Books: AE in the Irish Theosophist
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George William Russell >> AE in the Irish Theosophist
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Two figures awful in their power opposed each other; the frail
being wavering between them could by putting out its arms have
touched them both. It alone wavered, for they were silent, resolute
and knit in the conflict of will; they stirred not a hand nor a foot;
there was only a still quivering now and then as of intense effort,
but they made no other movement. Their heads were bent forward
slightly, their arms folded, their bodies straight, rigid, and
inclined slightly backwards from each other like two spokes of a
gigantic wheel. What were they, these figures? I knew not, and
yet gazing upon them, thought which took no words to clothe itself
mutely read their meaning. Here were the culminations of the human,
towering images of the good and evil man may aspire to. I looked
at the face of the evil adept. His bright red-brown eyes burned
with a strange radiance of power; I felt an answering emotion of pride,
of personal intoxication, of psychic richness rise up within me gazing
upon him. His face was archetypal; the abstract passion which
eluded me in the features of many people I knew, was here declared,
exultant, defiant, giantesque; it seem to leap like fire, to be free.
In this face I was close to the legendary past, to the hopeless
worlds where men were martyred by stony kings, where prayer was
hopeless, where pity was none. I traced a resemblance to many of
the great Destroyers in history whose features have been preserved,
Napoleon, Ramses and a hundred others, named and nameless, the long
line of those who were crowned and sceptered in cruelty. His strength
was in human weakness, I saw this, for space and the hearts of men
were bare before me. Out of space there flowed to him a stream
half invisible of red; it nourished that rich radiant energy of
passion; it flowed from men as they walked and brooded in loneliness,
or as they tossed in sleep. I withdrew my gaze from this face which
awoke in me a lurid sense accompaniment, and turned it on the other.
An aura of pale soft blue was around this figure through which gleamed
an underlight as of universal gold. The vision was already dim and
departing, but I caught a glimpse of a face godlike in its calm,
terrible in the beauty of a life we know only in dreams, with strength
which is the end of the hero's toil, which belongs to the many times
martyred soul; yet not far away not in the past was its power, it
was the might of life which exists eternally. I understood how
easy it would have been for this one to have ended the conflict,
to have gained a material victory by its power, but this would not
have touched on or furthered its spiritual ends. Only its real
being had force to attract that real being which was shrouded in
the wavering figure. This truth the adept of darkness knew also
and therefore he intensified within the sense of pride and passionate
personality. Therefore they stirred not a hand nor a foot while
under the stimulus of their presence culminated the good and evil
in the life which had appealed to a higher tribunal to decide.
Then this figure wavering between the two moved forward and touched
with its hand the Son of Light. All at once the scene and actors
vanished, and the eye that saw them was closed, I was alone with
darkness and a hurricane of thoughts.
Strange and powerful figures! I knew your secret of strength, it
is only to be, nature quickened by your presence leaps up in response.
I knew no less the freedom of that human soul, for your power only
revealed its unmanifest nature, it but precipitated experience.
I knew that although the gods and cosmic powers may war over us
for ever, it is we alone declare them victors or vanquished.
For the rest the vision of that night was prophetic, and the feet
of my friend are now set on that way which was the innermost impulse
of his soul.
--May 15, 1893
The Priestess of the Woods
Here is a legend whispered to me, the land or time I cannot tell,
it may have been in the old Atlantean days. There were vast woods
and a young priestess ruled them; she presided at the festivals
and sacrificed at the altar for the people, interceding with the
spirits of fire, water air and earth, that the harvest might not
be burned up, nor drenched with the floods, nor town by storms and
that the blight might not fall upon it, which things the elemental
spirits sometimes brought about. This woodland sovereignty was
her heritage from her father who was a mighty magician before her.
Around her young days floated the faery presences; she knew them
as other children know the flowers having neither fear nor wonder
for them. She saw deeper things also; as a little child, wrapped
up in her bearskin, she watched with awe her father engaged in mystic
rites; when around him the airy legions gathered from the populous
elements, the spirits he ruled and the spirits he bowed down before:
fleeting nebulous things white as foam coming forth from the great
deep who fled away at the waving of his hand; and rarer the great
sons of fire, bright and transparent as glass, who though near
seemed yet far away and were still and swift as the figures that
glance in a crystal. So the child grew up full of mystery; her
thoughts were not the thoughts of the people about her, nor their
affections her affections. It seemed as if the elf-things or beings
carved by the thought of the magician, pushed aside by his strong
will and falling away from him, entering into the child became
part of her, linking her to the elemental beings who live in the
star-soul that glows within the earth. Her father told her such
things as she asked, but he died while she was yet young and she
knew not his aim, what man is, or what is his destiny; but she
knew the ways of every order of spirit that goes about clad in a
form, how some were to be dreaded and some to be loved; By reason
of this knowledge she succeeded as priestess to the shrine, and
held the sway of beauty and youth, of wisdom and mystery over the
people dwelling in the woods.
It was the evening of the autumn festival, the open grassy space
before the altar was crowded with figures, hunters with their
feathered heads; shepherds, those who toil in the fields, the old
and hoary were gathered around.
The young priestess stood up before them; she was pale from vigil,
and the sunlight coming through the misty evening air fell upon her
swaying arms and her dress with its curious embroidery of peacock's
feathers; the dark hollows of her eyes were alight and as she spoke
inspiration came to her; her voice rose and fell, commanding, warning,
whispering, beseeching; its strange rich music flooded the woods
and pierced through and through with awe the hearts of those who
listened. She spoke of the mysteries of that unseen nature; how
man is watched and ringed round with hosts who war upon him, who
wither up his joys by their breath; she spoke of the gnomes who
rise up in the woodland paths with damp arms grasping from their
earthy bed.
"Dreadful" she said "are the elementals who live in the hidden waters:
they rule the dreaming heart: their curse is forgetfulness; they
lull man to fatal rest, with drowsy fingers feeling to put out his
fire of life. But the most of all, dread the powers that move in air;
their nature is desire unquenchable; their destiny is--never to
be fulfilled--never to be at peace: they roam hither and thither
like the winds they guide; they usurp dominion over the passionate
and tender soul, but they love not in our way; where they dwell
the heart is a madness and the feet are filled with a hurrying fever,
and night has no sleep and day holds no joy in its sunlit cup.
Listen not to their whisper; they wither and burn up the body with
their fire; the beauty they offer is smitten through and through
with unappeasable anguish." She paused for a moment; here terrible
breath had hardly ceased to thrill them, when another voice was
heard singing; its note was gay and triumphant, it broke the spell
of fear upon the people,
"I never heed by waste or wood
The cry of fay or faery thing
Who tell of their own solitude;
Above them all my soul is king.
The royal robe as king I wear
Trails all along the fields of light;
Its silent blue and silver bear
For gems the starry dust of night.
The breath of joy unceasingly
Waves to and fro its fold star-lit,
And far beyond earth's misery
I live and breathe the joy of it."
The priestess advanced from the altar, her eyes sought for the singer;
when she came to the centre of the opening she paused and waited
silently. Almost immediately a young man carrying a small lyre
stepped out of the crowd and stood before her; he did not seem
older than the priestess; he stood unconcerned though her dark
eyes blazed at the intrusion; he met her gaze fearlessly; his
eyes looked into hers--in this way all proud spirits do battle.
Her eyes were black with almost a purple tinge, eyes that had looked
into the dark ways of nature; his were bronze, and a golden tinge,
a mystic opulence of vitality seemed to dance in their depths;
they dazzled the young priestess with the secrecy of joy; her eyes
fell for a moment. He turned round and cried out, "Your priestess
speaks but half truths, her eyes have seen but her heart does not know.
Life is not terrible but is full of joy. Listen to me. I passed
by while she spake, and I saw that a fear lay upon every man, and
you shivered thinking of your homeward path, fearful as rabbits of
the unseen things, and forgetful how you have laughed at death facing
the monsters who crush down the forests. Do you not know that you
are greater than all these spirits before who you bow in dread;
your life springs from a deeper source. Answer me, priestess, where
go the fire-spirits when winter seizes the world?"
"Into the Fire-King they go, they dream in his heart." She half
chanted, the passion of her speech not yet fallen away from her.
"And where go the fires of men when they despair"? She was silent;
then he continued half in scorn, "Your priestess is the priestess
of ghouls and fays rather than a priestess of men; her wisdom is
not for you; the spirits that haunt the elements are hostile because
they see you full of fear; do not dread them and their hatred will
vanish. The great heart of the earth is full of laughter; do not
put yourselves apart from its joy, for its soul is your soul and
its joy is your true being."
He turned and passed through the crowd; the priestess made a motion
as if she would have stayed him, then she drew herself up proudly
and refrained. They heard his voice again singing as he passed into
the darkening woods,
"The spirits to the fire-king throng
Each in the winter of his day:
And all who listen to their song
Follow them after in that way.
They seek the heart-hold of the king,
They build within his halls of fire,
Their dreams flash like the peacock's wing,
They glow with sun-hues of desire.
I follow in no faery ways;
I heed no voice of fay or elf;
I in the winter of my days
Rest in the high ancestral self."
The rites interrupted by the stranger did not continue much longer;
the priestess concluded her words of warning; she did not try to
remove the impression created by the poet's song, she only said,
"His wisdom may be truer. It is more beautiful than the knowledge
we inherit."
The days passed on; autumn died into winter, spring came again
and summer, and the seasons which brought change to the earth
brought change to the young priestess. She sought no longer to
hold sway over the elemental tribes, and her empire over them
departed: the song of the poet rang for ever in her ears; its
proud assertion of kingship and joy in the radiance of a deeper
life haunted her like truth; but such a life seemed unattainable
by her and a deep sadness rested in her heart. The wood-people
often saw her sitting in the evening where the sunlight fell along
the pool, waving slowly its azure and amethyst, sparkling and
flashing in crystal and gold, melting as if a phantom Bird of
Paradise were fading away; her dark head was bowed in melancholy
and all the great beauty flamed and died away unheeded. After a
time she rose up and moved about, she spoke more frequently to the
people who had not dared to question her, she grew into a more
human softness, they feared her less and loved her more; but she
ceased not from her passionate vigils and her step faltered and
her cheek paled, and her eager spirit took flight when the diamond
glow of winter broke out over the world. The poet came again in
the summer; they told him of the change they could not understand,
but he fathomed the depths of this wild nature, and half in gladness,
half in sorrow, he carved an epitaph over her tomb near the altar,
Where is the priestess of this shrine,
And by what place does she adore?
The woodland haunt below the pine
Now hears her whisper nevermore.
Ah, wrapped in her own beauty now
She dreams a dream that shall not cease;
Priestess, to her own soul to bow
Is hers in everlasting peace.
--July 15, 1893
A Tragedy in the Temple
I have often thought with sadness over the fate of that comrade.
That so ardent and heroic a spirit, so much chivalry and generosity
should meet such a horrible fate, has often made me wonder if there
is any purpose in this tangled being of ours; I have hated life
and the gods as I thought of it. What brought him out of those
great deserts where his youth was spent, where his soul grew vast
knowing only of two changes, the blaze of day and night the purifier,
blue, mysterious, ecstatic with starry being? Were not these enough
for him? Could the fire of the altar inspire more? Could he be
initiated deeper in the chambers of the temple than in those great
and lonely places where God and man are alone together? This was
my doing; resting in his tent when I crossed the desert, I had
spoken to him of that old wisdom which the priests of the inner
temple keep and hand down from one to the other; I blew to flame
the mystic fire which already smouldered within him, and filled
with the vast ambition of God, he left his tribe and entered the
priesthood as neophyte in the Temple of Isthar, below Ninevah.
I had sometimes to journey thither bearing messages from our high
priest, and so as time passed my friendship with Asur grew deep.
That last evening when I sat with him on the terrace that roofed
the temple, he was more silent than I had known him before to be;
we had generally so many things to speak of; for he told me all
his dreams, such vague titanic impulses as the soul has in the
fresh first years of its awakening, when no experience hinders
with memory its flights of aspiration, and no anguish has made
it wise. But that evening there was, I thought, something missing;
a curious feverishness seemed to have replaced the cool and hardy
purity of manner which was natural to him; his eyes had a strange
glow, fitful and eager; I saw by the starlight how restless his
fingers were, they intertwined, twisted, and writhed in and out.
We sat long in the rich night together; then he drew nearer to me
and leaned his head near my shoulder; he began to whisper incoherently
a wild and passionate tale; the man's soul was being tempted.
"Brother" he said, "I am haunted by a vision, by a child of the
stars as lovely as Isthar's self; she visits my dreaming hours,
she dazzles me with strange graces, she bewilders with unspeakable
longing. Sometime, I know, I must go to her, though I perish.
When I see her I forget all else and I have will to resist no longer.
The vast and lonely inspiration of the desert departs from my thought,
she and the jewel-light she lives in blot it out. The thought of
her thrills me like fire. Brother give me help, ere I go mad or die;
she draws me away from earth and I shall end my days amid strange
things, a starry destiny amid starry races."
I was not then wise in these things, I did not know the terrible
dangers that lurk in the hidden ways in which the soul travels.
"This" I said " is some delusion. You have brooded over a fancy
until it has become living; you have filled your creation with
your own passion and it lingers and tempts you; even if it were
real, it is folly to think of it, we must close our hearts to passion
if we would attain the power and wisdom of Gods."
He shook his head, I could not realize or understand him. Perhaps
if I had known all and could have warned him, it would have been
in vain; perhaps the soul must work out its own purification in
experience and learn truth and wisdom through being. Once more he
became silent and restless. I had to bid him farewell as I was to
depart on the morrow, but he was present in my thoughts and I could
not sleep because of him; I felt oppressed with the weight of some
doom about to fall. To escape from this feeling I rose in adoration
to Hea; I tried to enter into the light of that Wisdom; a sudden
heart-throb of warning drew me back; I thought of Asur instinctively,
and thinking of him his image flashed on me. He moved as if in
trance through the glassy waves of those cosmic waters which
everywhere lave and permeate the worlds, and in which our earth
is but a subaqueous mound. His head was bowed, his form dilated
to heroic stature, as if he conceived of himself as some great
thing or as moving to some high destiny; and this shadow which
was the house of his dreaming soul grew brilliant with the passionate
hues of his thought; some power beyond him drew him forth. I felt
the fever and heat of this inner sphere like a delirious breath
blow fiercely about me; there was a phosphorescence of hot and
lurid colours. The form of Asur moved towards a light streaming
from a grotto, I could see within it burning gigantic flowers.
On one, as on a throne, a figure of weird and wonderful beauty was
seated. I was thrilled with a dreadful horror, I thought of the
race of Liliths, and some long forgotten and tragic legends rose
up in my memory of these beings whose soul is but a single and
terrible passion; whose love too fierce for feebler lives to endure,
brings death or madness to men. I tried to warn, to awaken him
from the spell; my will-call aroused him; he turned, recognized
me and hesitated; then this figure that lured him rose to her
full height; I saw her in all her plume of a peacock, it was
spotted with gold and green and citron dyes, she raised her arms
upwards, her robe, semi-transparent, purple and starred over with
a jewel lustre, fell in vaporous folds to her feet like the drift
over a waterfall. She turned her head with a sudden bird-like
movement, her strange eyes looked into mine with a prolonged and
snaky glance; I saw her move her arms hither and thither, and the
waves of this inner ocean began to darken and gather about me, to
ripple through me with feverish motion. I fell into a swoon and
remembered nothing more.
I was awakened before dawn, those with whom I was to cross the
desert were about to start and I could remain no longer. I wrote
hurriedly to Asur a message full of warning and entreaty and set
out on my return journey full of evil forebodings. Some months
after I had again to visit the temple; it was evening when I arrived;
after I had delivered the message with which I was charged, I asked
for Asur. The priest to whom I spoke did not answer me. He led
me in silence up to the terrace that overlooked the desolate eastern
desert. The moon was looming white upon the verge, the world was
trembling with heat, the winged bulls along the walls shone with
a dull glow through the sultry air. The priest pointed to the far
end of the terrace. A figure was seated looking out over the desert,
his robes were motionless as if their wrinkles were carved of stone,
his hands lay on his knees, I walked up to him; I called his name;
he did not stir. I came nearer and put my face close to his, it
was as white as the moon, his eyes only reflected the light. I
turned away from him sick to the very heart.
--September 15, 1893
Jagrata, Svapna and Sushupti
While the philosophical concepts of ancient India, concerning
religion and cosmogony, are to some extent familiar and appreciated
in these countries, its psychology, intimately related with its
religion and metaphysics, is comparatively unknown. In Europe the
greatest intellects have been occupied by speculations upon the
laws and aspects of physical nature, while the more spiritual Hindus
were absorbed in investigations as to the nature of life itself;
by continual aspiration, devotion, introspection and self-analysis,
they had acquired vast knowledge of the states of consciousness
possible for man to enter upon; they had laid bare the anatomy
of the mind, and described the many states that lay between the
normal waking condition of man, and the final state of spiritual
freedom and unity with BRAHMA, which it was the aim alike of religion
and science to bring about. Most interesting among their ideas,
was their analysis of the states of consciousness upon which we
enter during sleep. Roughly speaking, they may be divided into two,
which together with the waking state, make a trinity of states
through which every person passes, whether he be aware of it or not.
These states are known as:---Jagrata, waking; Svapna, dreaming;
and Sushupti, deep sleep. The English equivalents of these words
give no idea of the states. Passing our of Jagrata, the Indians
held that, beyond the chaotic borderland, we entered, in Svapna
and Sushupti, upon real states of being. Sushupti, the highest,
was accounted a spiritual state; here the soul touches vaster
centres in the great life and has communion with celestial
intelligences. The unification of these states into one is one
of the results of Raj-Yoga; in this state the chela keeps memory
of what occurred while his consciousness was in the planes of Svapna
and Sushupti. Entrance upon these states should not I think be
understood as meaning that the mind has deserted its fleshly
tabernacle in search of such experience. Departure from the
physical form is no more necessary for this than for clairvoyence,
but a transfer of the consciousness in us from one plane to another
is necessary.
Now as we generate Karma in the dreaming and deep sleep states
which may either help or hinder the soul in its evolution, it is
a matter of importance that we should take steps to promote the
unification of these states, so that the knowledge and wisdom of
any one state may be used to perfect the others. Our thoughts and
actions in the waking state react upon the dreaming and deep sleep,
and our experiences in the latter influence us in the waking state
by suggestion and other means. The reason we do not remember what
occurs in Svapna and Sushupti is because the astral matter which
normally surrounds the thinking principle is not subtle enough to
register in its fullness the experience of any one upon the more
spiritual planes of consciousness. To increase the responsiveness
upon the more spiritual planes of consciousness. To increase the
responsiveness of this subtle matter we have to practise concentration,
and so heighten the vibrations, or in other words to evolve or perfect
the astral principle. Modern science is rapidly coming to the
conclusion that the differences perceived in objects around us, are
not differences in substance, but differences of vibration in one
substance. Take a copper wire; pass electrical currents through it,
gradually increasing their intensity, and phenomena of sound, heat
and light will be manifest, the prismatic colours appearing one
after the other. Similarly by an increased intensity in the
performance of every action, the consciousness is gradually
transferred from the lower to the higher planes. In order to give
a point, or to direct the evolving faculties into their proper channel,
continual aspiration is necessary. Take some idea--the spiritual
unity of all things, for example--something which can only be
realized by our complete absorption in spiritual nature; let every
action be performed in the light of this idea, let it be the subject
of reverent thought. If this is persisted in, we will gradually
begin to become conscious upon the higher planes, the force of
concentration carrying the mind beyond the waking into Svapna and
Sushupti. The period between retiring to rest and awakening,
formerly a blank, will begin to be spotted with bright lights of
consciousness, or, as we walk about during the day such knowledge
will visit us. "He who is perfected in devotion findeth spiritual
knowledge springing up spontaneously in himself" say Krishna.
Patanjali recommends dwelling on the knowledge that presents itself
in dreams; if we think over any such experience, many things
connected with it will be revealed, and so gradually the whole
shadowy region will become familiar and attractive, and we will
gain a knowledge of our own nature which will be invaluable and
which cannot otherwise be acquired.
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