled who she was. We had met some years before on one of my journeys to New York, and I had talked with her about the mysteries of life and death, of will and destiny.

“I have tested many of the things you told me,” she went on, “and I have found them true.”

“What things, for instance?”

“First and most important, that man may create his own environment.”

“You can easily demonstrate that here,” I said. “But how long have you been in this world?”

“Only a few months.”

“And how did you come out?”

“I died of too much joy.”

“That was a pleasant death and an unusual one,” I said, smiling. “How did it happen?”

“The doctor said that I died of heart-failure. For years I had wanted a certain thing, and when it came to me suddenly, the realisation was too much for me.”

“And then?”

“Why, I suddenly realised that I had let slip the body through which I might have enjoyed this thing I had attained.”

“And then?”

“I remembered that I was not my body, that I was my consciousness; and as long as that was intact, I was intact. So I went right on enjoying the attainment.”

“Without a regret?”

“Yes.”

“You are indeed a philosopher,” I said. “And though I do not want to force your confidence, yet I would be much interested to know your story.”

“It would seem absurd to some people,” she answered, “and even to me it seems strange sometimes. But I had always wanted money, a great deal of money. One day a certain person died, leaving me a fortune. It was that joy which was too strong for me.”

“And how do you enjoy the fortune here?”

“In several ways. My husband and I had planned a beautiful house--if we should ever have the money. We had planned to travel, too, and to see the interesting places of the world. We also had two or three friends who loved to create beauty in the arts, and who were hampered in their work by lack of means. Now, my husband, being my sole heir, came into the fortune immediately I passed out. So I enjoy everything with him and through him just the same as if I were actually in the flesh.”

“And he knows that you are present?”

“Yes. We had each promised not to desert the other in life or death. I have kept my word, and he knows that I have kept it.”

“And where is he now?”

“Travelling.”

“Alone?”

“Except for me.”

“In what place is he?”

“In Egypt at this time.”

I drew nearer.

“Can you show him to me?” I asked.

“Yes, I think so. Come along.”

It is needless to say that I did not require a second invitation.

We found the man--a handsome fellow about thirty years of age--sitting alone in a luxurious bedroom in Cairo. It seems to be my destiny to have strange experiences in Cairo!

The young man was reading as we entered the room; but he looked up at once, for he felt that _she_ was there. I do not think he perceived me.

“My darling,” he said, aloud, “I have seen the Pyramids!”

She placed her hand upon his forehead, and he closed his eyes, the better to see her.

Then his hand moved to the table, he opened his eyes again, and took up paper and pencil. I saw her guide his hand, which wrote:

“I have brought a friend with me. Can you see him?”

“No.”

The man spoke aloud, she communicating through the pencil in his hand and by his interior perception of her.

“Then never mind,” she wrote; “he is not an egotist. I only wanted him to see you. I have told him how happy I am--and now he sees why.”

“This journey of mine is an unalloyed delight,” the man said.

“That is because I am with you,” she replied.

“Were you with me at the Pyramids to-day?”

“Yes, though I cannot see very well in the sunshine. I have been there, however, and have seen them by moonlight. But where are you going from here?”

“Where do you want me to go?”

“Up the Nile, to Assouan.”

“I will go. When shall I start?”

“The day after to-morrow. And now _au revoir_, my love. I will return by and by.”

A moment later we were outside--she and I--in the soft starlight of an Egyptian evening.

“Did I not tell you the truth?” she demanded, with a little laugh of triumph.

“But have you no desire to go on in the spiritual world?” I asked.

“Is there anything more spiritual than love?” she asked in return. “Is not love the fulfilling of the Law?”

“But,” I said, “I recently wrote a letter to the men and women of the earth, advising those who should come out here to get away from the earth as soon as possible.”

“Lovers like me will not take your advice,” she answered, with a smile. “And tell me now: Is it not better for Henry to enjoy my society in the long evenings--is it not better for him to be happy than to grieve for me?”

“But at first? Was he not inconsolable at your going out?”

“Yes, until I came to him. He was sitting one night in deep dejection, and I reached for his hand, and wrote with it: ‘I am here, speak to me.’ ‘My Love!’ he cried, his face alight, ‘are you really there?’ ‘Yes, I am here, and I shall come to you every day until you come out to me,’ I answered, through the pencil.

“He had never known that he was what you call a ‘writing medium.’ He would never have been but for my presence in a form of matter different from his own.

“Come now, my friend,” she added, “would you really advise me not to visit Harry any more?”

“There are said to be exceptions to all rules,” I answered. “At this moment you seem to me to be one of those exceptions.”

“And will you add a postscript to your recent letter to the world?”

“If I can,” I said, “I will tell your story. My readers can draw their own conclusions.”

“Thank you,” was her answer.

“But,” I added, “when Henry comes out here in his turn, you two together should go away from the world.”

“Have _you_ been away from the world then?”

“To some extent. I am only stopping here now until a certain work is finished.”

“And then where are you going?”

“To visit other planets.”

“Henry and I will do that, too, when he comes out.”

Now, my friend, I tell you this story for whatever it is worth. There are cases like hers, where an earthly tie is all-compelling. But in the case of most persons I stand by my original assertion and my original advice.

LETTER LIII

THE ARCHIVES OF THE SOUL

I HAVE spoken of a determination to visit other planets when my work of writing these letters is ended; but I must not neglect to say that I consider such journeys to and fro in the universe of far less spiritual value than those other journeys which I have made and shall make into the deep places of my own self. Travelling in actual space and time is important to a man, that he may gain knowledge of other lands and peoples, see the differences between these peoples and himself, and learn the causes thereof; yet quiet meditation is even a greater factor in growth. If a man whose spiritual perceptions are open can do but one of these two things, it would be better for him to sit in a cabin in the backwoods and seek in his own soul for the secrets which it guards, than to travel without such self-examination to the ends of the earth.

Get acquainted with your own soul. Know why you do this or that, why you feel this or that. Sit quietly when in doubt about any matter, and let the truth rise from the deeps of yourself. Examine your motives always. Do not say, “I ought to do this act for such and such a reason; therefore I do it for that reason.” Such argument is self-deception. If you do a kind act, ask yourself why. Perhaps you can find even in a kind action a hidden motive of self-seeking. If you should find such a motive, do not deny it to yourself. Acknowledge it to yourself, though you need not advertise it on the walls of your dwelling. Such a secret understanding will give you a greater sympathy and comprehension in judging the motives of others.

Strive always for the ideal; but do not label every emotion as an ideal emotion if it is not really that. Speak the truth to yourself. Until you can dare to do that you will make little progress in the quest of your own soul.

Between earth lives is a good time to meditate, but one should form the habit of meditation while in the flesh. Habits formed in the flesh have a tendency to continue after the flesh is laid aside. That is a reason why one should keep as free as possible from physical habits.

If my charming acquaintance who comes every night to her husband to write love messages through his hand would spend the greater part of her time in acquiring knowledge of this new world, so that she could enlighten him, then might their communion be an unmixed good; but I fear it is not so. Therefore I shall look for her again, and give her some fatherly advice. She has a quick and receptive mind, and I think she will listen to me. He would be interested in her experiences, if for no other reason than because they are hers. Yes, I shall have to find her again.

I have made wonderful discoveries in the archives of my own soul. There I have found the memories of all my past, back to a time almost unbelievably distant. In seeing how the causes set up in one life have produced their effects in another life, I have learned more than I shall learn on my coming tour of the planets.

Everything exists in the soul; all knowledge is there. Grasp that idea if you can. The infallible part of us is the hidden part, and it is for us to bring it to light. Do you understand now why I advise the disembodied to break away from the distractions and the dazzling mirages of the earthly life? Only in the stillness of detachment can the soul yield up her secrets. It is not that I am indifferent to earthly loves; on the contrary, I love more deeply than ever all those whom I loved on earth; but I realise that if I can love them wisely instead of unwisely, it will be better both for them and for me.

Yet the call of the earth is loud sometimes, and my heart answers from this side of the veil.

LETTER LIV

A FORMULA FOR MASTERSHIP

MY friend, I am going to leave you for a while--perhaps for a long time.

It seems to me that my immediate work with the earth is done. I want still further to lighten my load, to soar out upon the waves of ether--far--far--and to forget, in the thrill of exploration, that I shall some day have to make my way painfully back to the world through the narrow straits of birth.

I am going out with the Beautiful Being on a voyage of discovery. My companion has taken this journey before, and can show me the way to many wonders.

There is a sadness in bidding you good-bye. Do you remember the last time you saw me in my old body? We neither of us thought that afternoon that we should next meet in a foreign country, and under conditions so strange that half the world will doubt that we have ever met again at all, and the other half will wonder if indeed we have really met.

Tell me, was I ever more real to you than I am this evening? While sitting with me in the days of the past, did you ever know less of what I should say a moment afterwards than you know now? Rack your brain as you will, you cannot tell what I am going to talk about. That will prove to _you_, at least, that I am as real as ever.

I want to leave a few messages. Tell.... And tell.... And some day tell my boy to live a brave and clean life. He will be watched over. Tell him that if sometimes he feels the interior guidance, not to be afraid to trust it. Tell him to look within for light.

For the present, I have not much more to say to the world at large. But I want you to publish these letters, leaving out only the very personal paragraphs.

Yes, I may not see you again for a long time. Do not be sad. When I am gone, perhaps another will come.

Do not close the door too tight; but guard well the door, and let no one enter who has not the signs and passwords. You will not be deceived; I have trained you to that end.

I cannot write much to-night, for there is a sadness in leaving the earth. But I am--or shall be--all a-thrill with the interest of the coming voyage. Think of it! I shall see far-away planets and meet their inhabitants. Shall I find the “square-faced men”? Perhaps so.

In Jupiter, they say, there is a race of beings wonderful to behold. I shall see them. Will they be fairer than our own Beautiful Being, who loves the little earth and usually stays near it, because there are such struggles here?

The joy of the struggle! That is the keynote of immortality, the keynote of power. Let this be my final message to the world. Tell them to enjoy their struggles, to thrill at the endless possibilities of combination and creation, to live in the moment while preparing for long hence, and not to exaggerate the importance of momentary failures and disappointments.

When they come out here and get their lives in perspective, they will see that most of their causes of anxiety were trivial, and that all the lights and shadows were necessary to the picture.

I had my lights and shadows, too, but I regret nothing. The Master enjoys difficulties as a swimmer enjoys the resistance of the water.

If I could make you realise the power that comes from facing the struggle--not only bravely, as all the platitudinous bores will tell you, but facing it with enjoyment. Why, any healthy boy enjoys a fight. His blood beats fast, his nerves tingle; but he who keeps his head cool is likely to come out on top.

Life is a fight. You are in matter to conquer it--lest it conquer you.

There is nothing in this universe stronger than the will of man when it is directed by a powerful unit of force. Whatever your strength, make the most of it in the battle of life.

Remember that your opponents are not other men, but conditions. If you fight men, they will fight you back; but if you fight conditions, they, being unintelligent, will yield to you with just enough resistance to keep your muscles in good order.

And do not forget the law of rhythm--that is at the back of everything. Count on rhythm; it never has failed yet, and it never will. Watch for the high tides of yourself and flow up with them; when the inevitable low tides come, either rest or meditate. You cannot escape rhythm. You transcend it by working with it.

You can even turn and grow young, for time also has its tides; and there are many ripples in the long sea-swell of life.

I feel that I am leaving much unsaid. But I shall meet you again some day.

=TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES=

Simple typographical errors have been silently corrected; unbalanced quotation marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and otherwise left unbalanced.

Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a predominant preference was found in the original book; otherwise they were not changed.