Books: AE in the Irish Theosophist
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George William Russell >> AE in the Irish Theosophist
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20 Transcription by M.R.J.
AE In The Irish Theosophist
--By "AE" (George William Russell)
Contents:
1--A Word Upon the Objects of the Theosophical Society
2--The Twilight Hour
3--The Mask of Apollo
4--The Secret of Power
5--The Priestess of the Woods
6--A Tragedy in the Temple
7--Jagrata, Svapna and Sushupti
8--Concentration
9--Verse by AE in "The Irish Theosophist" (39 verses)
10--The Element Language
11--At the Dawn of the Kali Yuga
12--The Meditation of Parvati
13--A Talk by the Euphrates
14--The Cave of Lilith
15--A Strange Awakening
16--The Midnight Blossom
17--The Story of a Star
18--How Theosophy Affects One's View of Life
19--Comfort
20--The Ascending Cycle
21--The Mystic Night's Entertainment
22--On the Spur of the Moment
23--The Legends of Ancient Eire
24--Review: Lyrics of Fitzpatrick
25--"Yes, And Hope"
26--Content
27--The Enchantment of Cuchullain
28--Shadow and Substance
29--On the Passing of W.Q. Judge
30--Self-Reliance
31--The Mountains
32--Works and Days
33--The Childhood of Apollo
34--The Awakening of the Fires
35--Our Secret Ties
36--Priest or Hero?
37--The Age of the Spirit
38--A Thought Along the Road
39--The Fountains of Youth
A Word Upon the Objects of the Theosophical Society
1st:--To form the nucleus of a Universal Brotherhood of Humanity,
without distinction of race, creed, sex, caste or color.
2nd:---To promote the study of Aryan and other Eastern literatures,
religions, philosophies and sciences, and demonstrate the importance
of that study.
3rd:---To investigate unexplained laws of nature and the psychic
powers latent in man.
Started a little under a quarter of a century ago, in an age
grown cold with unbelief and deadened by inexplicable dogmas, the
Theosophical Society has found adherents numerous enough to make
it widely known, and enthusiastic enough to give it momentum and
make it a living force. The proclamation of its triple objects--
brotherhood, wisdom and power, acted like a trumpet call, and many
came forth to join it, emerging from other conflicts; and out of
silence and retirement came many who had grown hopeless but who
had still the old feeling at heart.
For the first object no explanation is necessary; but a word or
two of comment upon the second and third may help to show how they
do not weaken, by turning into other channels, the intellectual
energies and will, which might serve to carry out the first. In
these old philosophies of the East we find the stimulus to brotherly
action which might not be needed in an ideal state, but which is
a help to the many, who, born into the world with a coldness of
heart as their heritage, still wish to do their duty. Now out duty
alters according to our conception of nature, and in the East there
has been put forward, by men whom we believe to be the wise and
great of the earth, a noble philosophy, a science of life itself,
and this, not as a hypothesis, but as truth which is certain, truth
which has been verified by eyes which see deeper than ours, and
proclaimed by the voices of those who have become the truth they
speak of; for as Krishna teaches Arjuna in the Dayanishvari:
"on this Path to whatever place one would go that place one's self
becomes!" The last word of this wisdom is unity. Underneath all
phenomena and surviving all changes, a great principle endures
for ever. At the great white dawn of existence, from this principle
stream spirit and primordial matter; as they flow away further
from their divine source, they become broken up, the one life into
countless lives, matter into countless forms, which enshrine these
lives; spirit involves itself into matter and matter evolves,
acted upon by this informing fire.
These lives wander on through many a cycle's ebb and flow, in
separation and sorrow, with sometimes the joy of a momentary meeting.
Only by the recognition of that unity, which spiritually is theirs,
can they obtain freedom.
It is true in the experience of the race that devotion of any life
to universal ends brings to that life a strange subtle richness and
strength; by our mood we fasten ourselves into the Eternal; hence
these historic utterances, declarations of permanence and a spiritual
state of consciousness, which have been the foundation of all great
religious movements. Christ says, "I and my Father are one."
"Before Abraham was I am." Paul says, "In him we live and move
and have our being."
In the sacred books of India it is the claim of many sages that
they have recognised "the ancient constant and eternal which perishes
not through the body be slain," and there are not wanting to-day
men who speak of a similar expansion of their consciousness, out
of the gross and material, into more tender, wise and beautiful
states of thought and being. Tennyson, in a famous letter published
some time ago, mentioned that he had at different times experienced
such a mood; the idea of death was laughable; it was not thought,
but a state; "the clearest of the clearest, the surest of the surest."
It would be easy to do on multiplying instances.
Now in a nature where unity underlies all differences, where soul
is bound to soul more than star to star; where if one falters or
fails the order of all the rest is changed; the duty of any man
who perceives this unity is clear, the call for brotherly action
is imperative, selfishness cannot any longer wear the mask of wisdom,
for isolation is folly and shuts us out from the eternal verities.
The third object of the society defined as "the study of the psychic
powers latent in man" is pursued only by a portion of the members;
those who wish to understand more clearly the working of certain
laws of nature and who wish to give themselves up more completely
to that life in which they live and move and have their being;
and the outward expression of the occult life is also brotherhood.
--Nov. 15, 1892
The Hour of Twilight
For the future we intend that at this hour the Mystic shall be at home,
less metaphysical and scientific than is his wont, but more really
himself. It is customary at this hour, before the lamps are brought in,
to give way a little and dream, letting all the tender fancies day
suppresses rise up in out minds. Wherever it is spent, whether in
the dusky room or walking home through the blue evening, all things
grow strangely softened and united; the magic of the old world
reappears. The commonplace streets take on something of the grandeur
and solemnity of starlit avenues of Egyptian temples the public
squares in the mingled glow and gloom grow beautiful as the Indian
grove where Sakuntala wandered with her maidens; the children chase
each other through the dusky shrubberies, as they flee past they
look at us with long remembered glances: lulled by the silence,
we forget a little while the hard edges of the material and remember
that we are spirits.
Now is the hour for memory, the time to call in and make more securely
our own all stray and beautiful ideas that visited us during the day,
and which might otherwise be forgotten. We should draw them in from
the region of things felt to the region of things understood; in
a focus burning with beauty and pure with truth we should bind them,
for from the thoughts thus gathered in something accrues to the
consciousness; on the morrow a change impalpable but real has taken
place in our being, we see beauty and truth through everything.
It is in like manner in Devachan, between the darkness of earth
and the light of spiritual self-consciousness, that the Master in
each of us draws in and absorbs the rarest and best of experiences,
love, self-forgetfulness, aspiration, and out of these distils the
subtle essence of wisdom, so that he who struggles in pain for his
fellows, when he wakens again on earth is endowed with the tradition
of that which we call self-sacrifice, but which is in reality the
proclamation of our own universal nature. There are yet vaster
correspondences, for so also we are told, when the seven worlds
are withdrawn, the great calm Shepherd of the Ages draws his misty
hordes together in the glimmering twilights of eternity, and as
they are penned within the awful Fold, the rays long separate are
bound into one, and life, and joy, and beauty disappear, to emerge
again after rest unspeakable on the morning of a New Day.
Now if the aim of the mystic be to fuse into one all moods made
separate by time, would not the daily harvesting of wisdom render
unnecessary the long Devachanic years? No second harvest could be
reaped from fields where the sheaves are already garnered. Thus
disregarding the fruits of action, we could work like those who
have made the Great Sacrifice, for whom even Nirvana is no resting
place. Worlds may awaken in nebulous glory, pass through their
phases of self-conscious existence and sink again to sleep, but
these tireless workers continue their age-long task of help. Their
motive we do not know, but in some secret depth of our being we
feel that there could be nothing nobler, and thinking this we have
devoted the twilight hour to the understanding of their nature.
--February 15, 1893
There are dreams which may be history or may be allegory. There
is in them nothing grotesque, nothing which could mar the feeling
of authenticity, the sense of the actual occurence of the dream
incident. The faces and figures perceived have the light shade
and expression which seems quite proper to the wonderworld in
which the eye of the inner man has vision; and yet the story may
be read as a parable of spiritual truth like some myth of ancient
scripture. Long ago I had may such dreams, and having lately
become a student of such things, I have felt an interest in recalling
the more curious and memorable of these early vision.
The nebulous mid-region between waking and unconsciousness was the
haunt of many strange figures, reflections perhaps from that true
life led during sleep by the immortal man. Among these figures
two awoke the strangest feelings of interest. One was an old man
with long grey hair and beard, whose grey-blue eyes had an expression
of secret and inscrutable wisdom; I felt an instinctive reverence
for this figure, so expressive of spiritual nobility, and it became
associated in my mind with all aspiration and mystical thought.
The other figure was that of a young girl. These two appeared again
and again in my visions; the old man always as instructor, the
girl always as companion. I have here written down one of these
adventures, leaving it to the reader to judge whether it is purely
symbolical, or whether the incidents related actually took place,
and were out-realized from latency by the power of the Master within.
With the girl as my companion I left an inland valley and walked
towards the sea. It was evening when we reached it and the tide
was far out. The sands glimmered away for miles on each side of us;
we walked outwards through the dim coloured twilight, I was silent;
a strange ecstacy slowly took possession of me, as if drop by drop
an unutterable life was falling within; the fever grew intense,
then unbearable as it communicated itself to the body; with a wild
cry I began to spin about, whirling round and round in ever increasing
delirium; Some secretness was in the air; I was called forth by
the powers of invisible nature and in a swoon I fell. I rose again
with sudden memory, but my body was lying upon the sands; with a
curious indifference I saw that the tide was on the turn and the
child was unable to remove the insensible form beyond its reach;
I saw her sit down beside it and place the head upon her lap;
she sat there quietly waiting, while all about her little by little
the wave of the Indian sea began to ripple inwards, and overhead
the early stars began softly to glow.
After this I forgot completely the child and the peril of the waters,
I began to be conscious of the presence of a new world. All around
me currents were flowing, in whose waves dance innumerable lives;
diaphanous forms glided about, a nebulous sparkle was everywhere
apparent; faces as of men in dreams glimmered on me, or unconsciously
their forms drifted past, and now and then a face looked sternly
upon me with a questioning glance. I was not to remain long in
this misty region, again I felt the internal impulse and internally
I was translated into a sphere of more pervading beauty and light;
and here with more majesty and clearness than I had observed before
was the old man of my dreams.
I had though of him as old but there was an indescribable youth
pervading the face with its ancient beauty, and then I knew it was
neither age nor youth, it was eternalness. The calm light of thought
played over features clear cut as a statue's, and an inner luminousness
shone through the rose of his face and his silver hair.
There were others about but of them I had no distinct vision.
He said, "You who have lived and wandered through our own peculiar
valleys look backwards now and learn the alchemy of thought." He
touched me with his hand and I became aware of the power of these
strange beings. I felt how they had waited in patience, how they
had worked and willed in silence; from them as from a fountain
went forth peace; to them as to the stars rose up unconsciously
the aspirations of men, the dumb animal cravings, the tendrils of
the flowers. I saw how in the valley where I lived, where naught
had hindered, their presence had drawn forth in luxuriance all dim
and hidden beauty, a rarer and pure atmosphere recalled the radiant
life of men in the golden dawn of the earth.
With wider vision I saw how far withdrawn from strife they had
stilled the tumults of nations; I saw how hearing far within the
voices, spiritual, remote, which called, the mighty princes of the
earth descended from their thrones becoming greater than princes;
under this silent influence the terrible chieftains flung open the
doors of their dungeons that they themselves might become free,
and all these joined in that hymn which the quietude of earth makes
to sound in the ears of the gods.--Overpowered I turned round, the
eyes of light were fixed upon me.
"Do you now understand?"
"I do not understand," I replied. I see that the light and the
beauty and the power that enters the darkness of the world comes
from these high regions; but I do not know how the light enters,
no how beauty is born, I do not know the secret of power."
"You must become as one of us," he answered.
I bowed my head until it touched his breast; I felt my life was
being drawn from me, but before consciousness utterly departed and
was swallowed up in that larger life, I learned something of the
secret of their being; I lived within the minds of men, but their
thoughts were not my thoughts; I hung like a crown over everything,
yet age was no nearer than childhood to the grasp of my sceptre
and sorrow was far away when it wept for my going, and very far
was joy when it woke at my light; yet I was the lure that led
them on; I was at the end of all ways, and I was also in the sweet
voice that cried "return;" and I had learned how spiritual life
is one in all things, when infinite vistas and greater depths
received me, and I went into that darkness out of which no memory
can ever return.
--March 15, 1893
The Mask of Apollo
A tradition rises up within me of quiet, unrumoured years, ages
before the demigods and heroes toiled at the making of Greece,
long ages before the building of the temples and sparkling palaces
of her day of glory. The land was pastoral, all over its woods
hung a stillness as of dawn and of unawakened beauty deep-breathing
in rest. Here and there little villages sent up their smoke and
a dreamy people moved about; they grew up, toiled a little at
their fields, followed their sheep and goats, they wedded and grey
age overtook them, but they never ceased to be children. They
worshiped the gods with ancient rites in little wooden temples and
knew many things which were forgotten in later years.
Near one of these shrines lived a priest, an old man whose simple
and reverend nature made him loved by all around. To him, sitting
one summer evening before his hut, came a stranger whom he invited
to share his meal. The stranger sat down and began to tell him
many wonderful things, stories of the magic of the sun and of the
bright beings who moved at the gates of the day. The old priest
grew drowsy in the warm sunlight and fell asleep. Then the stranger
who was Apollo arose and in the guise of the old priest entered
the little temple, and the people came in unto him one after the other.
Agathon, the husbandman. "Father, as I bend over the fields or
fasten up the vines, I sometimes remember how you said that the
gods can be worshiped by doing these things as by sacrifice. How
is it, father, that the pouring of cool water over roots, or training
up the branches can nourish Zeus? How can the sacrifice appear
before his throne when it is not carried up in the fire and vapour."
Apollo. "Agathon, the father omnipotent does not live only in the
aether. He runs invisibly within the sun and stars, and as they
whirl round and round, they break out into woods and flowers and
streams, and the winds are shaken away from them like leaves from
off the roses. Great, strange and bright, he busies himself within,
and at the end of time his light shall shine through and men shall
see it, moving in a world of flame.
Think then, as you bend over your fields, of what you nourish and
what rises up within them. Know that every flower as it droops in
the quiet of the woodland feels within and far away the approach
of an unutterable life and is glad, they reflect that life even
as the little pools take up the light of the stars. Agathon, Agathon,
Zeus is no greater in the aether than he is in the leaf of grass,
and the hymns of men are no sweeter to him than a little water
poured over one of his flowers."
Agathon the husbandman went away and bent tenderly over his fruits
and vines, and he loved each one of them more than before, and he
grew wise in many things as he watched them and he was happy working
for the gods.
Then spake Damon the shepherd, "Father, while the flocks are browsing
dreams rise up within me; they make the heart sick with longing;
the forests vanish, I hear no more the lamb's bleat or the rustling
of the fleeces; voices from a thousand depths call me, they whisper,
they beseech me, shadows lovelier than earth's children utter music,
not for me though I faint while I listen. Father, why do I hear
the things others hear not, voices calling to unknown hunters of
wide fields, or to herdsmen, shepherds of the starry flocks"?
Apollo answered, "Damon, a song stole from the silence while the
gods were not yet, and a thousand ages passed ere they came, called
forth by the music, and a thousand ages they listened then joined
in the song; then began the worlds to glimmer shadowy about them
and bright beings to bow before them. These, their children, began
in their turn to sing the song that calls forth and awakens life.
He is master of all things who has learned their music. Damon,
heed not the shadows, but the voices, the voices have a message
to thee from beyond the gods. Learn their song and sing it over
again to the people until their hearts too are sick with longing
and they can hear the song within themselves. Oh, my son, I see
far off how the nations shall join in it as in a chorus, and hearing
it the rushing planets shall cease from their speed and be steadfast;
men shall hold starry sway." The face of the god shone through
the face of the old man, and filled with awe, it was so full of
secretness. Damon the herdsman passed from his presence and a
strange fire was kindled in his heart. Then the two lovers, Dion
and Neaera, came in and stood before Apollo.
Dion spake, "Father, you who are so wise can tell us what love is,
so that we shall never miss it. Old Tithonius nods his grey head
at us as we pass; he says, 'only with the changeless gods has
love endurance, for men the loving time is short and its sweetness
is soon over.'"
Neaera added. "But it is not true, father, for his drowsy eyes
light when he remembers the old days, when he was happy and proud
in love as we are."
Apollo. "My children, I will tell you the legend how love came
into the world and how it may endure. It was on high Olympus the
gods held council at the making of man; each had brought a gift,
they gave to man something of their own nature. Aphrodite, the
loveliest and sweetest, paused and was about to add a new grace
to his person, but Eros cried, "let them not be so lovely without,
let them be lovelier within. Put you own soul in, O mother."
The mighty mother smiled, and so it was; and now whenever love
is like hers, which asks not return but shines on all because it
must, within that love Aphrodite dwells and it becomes immortal
by her presence."
Then Dion and Neaera went out, and as they walked homewards through
the forest, purple and vaporous in the evening light, they drew
closer together; and Dion looking into her eyes saw there a new gleam,
violet, magical, shining, there was the presence of Aphrodite, there
was her shrine.
Then came in unto Apollo the two grandchildren of old Thithonius
and they cried, "See the flowers we have brought you, we gathered
them for you down in the valley where they grow best." Then Apollo
said, "What wisdom shall we give to children that they may remember?
Our most beautiful for them!" As he stood and looked at them the
mask of age and secretness vanished, he stood before them radiant
in light; they laughed in joy at his beauty; he bent down and
kissed them each upon the forehead then faded away into the light
which was his home. As the sun sank down amid the blue hills the
old priest awoke with a sigh and cried out, "Oh that we could talk
wisely as we do in our dreams."
--April 15, 1893
The Secret of Power
It is not merely because it is extraordinary that I wish to tell
you this story. I think mere weirdness, grotesque or unusual character,
are not sufficient reasons for making public incidents in which
there is an element of the superhuman. The world, in spite of its
desire to understand the nature of the occult is sick of and refuses
to listen to stories of apparitions which betray no spiritual
character or reveal no spiritual law. The incident here related is
burned into my mind and life, not because of its dramatic intensity
or personal character, but because it was a revelation of the secret
of power, a secret which the wise in good and the wise in evil alike
have knowledge of.
My friend Felix was strangely disturbed; not only were his material
affairs unsettled, but he was also passing through a crisis in his
spiritual life. Two paths were open before him; On one side lay
the dazzling mystery of passion; on the other "the small old path"
held out its secret and spiritual allurements. I had hope that
he would choose the latter, and as I was keenly interested in his
decision. I invested the struggle going on in his mind with something
of universal significance, seeing in it a symbol of the strife between
"light and darkness which are the world's eternal ways." He came
in late one evening. I saw at once by the dim light that there
was something strange in his manner. I spoke to him in enquiry;
he answered me in a harsh dry voice quite foreign to his usual manner.
"Oh, I am not going to trouble myself any more, I will let things
take their course." This seemed the one idea in his mind, the one
thing he understood clearly was that things were to take their own
course; he failed to grasp the significance of any other idea or
its relative importance. He answered "Aye, indeed," with every
appearance of interest and eagerness to some trivial remark about
the weather, and was quite unconcerned about another and most
important matter which should have interested him deeply. I soon
saw what had happened; his mind, in which forces so evenly balanced
had fought so strenuously, had become utterly wearied out and could
work no longer. A flash of old intuition illumined it at last,--
it was not wise to strive with such bitterness over life,--therefore
he said to me in memory of this intuition, "I am going to let things
take their course." A larger tribunal would decide; he had appealed
unto Caesar. I sent him up to his room and tried to quiet his fever
by magnetization with some success. He fell asleep, and as I was
rather weary myself I retired soon after.
This was the vision of the night. It was surely in the room I was
lying and on my bed, and yet space opened on every side with pale,
clear light. A slight wavering figure caught my eye, a figure that
swayed to and fro; I was struck with its utter feebleness, yet I
understood it was its own will or some quality of its nature which
determined that palpitating movement towards the poles between which
it swung. What were they? I became silent as night and thought
no more.
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