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The Prophet
The prophet spoke, his words were wise, he spoke the truth, he did not lie
He told his mind, and heart and soul, his knowledge gained from days of old
The prophet taught, he encouraged much, the listeners sat and learned his stuff
He told his lore with skill adroit, and taught the words of God with joy
May we hear, each day and night, may we learn, and gain insight
From the prophets teaching to our life, for son and daughter, husband and wife
TEACHING
The Rainbow Torah
The Voice of the Prophet (Guiding Halakah)
Sermons
The Rainbow Torah
I
Creation
In
the beginning, God created heaven and earth. But the earth was empty
and unoccupied, and darknesses were over the face of the abyss; and
so the Spirit of God was brought over the waters. And God said, “Let
there be light.” And light became. And God saw the light, that
it was good; and so he divided the light from the darknesses. And he
called the light, ‘Day,’ and the darknesses, ‘Night.’
And it became evening and morning, one day.
God also said, “Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters, and let it divide waters from waters.” And God made a firmament, and he divided the waters that were under the firmament, from those that were above the firmament. And so it became. And God called the firmament ‘Heaven.’ And it became evening and morning, the second day.
Truly God said: “Let the waters that are under heaven be gathered together into one place; and let the dry land appear.” And so it became. And God called the dry land, ‘Earth,’ and he called the gathering of the waters, ‘Seas.’ And God saw that it was good. And he said, “Let the land spring forth green plants, both those producing seed, and fruit-bearing trees, producing fruit according to their kind, whose seed is within itself, over all the earth.” And so it became. And the land brought forth green plants, both those producing seed, according to their kind, and trees producing fruit, with each having its own way of sowing, according to its species. And God saw that it was good. And it became evening and the morning, the third day.
Then God said: “Let there be lights in the firmament of heaven. And let them divide day from night, and let them become signs, both of the seasons, and of the days and years. Let them shine in the firmament of heaven and illuminate the earth.” And so it became. And God made two great lights: a greater light, to rule over the day, and a lesser light, to rule over the night, along with the stars. And he set them in the firmament of heaven, to give light over all the earth, and to rule over the day as well as the night, and to divide light from darkness. And God saw that it was good. And it became evening and morning, the fourth day.
And then God said, “Let the waters produce animals with a living soul, and flying creatures above the earth, under the firmament of heaven.” And God created the great sea creatures, and everything with a living soul and the ability to move that the waters produced, according to their species, and all the flying creatures, according to their kind. And God saw that it was good. And he blessed them, saying: “Increase and multiply, and fill the waters of the sea. And let the birds be multiplied above the land.” And it became evening and morning, the fifth day.
God also said, “Let the land produce living souls in their kind: cattle, and animals, and wild beasts of the earth, according to their species.” And so it became. And God made the wild beasts of the earth according to their species, and the cattle, and every animal on the land, according to its kind. And God saw that it was good. And he said: “Let us make Man to our image and likeness. And let him rule over the fish of the sea, and the flying creatures of the air, and the wild beasts, and the entire earth, and every animal that moves on the earth.” And God created man to his own image; to the image of God he created him; male and female, he created them. And God blessed them, and he said, “Increase and multiply, and fill the earth, and subdue it, and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and the flying creatures of the air, and over every living thing that moves upon the earth.” And God said: “Behold, I have given you every seed-bearing plant upon the earth, and all the trees that have in themselves the ability to sow their own kind, to be food for you, and for all the animals of the land, and for all the flying things of the air, and for everything that moves upon the earth and in which there is a living soul, so that they may have these on which to feed.” And so it became. And God saw everything that he had made. And they were very good. And it became evening and morning, the sixth day.
And so the heavens and the earth were completed, with all their adornment. And on the seventh day, God fulfilled his work, which he had made. And on the seventh day he rested from all his work, which he had accomplished. And he blessed the seventh day and sanctified it. For in it, he had ceased from all his work: the work whereby God created whatever he should make.
II
Adam and Eve
These
are the generations of heaven and earth, when they were created, in
the day when the Lord God made heaven and earth, and every sapling of
the field, before it would rise up in the land, and every wild plant,
before it would germinate. For the Lord God had not brought rain upon
the earth, and there was no man to work the land. But a fountain
ascended from the earth, irrigating the entire surface of the land.
And then the Lord God formed man from the clay of the earth, and he breathed into his face the breath of life, and man became a living soul. Now the Lord God had planted a Paradise of enjoyment from the beginning. In it, he placed the man whom he had formed. And from the soil the Lord God produced every tree that was beautiful to behold and pleasant to eat. And even the tree of life was in the midst of Paradise, and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.
And a river went forth from the place of enjoyment so as to irrigate Paradise, which is divided from there into four heads. The name of one is the Phison; it is that which runs through all the land of Hevilath, where gold is born; and the gold of that land is the finest. In that place is found bdellium and the onyx stone. And the name of the second river is the Gehon; it is that which runs through all the land of Kush. Truly, the name of the third river is the Tigris; it advances opposite the Assyrians. But the fourth river, it is the Euphrates.
Thus, the Lord God brought the man, and put him into the Paradise of enjoyment, so that it would be attended and preserved by him. And he instructed him, saying: “From every tree of Paradise, you shall eat. But from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, you shall not eat. For in whatever day you will eat from it, you will die a death.” The Lord God also said: “It is not good for the man to be alone. Let us make a helper for him similar to himself.” Therefore, the Lord God, having formed from the soil all the animals of the earth and all the flying creatures of the air, brought them to Adam, in order to see what he would call them. For whatever Adam would call any living creature, that would be its name. And Adam called each of the living things by their names: all the flying creatures of the air, and all the wild beasts of the land. Yet truly, for Adam, there was not found a helper similar to himself. And so the Lord God sent a deep sleep upon Adam. And when he was fast asleep, he took one of his ribs, and he completed it with flesh for it. And the Lord God built up the rib, which he took from Adam, into a woman. And he led her to Adam. And Adam said: “Now this is bone from my bones, and flesh from my flesh. This one shall be called woman, because she was taken from man.” For this reason, a man shall leave behind his father and mother, and he shall cling to his wife; and the two shall be as one flesh. Now they were both naked: Adam, of course, and his wife. And they were not ashamed.
III
The Temptation
However,
the serpent was more crafty than any of the creatures of the earth
that the Lord God had made. And he said to the woman, “Why has
God instructed you, that you should not eat from every tree of
Paradise?” The woman responded to him: “From the fruit of
the trees which are in Paradise, we eat. Yet truly, from the fruit of
the tree which is in the middle of Paradise, God has instructed us
that we should not eat, and that we should not touch it, lest perhaps
we may die.” Then the serpent said to the woman: “By no
means will you die a death. For God knows that, on whatever day you
will eat from it, your eyes will be opened; and you will be like
gods, knowing good and evil.” And so the woman saw that the
tree was good to eat, and beautiful to the eyes, and delightful to
consider. And she took from its fruit, and she ate. And she gave to
her husband, who ate. And the eyes of them both were opened. And when
they realized themselves to be naked, they joined together fig leaves
and made coverings for themselves. And when they had heard the voice
of the Lord God taking a walk in Paradise in the afternoon breeze,
Adam and his wife hid themselves from the face of the Lord God in the
midst of the trees of Paradise. And the Lord God called Adam and said
to him: “Where are you?” And he said, “I heard your
voice in Paradise, and I was afraid, because I was naked, and so I
hid myself.” He said to him, “Then who told you that you
were naked, if you have not eaten of the tree from which I instructed
you that you should not eat?” And Adam said, “The woman,
whom you gave to me as a companion, gave to me from the tree, and I
ate.” And the Lord God said to the woman, “Why have you
done this?” And she responded, “The serpent deceived me,
and I ate.” And the Lord God said to the serpent: “Because
you have done this, you are cursed among all living things, even the
wild beasts of the earth. Upon your breast shall you travel, and the
ground shall you eat, all the days of your life. I will put enmities
between you and the woman, between your offspring and her offspring.
She will crush your head, and you will lie in wait for her heel.”
To the woman, he also said: “I will multiply your labors and
your conceptions. In pain shall you give birth to sons, and you shall
be under your husband’s power, and he shall have dominion over
you.” Yet truly, to Adam, he said: “Because you have
listened to the voice of your wife, and have eaten of the tree, from
which I instructed you that you should not eat, cursed is the land
that you work. In hardship shall you eat from it, all the days of
your life. Thorns and thistles shall it produce for you, and you
shall eat the plants of the earth. By the sweat of your face shall
you eat bread, until you return to the earth from which you were
taken. For dust you are, and unto dust you shall return.” And
Adam called the name of his wife, ‘Eve,’ because she was
the mother of all the living. The Lord God also made for Adam and his
wife garments from skins, and he clothed them. And he said: “Behold,
Adam has become like one of us, knowing good and evil. Therefore, now
perhaps he may put forth his hand and also take from the tree of
life, and eat, and live in eternity.” And so the Lord God sent
him away from the Paradise of enjoyment, in order to work the earth
from which he was taken. And he cast out Adam. And in front of the
Paradise of enjoyment, he placed the Cherubim with a flaming sword,
turning together, to guard the way to the tree of life.
IV
Cain and Abel
Truly,
Adam knew his wife Eve, who conceived and gave birth to Cain, saying,
“I have obtained a man through God.” And again she gave
birth to his brother Abel. But Abel was a pastor of sheep, and Cain
was a farmer.
Then it happened, after many days, that Cain offered gifts to the Lord, from the fruits of the earth. Abel likewise offered from the firstborn of his flock, and from their fat. And the Lord looked with favor on Abel and his gifts. Yet in truth, he did not look with favor on Cain and his gifts. And Cain was vehemently angry, and his countenance fell. And the Lord said to him: “Why are you angry? And why is your face fallen? If you behave well, will you not receive? But if you behave badly, will not sin at once be present at the door? And so its desire will be within you, and you will be dominated by it.” And Cain said to his brother Abel, “Let us go outside.” And when they were in the field, Cain rose up against his brother Abel, and he put him to death. And the Lord said to Cain, “Where is your brother Abel?” And he responded: “I do not know. Am I my brother’s keeper?” And he said to him: “What have you done? The voice of your brother’s blood cries out to me from the land. Now, therefore, you will be cursed upon the land, which opened its mouth and received the blood of your brother at your hand. When you work it, it will not give you its fruit; a vagrant and a fugitive shall you be upon the land.” And Cain said to the Lord: “My iniquity is too great to deserve kindness. Behold, you have cast me out this day before the face of the earth, and from your face I will be hidden; and I will be a vagrant and a fugitive on the earth. Therefore, anyone who finds me will kill me.” And the Lord said to him: “By no means will it be so; rather, whoever would kill Cain, will be punished sevenfold.” And the Lord placed a seal upon Cain, so that anyone who found him would not put him to death.
And so Cain, departing from the face of the Lord, lived as a fugitive on the earth, toward the eastern region of Eden. Then Cain knew his wife, and she conceived and gave birth to Enoch. And he built a city, and he called its name by the name of his son, Enoch.
Thereafter, Enoch conceived Irad, and Irad conceived Mahujael, and Mahujael conceived Mathusael, and Mathusael conceived Lamech. Lamech took two wives: the name of one was Adah, and the name of the other was Zillah. And Adah conceived Jabel, who was the father of those who live in tents and are shepherds. And the name of his brother was Jubal; he was the father of those who sing to the harp and the organ. Zillah also conceived Tubalcain, who was a hammerer and artisan in every work of brass and iron. In fact, the sister of Tubalcain was Noema. And Lamech said to his wives Adah and Zillah: “Listen to my voice, you wives of Lamech, pay attention to my speech. For I have killed a man to my own harm, and an adolescent to my own bruising. Sevenfold vengeance will be given for Cain, but for Lamech, seventy-seven times.” Adam also knew his wife again, and she gave birth to a son, and she called his name Seth, saying, “God has given me another offspring, in place of Abel, whom Cain killed.” But to Seth also was born a son, whom he called Enos. This one began to invoke the name of the Lord.
V
The First Genealogy
This
is the book of the lineage of Adam. In the day that God created man,
he made him to the likeness of God. He created them, male and female;
and he blessed them. And he called their name Adam, in the day when
they were created. Then Adam lived for one hundred and thirty years.
And then he conceived a son in his own image and likeness, and he
called his name Seth. And after he conceived Seth, the days of Adam
that passed were eight hundred years. And he conceived sons and
daughters. And all the time that passed while Adam lived was nine
hundred and thirty years, and then he died. Seth likewise lived for
one hundred and five years, and then he conceived Enos. And after he
conceived Enos, Seth lived for eight hundred and seven years, and he
conceived sons and daughters. And all the days of Seth that passed
were nine hundred and twelve years, and then he died. In truth, Enos
lived ninety years, and then he conceived Cainan. After his birth, he
lived eight hundred and fifteen years, and he conceived sons and
daughters. And all the days of Enos that passed were nine hundred and
five years, and then he died. Likewise, Cainan lived seventy years,
and then he conceived Mahalalel. And after he conceived Mahalalel,
Cainan lived for eight hundred and forty years, and he conceived sons
and daughters. And all the days of Cainan that passed were nine
hundred and ten years, and then he died. And Mahalalel lived
sixty-five years, and then he conceived Jared. And after he conceived
Jared, Mahalalel lived for eight hundred and thirty years, and he
conceived sons and daughters. And all the days of Mahalalel that
passed were eight hundred and ninety-five years, and then he died.
And Jared lived for one hundred and sixty-two years, and then he
conceived Enoch. And after he conceived Enoch, Jared lived for eight
hundred years, and he conceived sons and daughters. And all the days
of Jared that passed were nine hundred and sixty-two years, and then
he died. Now Enoch lived for sixty-five years, and then he conceived
Methuselah. And Enoch walked with God. And after he conceived
Methuselah, he lived for three hundred years, and he conceived sons
and daughters. And all the days of Enoch that passed were three
hundred and sixty-five years. And he walked with God, and then he was
seen no more, because God took him. Likewise, Methuselah lived for
one hundred and eighty-seven years, and then he conceived Lamech. And
after he conceived Lamech, Methuselah lived for seven hundred and
eighty-two years, and he conceived sons and daughters. And all the
days of Methuselah that passed were nine hundred and sixty-nine
years, and then he died. Then Lamech lived for one hundred and
eighty-two years, and he conceived a son. And he called his name
Noah, saying, “This one will console us from the works and
hardships of our hands, in the land that the Lord has cursed.”
And after he conceived Noah, Lamech lived for five hundred and
ninety-five years, and he conceived sons and daughters. And all the
days of Lamech that passed were seven hundred and seventy-seven
years, and then he died. In truth, when Noah was five hundred years
old, he conceived Shem, Ham, and Japheth.
VI
The Sons of God
And
when men began to be multiplied upon the earth, and daughters were
born to them, the sons of God, seeing that the daughters of men were
beautiful, took to themselves wives from all whom they chose. And God
said: “My spirit shall not remain in man forever, because he is
flesh. And so his days shall be one hundred and twenty years.”
Now giants were upon the earth in those days. For after the sons of
God went in to the daughters of men, and they conceived, these became
the powerful ones of ancient times, men of renown. Then God, seeing
that the wickedness of men was great upon the earth and that every
thought of their heart was intent upon evil at all times, repented
that he had made man on the earth. And being touched inwardly with a
sorrow of heart, he said, “I will eliminate man, whom I have
created, from the face of the earth, from man to other living things,
from animals even to the flying things of the air. For it grieves me
that I have made them.” Yet truly, Noah found grace before the
Lord.
VII
Noah
These are the generations of Noah. Noah was a just man, and yet he was predominate among his generations, for he walked with God. And he conceived three sons: Shem, Ham, and Japheth. Yet the earth was corrupted before the eyes of God, and it was filled with iniquity. And when God had seen that the earth had been corrupted, (indeed, all flesh had corrupted its way upon the earth) he said to Noah: “The end of all flesh has arrived in my sight. The earth has been filled with iniquity by their presence, and I will destroy them, along with the earth. Make yourself an ark from smoothed wood. You shall make little dwelling places in the ark, and you shall smear pitch on the interior and exterior. And thus shall you make it: The length of the ark shall be three hundred cubits, its width fifty cubits, and its height thirty cubits. You shall make a window in the ark, and you shall complete it within a cubit of the top. Then you shall set the door of the ark at its side. You shall make in it: a lower part, upper rooms, and a third level. Behold, I shall bring the waters of a great flood upon the earth, so as to put to death all flesh in which there is the breath of life under heaven. All things that are on the earth shall be consumed. And I shall establish my covenant with you, and you shall enter the ark, you and your sons, your wife and the wives of your sons with you. And from every living thing of all that is flesh, you shall lead pairs into the ark, so that they may survive with you: from the male sex and the female, from birds, according to their kind, and from beasts, in their kind, and from among all animals on earth, according to their kind; pairs from each shall enter with you, so that they may be able to live. Therefore, you shall take with you from all the foods that are able to be eaten, and you shall carry these with you. And these shall be used as food, some for you, and the rest for them.” And so Noah did all things just as God had instructed him.
VIII
The Flood
And
the Lord said to him: “Enter the ark, you and all your house.
For I have seen you to be just in my sight, within this generation.
From all the clean animals, take seven and seven, the male and the
female. Yet truly, from animals that are unclean, take two and two,
the male and the female. But also from the birds of the air, take
seven and seven, the male and the female, so that offspring may be
saved upon the face of the whole earth. For from that point, and
after seven days, I will rain upon the earth for forty days and forty
nights. And I will wipe away every substance that I have made, from
the surface of the earth.” Therefore, Noah did all things just
as the Lord had commanded him. And he was six hundred years old when
the waters of the great flood inundated the earth. And Noah entered
into the ark, and his sons, his wife, and the wives of his sons with
him, because of the waters of the great flood. And from the animals
both clean and unclean, and from the birds, and from everything that
moves upon the earth, two by two they were brought into the ark to
Noah, male and female, just as the Lord had instructed Noah. And when
seven days had passed, the waters of the great flood inundated the
earth. In the six hundredth year of the life of Noah, in the second
month, in the seventeenth day of the month, all the fountains of the
great abyss were released, and the floodgates of heaven were opened.
And rain came upon the earth for forty days and forty nights. On the
very same day, Noah and his sons, Shem, Ham, and Japheth, and his
wife and the three wives of his sons with them, entered the ark. They
and every animal according to its kind, and all the cattle in their
kind, and everything that moves upon the earth in their kind, and
every flying thing according to its kind, all the birds and all that
can fly, entered the ark to Noah, two by two out of all that is
flesh, in which there was the breath of life. And those that entered
went in male and female, from all that is flesh, just as God had
instructed him. And then the Lord closed him in from the outside. And
the great flood occurred for forty days upon the earth. And the
waters were increased, and they lifted the ark high above the land.
For they overflowed greatly, and they filled everything on the
surface of the earth. And then the ark was carried across the waters.
And the waters prevailed beyond measure across the earth. And all the
lofty mountains under the whole heaven were covered. The water was
fifteen cubits higher than the mountains which it covered. And all
flesh was consumed which moved upon the earth: flying things,
animals, wild beasts, and all moving things that crawl upon the
ground. And all men, and everything in which there is the breath of
life on earth, died. And he wiped away all substance that was upon
the earth, from man to animal, the crawling things just as much as
the flying things of the air. And they were wiped away from the
earth. But only Noah remained, and those who were with him in the
ark. And the waters possessed the earth for one hundred and fifty
days.
IX
Redemption
Then
God remembered Noah, and all living things, and all the cattle, which
were with him in the ark, and he brought a wind across the earth, and
the waters were diminished. And the fountains of the abyss and the
floodgates of heaven were closed. And the rain from heaven was
restrained. And the waters were restored to their coming and going
from the earth. And they began to diminish after one hundred and
fifty days. And the ark rested in the seventh month, on the
twenty-seventh day of the month, upon the mountains of Armenia. Yet
in truth, the waters were departing and decreasing until the tenth
month. For in the tenth month, on the first day of the month, the
tips of the mountains appeared. And when forty days had passed, Noah,
opening the window that he had made in the ark, sent forth a raven,
which went forth and did not return, until the waters were dried up
across the earth. Likewise, he sent forth a dove after him, in order
to see if the waters had now ceased upon the face of the earth. But
when she did not find a place where her foot might rest, she returned
to him in the ark. For the waters were upon the whole earth. And he
extended his hand and caught her, and he brought her into the ark.
And then, having waited a further seven days, he again sent forth the
dove out of the ark. And she came to him in the evening, carrying in
her mouth an olive branch with green leaves. Noah then understood
that the waters had ceased upon the earth. And nevertheless, he
waited another seven days. And he sent forth the dove, which no
longer returned to him. Therefore, in the six hundred and first year,
in the first month, on the first day of the month, the waters were
diminished upon the earth. And Noah, opening the cover of the ark,
gazed out and saw that the surface of the earth had become dry. In
the second month, on the twenty-seventh day of the month, the earth
was made dry. Then God spoke to Noah, saying: “Go out of the
ark, you and your wife, your sons and the wives of your sons with
you. Bring out with you all the living things that are with you, all
that is flesh: as with the birds, so also with the wild beasts and
all the animals that move upon the earth. And enter upon the land:
increase and multiply upon it.” And so Noah and his sons went
out, and his wife and the wives of his sons with him. Then also all
living things, and the cattle, and the animals that move upon the
earth, according to their kinds, departed from the ark.
Then Noah built an altar to the Lord. And, taking from each of the cattle and birds that were clean, he offered holocausts upon the altar. And the Lord smelled the sweet odor and said: “I will no longer curse the earth because of man. For the feelings and thoughts of the heart of man are prone to evil from his youth. Therefore, I will no longer pierce every living soul as I have done. All the days of the earth, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, night and day, will not cease.”
And God blessed Noah and his sons. And he said to them: “Increase, and multiply, and fill the earth. And let the fear and trembling of you be upon all the animals of the earth, and upon all the birds of the air, along with all that moves across the earth. All the fish of the sea have been delivered into your hand. And everything that moves and lives will be food for you. Just as with the edible plants, I have delivered them all to you, except that flesh with blood you shall not eat. For I will examine the blood of your lives at the hand of every beast. So also, at the hand of mankind, at the hand of each man and his brother, I will examine the life of mankind. Whoever will shed human blood, his blood will be poured out. For man was indeed made to the image of God. But as for you: increase and multiply, and go forth upon the earth and fulfill it.”
X
The Covenant
To Noah and to his sons with him, God also said this: “Behold, I will establish my covenant with you, and with your offspring after you, and with every living soul that is with you: as much with the birds as with the cattle and all the animals of the earth that have gone forth from the ark, and with all the wild beasts of the earth. I will establish my covenant with you, and no longer will all that is flesh be put to death by the waters of a great flood, and, henceforth, there will not be a great flood to utterly destroy the earth.”
And God said: “This is the sign of the pact that I grant between me and you, and to every living soul that is with you, for perpetual generations. I will place my arc in the clouds, and it will be the sign of the pact between myself and the earth. And when I obscure the sky with clouds, my arc will appear in the clouds. And I will remember my covenant with you, and with every living soul that enlivens flesh. And there will no longer be waters from a great flood to wipe away all that is flesh. And the arc will be in the clouds, and I will see it, and I will remember the everlasting covenant that was enacted between God and every living soul of all that is flesh upon the earth.” And God said to Noah, “This will be the sign of the covenant that I have established between myself and all that is flesh upon the earth.”
And so the sons of Noah, who came out of the ark, were Shem, Ham, and Japheth. Now Ham himself is the father of Canaan. These three are the sons of Noah. And from these all the family of mankind was spread over the whole earth.
XI
Drunkenness
And Noah, a good farmer, began to cultivate the land, and he planted a vineyard. And by drinking its wine, he became inebriated and was naked in his tent. Because of this, when Ham, the father of Canaan, had indeed seen the privates of his father to be naked, he reported it to his two brothers outside. And truly, Shem and Japheth put a cloak upon their arms, and, advancing backwards, covered the privates of their father. And their faces were turned away, so that they did not see their father’s manhood. Then Noah, awaking from the wine, when he had learned what his younger son had done to him, he said, “Cursed be Canaan, a servant of servants will he be to his brothers.” And he said: “Blessed be the Lord God of Shem, let Canaan be his servant. May God enlarge Japheth, and may he live in the tents of Shem, and let Canaan be his servant.” And after the great flood, Noah lived for three hundred and fifty years. And all his days were completed in nine hundred and fifty years, and then he died.
XII
The Second Genealogy
These
are the generations of the sons of Noah: Shem, Ham, and Japheth, and
of the sons who were born to them after the great flood.
The sons of Japheth were Gomer, and Magog, and Madai, and Javan, and Tubal, and Meshech, and Tiras. And then the sons of Gomer were Ashkenaz, and Riphath, and Togarmah. And the sons of Javan were Elishah, and Tarshish, Kittim, and Rodanim. The islands of the Gentiles were divided by these into their regions, each one according to his tongue, and their families in their nations.
And
the Sons of Ham were Cush, and Mizraim, and Put, and Canaan. And the
sons of Cush were Seba, and Havilah, and Sabtah, and Raamah, and
Sabteca. The sons of Raamah were Sheba and Dadan. And then Cush
conceived Nimrod; he began to be powerful on the earth. And he was an
able hunter before the Lord. From this, a proverb came forth: ‘Just
like Nimrod, an able hunter before the Lord.’ And so, the
beginning of his kingdom was Babylon, and Erech, and Accad, and
Chalanne, in the land of Shinar. From that land, Assur came forth,
and he built Nineveh, and the streets of the city, and Calah, and
also Resen, between Nineveh and Calah. This is a great city. And
truly, Mizraim conceived Ludim, and Anamim, and Lehabim, Naphtuhim,
and Pathrusim, and Casluhim, from whom came forth the Philistines and
the Caphtorim. Then Canaan conceived Sidon his firstborn, the
Hittite, and the Jebusite, and the Amorite, the Girgashite,
the
Hivite, and the Arkite: the Sinite, and the Arvadian, the Samarite,
and the Hamathite. And after this, the peoples of the Canaanites
became widespread. And the borders of Chanaan went, as one travels,
from Sidon to Gerar, even to Gaza, until one enters Sodom and
Gomorrah, and from Admah and Zeboiim, even to Lesa. These are the
sons of Ham in their kindred, and tongues, and generations, and
lands, and nations.
Likewise, from Shem, the father of all the sons of Heber, the elder brother of Japheth, sons were born. The sons of Shem were Elam, and Asshur, and Arphaxad, and Lud, and Aram. The sons of Aram were Uz, and Hul, and Gether, and Mash. But truly, Arphaxad conceived Shelah, from whom was born Eber. And to Eber were born two sons: the name of the one was Peleg, for in his days the earth became divided, and his brother’s name was Joktan. This Joktan conceived Almodad, and Sheleph, and Hazarmaveth, Jerah and Hadoram, and Uzal and Diklah, and Obal and Abimael, Sheba and Ophir, and Havilah and Jobab. All these were the sons of Joktan. And their habitation extended from Messa, as one sojourns, even to Sephar, a mountain in the east. These are the sons of Shem according to their kindred, and tongues, and the regions within their nations. These are the families of Noah, according to their peoples and nations. The nations became divided according to these, on the earth after the great flood.
XIII
The Tower of Babel
Now
the earth was of one language and of the same speech. And when they
were advancing from the east, they found a plain in the land of
Shinar, and they dwelt in it. And each one said to his neighbor,
“Come, let us make bricks, and bake them with fire.” And
they had bricks instead of stones, and pitch instead of mortar. And
they said: “Come, let us make a city and a tower, so that its
height may reach to heaven. And let us make our name famous before we
are divided into all the lands.” Then the Lord descended to see
the city and the tower, which the sons of Adam were building. And he
said: “Behold, the people are united, and all have one tongue.
And since they have begun to do this, they will not desist from their
plans, until they have completed their work.} Therefore, come, let us
descend, and in that place confound their tongue, so that they may
not listen, each one to the voice of his neighbor.” And so the
Lord divided them from that place into all the lands, and they ceased
to build the city. And for this reason, its name was called ‘Babel,’
because in that place the language of the whole earth became
confused. And from then on, the Lord scattered them across the face
of every region.
The End of Holy Scripture
ALMUSTAFA,
the chosen and the beloved, who was a dawn unto his own day, had
waited twelve years in the city of Orphalese for his ship that was to
return and bear him back to the isle of his birth.
And in the
twelfth year, on the seventh day of Ielool, the month of reaping, he
climbed the hill without the city walls and looked seaward; and he
beheld his ship coming with the mist.
Then the gates of his heart
were flung open, and his joy flew far over the sea. And he closed his
eyes and prayed in the silences of his soul.
But
as he descended the hill, a sadness came upon him, and he thought in
his heart:
How shall I go in peace and without sorrow? Nay, not
without a wound in the spirit shall I leave this city.
Long were
the days of pain I have spent within its walls, and long were the
nights of aloneness; and who can depart from his pain and his
aloneness without regret?
Too many fragments of the spirit have I
scattered in these streets, and too many are the children of my
longing that walk naked among these hills, and I cannot withdraw from
them without a burden and an ache.
It is not a garment I cast off
this day, but a skin that I tear with my own hands.
Nor is it a
thought I leave behind me, but a heart made sweet with hunger and
with thirst.
Yet
I cannot tarry longer.
The sea that calls all things unto her
calls me, and I must embark.
For to stay, though the hours burn in
the night, is to freeze and crystallize and be bound in a mould.
Fain
would I take with me all that is here. But how shall I?
A voice
cannot carry the tongue and the lips that gave it wings. Alone must
it seek the ether.
And alone and without his nest shall the eagle
fly across the sun.
Now when he reached the foot of the hill, he turned again towards the sea, and he saw his ship approaching the harbour, and upon her prow the mariners, the men of his own land.
And
his soul cried out to them, and he said:
Sons of my ancient
mother, you riders of the tides,
How often have you sailed in my
dreams. And now you come in my awakening, which is my deeper
dream.
Ready am I to go, and my eagerness with sails full set
awaits the wind.
Only another breath will I breathe in this still
air, only another loving look cast backward,
And then I shall
stand among you, a seafarer among seafarers.
And you, vast sea,
sleeping mother,
Who alone are peace and freedom to the river and
the stream,
Only another winding will this stream make, only
another murmur in this glade,
And then I shall come to you, a
boundless drop to a boundless ocean.
And
as he walked he saw from afar men and women leaving their fields and
their vineyards and hastening towards the city gates.
And he heard
their voices calling his name, and shouting from field to field
telling one another of the coming of his ship.
And
he said to himself:
Shall the day of parting be the day of
gathering?
And shall it be said that my eve was in truth my
dawn?
And what shall I give unto him who has left his slough in
midfurrow, or to him who has stopped the wheel of his
winepress?
Shall my heart become a tree heavy-laden with fruit
that I may gather and give unto them?
And shall my desires flow
like a fountain that I may fill their cups?
Am I a harp that the
hand of the mighty may touch me, or a flute that his breath may pass
through me?
A seeker of silences am I, and what treasure have I
found in silences that I may dispense with confidence?
If this is
my day of harvest, in what fields have I sowed the seed, and in what
unremembered seasons?
If this indeed be the hour in which I lift
up my lantern, it is not my flame that shall burn therein.
Empty
and dark shall I raise my lantern, And the guardian of the night
shall fill it with oil and he shall light it also.
These things he said in words. But much in his heart remained unsaid. For he himself could not speak his deeper secret.
And
when he entered into the city all the people came to meet him, and
they were crying out to him as with one voice.
And the elders of
the city stood forth and said:
Go not yet away from us.
A
noontide have you been in our twilight, and your youth has given us
dreams to dream.
No stranger are you among us, nor a guest, but
our son and our dearly beloved.
Suffer not yet our eyes to hunger
for your face.
And
the priests and the priestesses said unto him:
Let not the waves
of the sea separate us now, and the years you have spent in our midst
become a memory.
You have walked among us a spirit, and your
shadow has been a light upon our faces.
Much have we loved you.
But speechless was our love, and with veils has it been veiled.
Yet
now it cries aloud unto you, and would stand revealed before you.
And
ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of
separation.
And
others came also and entreated him. But he answered them not. He only
bent his head; and those who stood near saw his tears falling upon
his breast.
And he and the people proceeded towards the great
square before the temple.
And there came out of the sanctuary a
woman whose name was Almitra. And she was a seeress.
And he looked
upon her with exceeding tenderness, for it was she who had first
sought and believed in him when he had been but a day in their
city.
And she hailed him, saying:
Prophet of God, in quest of
the uttermost, long have you searched the distances for your
ship.
And now your ship has come, and you must needs go.
Deep
is your longing for the land of your memories and the dwelling-place
of your greater desires; and our love would not bind you nor our
needs hold you.
Yet this we ask ere you leave us, that you speak
to us and give us of your truth.
And we will give it unto our
children, and they unto their children, and it shall not perish.
In
your aloneness you have watched with our days, and in your
wakefulness you have listened to the weeping and the laughter of our
sleep.
Now therefore disclose us to ourselves, and tell us all
that has been shown you of that which is between birth and death.
And
he answered:
People of Orphalese, of what can I speak save of that
which is even now moving within your souls?
THEN said
Almitra, Speak to us of Love.
And he raised his head and looked
upon the people, and there fell a stillness upon them. And with a
great voice he said:
When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though
his ways are hard and steep.
And When his wings enfold you yield
to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound
you.
And When he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice
may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.
For
even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you.
Even as he is for
your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your
height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the
sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their
clinging to the earth.
Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto
himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to
free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads
you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred
fire, that you may become sacred bread for God’s sacred feast.
All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life’s heart.
But
if in your fear you would seek only love’s peace and love’s
pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness
and pass out of love’s threshing-floor,
Into the seasonless
world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep,
but not all of your tears.
Love
gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
Love
possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient
unto love.
When
you love you should not say, “God is in my heart,” but
rather, “I am in the heart of God.”
And think not you
can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy,
directs your course.
Love
has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and
must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be
like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know
the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own
understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To
wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of
loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love’s
ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to
sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of
praise upon your lips.
THEN Almitra
spoke again and said, And what of Marriage, master?
And he
answered saying:
You were born together, and together you shall be
for evermore.
You shall be together when the white wings of death
scatter your days.
Aye, you shall be together even in the silent
memory of God.
But let there be spaces in your togetherness.
And
let the winds of the heavens dance between you.
Love
one another, but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a
moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other’s
cup but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread but
eat not from the same loaf.
Sing and dance together and be joyous,
but let each one of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute
are alone though they quiver with the same music.
Give
your hearts, but not into each other’s keeping.
For only the
hand of Life can contain your hearts.
And stand together yet not
too near together:
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And
the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other’s shadow.
AND a
woman who held a babe against her bosom said, Speak to us of
Children.
And he said:
Your children are not your
children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing
for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though
they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You
may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their
own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For
their souls dwell in the house of to-morrow, which you cannot visit,
not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek
not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries
with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as
living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the
path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows
may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the Archer’s hand
be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He
loves also the bow that is stable.
THEN said
a rich man, Speak to us of Giving.
And he answered:
You give
but little when you give of your possessions.
It is when you give
of yourself that you truly give.
For what are your possessions but
things you keep and guard for fear you may need them to morrow?
And
to-morrow, what shall to-morrow bring to the over-prudent dog burying
bones in the trackless sand as he follows the pilgrims to the holy
city?
And what is fear of need but need itself?
Is not dread of
thirst when your well is full, the thirst that is unquenchable?
There
are those who give little of the much which they have – and
they give it for recognition and their hidden desire makes their
gifts unwholesome.
And there are those who have little and give it
all.
These are the believers in life and the bounty of life, and
their coffer is never empty.
There are those who give with joy,
and that joy is their reward.
And there are those who give with
pain, and that pain is their baptism.
And there are those who give
and know not pain in giving, nor do they seek joy, nor give with
mindfulness of virtue;
They give as in yonder valley the myrtle
breathes its fragrance into space.
Through the hands of such as
these God speaks, and from behind their eyes He smiles upon the
earth.
IT
is well to give when asked, but it is better to give unasked, through
understanding;
And to the open-handed the search for one who shall
receive is joy greater than giving.
And is there aught you would
withhold?
All you have shall some day be given;
Therefore give
now, that the season of giving may be yours and not your inheritors’.
You
often say, “I would give, but only to the deserving.”
The
trees in your orchard say not so, nor the flocks in your
pasture.
They give that they may live, for to withhold is to
perish.
Surely he who is worthy to receive his days and his nights
is worthy of all else from you.
And he who has deserved to drink
from the ocean of life deserves to fill his cup from your little
stream.
And what desert greater shall there be, than that which
lies in the courage and the confidence, nay the charity, of
receiving?
And who are you that men should rend their bosom and
unveil their pride, that you may see their worth naked and their
pride unabashed?
See first that you yourself deserve to be a
giver, and an instrument of giving.
For in truth it is life that
gives unto life-while you, who deem yourself a giver, are but a
witness.
And
you receivers – and you are all receivers – assume no
weight of gratitude, lest you lay a yoke upon yourself and upon him
who gives.
Rather rise together with the giver on his gifts as on
wings;
For to be overmindful of your debt is to doubt his
generosity who has the free-hearted earth for mother, and God for
father.
THEN an
old man, a keeper of an inn, said, Speak to us of Eating and
Drinking.
And he said:
Would that you could live on the
fragrance of the earth, and like an air plant be sustained by the
light.
But since you must kill to eat, and rob the newly born of
its mother’s milk to quench your thirst, let it then be an act
of worship,
And let your board stand an altar on which the pure
and the innocent of forest and plain are sacrificed for that which is
purer and still more innocent in man.
When
you kill a beast say to him in your heart:
“By the same
power that slays you, I too am slain; and I too shall be
consumed.
For the law that delivered you into my hand shall
deliver me into a mightier hand.
Your blood and my blood is naught
but the sap that feeds the tree of heaven.”
And
when you crush an apple with your teeth, say to it in your
heart:
“Your seeds shall live in my body,
And the buds of
your to-morrow shall blossom in my heart,
And your fragrance shall
be my breath,
And together we shall rejoice through all the
seasons.”
And
in the autumn, when you gather the grapes of your vineyards for the
winepress, say in your heart:
“I too am a vineyard, and my
fruit shall be gathered for the winepress,
And like new wine I
shall be kept in eternal vessels.”
And in winter, when you
draw the wine, let there be in your heart a song for each cup;
And
let there be in the song a remembrance for the autumn days, and for
the vineyard, and for the winepress.
THEN a
ploughman said, Speak to us of Work.
And he answered, saying:
You
work that you may keep pace with the earth and the soul of the
earth.
For to be idle is to become a stranger unto the seasons,
and to step out of life’s procession that marches in majesty
and proud submission towards the infinite.
When
you work you are a flute through whose heart the whispering of the
hours turns to music.
Which of you would be a reed, dumb and
silent, when all else sings together in unison?
Always
you have been told that work is a curse and labour a misfortune.
But
I say to you that when you work you fulfill a part of earth’s
furthest dream, assigned to you when that dream was born,
And in
keeping yourself with labour you are in truth loving life,
And to
love life through labour is to be intimate with life’s inmost
secret.
But if you in your pain call birth an affliction and the support of the flesh a curse written upon your brow, then I answer that naught but the sweat of your brow shall wash away that which is written.
You
have been told also that life is darkness, and in your weariness you
echo what was said by the weary.
And I say that life is indeed
darkness save when there is urge,
And all urge is blind save when
there is know ledge.
And all knowledge is vain save when there is
work,
And all work is empty save when there is love;
And when
you work with love you bind your self to yourself, and to one
another, and to God.
And
what is it to work with love?
It is to weave the cloth with
threads drawn from your heart, even as if your beloved were to wear
that cloth.
It is to build a house with affection, even as if your
beloved were to dwell in that house.
It is to sow seeds with
tenderness and reap the harvest with joy, even as if your beloved
were to eat the fruit.
It is to charge all things you fashion with
a breath of your own spirit,
And to know that all the blessed dead
are standing about you and watching.
Often
have I heard you say, as if speaking in sleep, “He who works in
marble, and finds the shape of his own soul in the stone, is nobler
than he who ploughs the soil.
And he who seizes the rainbow to lay
it on a cloth in the likeness of man, is more than he who makes the
sandals for our feet.”
But I say, not in sleep, but in the
overwakefulness of noontide, that the wind speaks not more sweetly to
the giant oaks than to the least of all the blades of grass;
And
he alone is great who turns the voice of the wind into a song made
sweeter by his own loving.
Work
is love made visible. And if you cannot work with love but only with
distaste, it is better that you should leave your work and sit at the
gate of the temple and take alms of those who work with joy.
For
if you bake bread with indifference, you bake a bitter bread that
feeds but half man’s hunger.
And if you grudge the crushing
of the grapes, your grudge distills a poison in the wine.
And if
you sing though as angels, and love not the singing, you muffle man’s
ears to the voices of the day and the voices of the night.
THEN a
woman said, Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow.
And he answered:
Your
joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your
laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else
can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more
joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very
cup that was burned in the potter’s oven?
And is not the
lute that soothes your spirit the very wood that was hollowed with
knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you
shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving
you joy.
When you are sorrowful, look again in your heart, and you
shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your
delight.
Some
of you say, “Joy is greater than sorrow,” and others say,
“Nay, sorrow is the greater.”
But I say unto you, they
are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits alone with
you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.
Verily
you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.
Only
when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.
When the
treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs
must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.
THEN a
mason came forth and said, Speak to us of Houses.
And he answered
and said:
Build of your imaginings a bower in the wilderness ere
you build a house within the city walls.
For even as you have
home-comings in your twilight, so has the wanderer in you, the ever
distant and alone.
Your house is your larger body.
It grows in
the sun and sleeps in the stillness of the night; and it is not
dreamless.
Does not your house dream? and dreaming, leave the city
for grove or hilltop?
Would
that I could gather your houses into my hand, and like a sower
scatter them in forest and meadow.
Would the valleys were your
streets, and the green paths your alleys, that you might seek one
another through vineyards, and come with the fragrance of the earth
in your garments.
But these things are not yet to be.
In their
fear your forefathers gathered you too near together.
And that
fear shall endure a little longer.
A little longer shall your city
walls separate your hearths from your fields.
And
tell me, people of Orphalese, what have you in these houses?
And
what is it you guard with fastened doors?
Have you peace, the
quiet urge that reveals your power?
Have you remembrances, the
glimmering arches that span the summits of the mind?
Have you
beauty, that leads the heart from things fashioned of wood and stone
to the holy mountain?
Tell me, have you these in your houses?
Or
have you only comfort, and the lust for comfort, that stealthy thing
that enters the house a guest, and then becomes a host, and then a
master?
Ay,
and it becomes a tamer, and with hook and scourge makes puppets of
your larger desires.
Though its hands are silken, its heart is of
iron.
It lulls you to sleep only to stand by your bed and jeer at
the dignity of the flesh.
It makes mock of your sound senses, and
lays them in thistledown like fragile vessels.
Verily the lust for
comfort murders the passion of the soul, and then walks grinning in
the funeral.
But
you, children of space, you restless in rest, you shall not be
trapped nor tamed.
Your house shall be not an anchor but a
mast.
It shall not be a glistening film that covers a wound, but
an eyelid that guards the eye.
You shall not fold your wings that
you may pass through doors, nor bend your heads that they strike not
against a ceiling, nor fear to breathe lest walls should crack and
fall down.
You shall not dwell in tombs made by the dead for the
living.
And though of magnificence and splendour, your house shall
not hold your secret nor shelter your longing.
For that which is
boundless in you abides in the mansion of the sky, whose door is the
morning mist, and whose windows are the songs and the silences of
night.
AND the
weaver said, Speak to us of Clothes.
And he answered:
Your
clothes conceal much of your beauty, yet they hide not the
unbeautiful.
And though you seek in garments the freedom of
privacy you may find in them a harness and a chain.
Would that you
could meet the sun and the wind with more of your skin and less of
your raiment.
For the breath of life is in the sunlight and the
hand of life is in the wind.
Some
of you say, “It is the north wind who has woven the clothes we
wear.”
And I say, Aye, it was the north wind,
But shame
was his loom, and the softening of the sinews was his thread.
And
when his work was done he laughed in the forest.
Forget not that
modesty is for a shield against the eye of the unclean.
And when
the unclean shall be no more, what were modesty but a fetter and a
fouling of the mind?
And forget not that the earth delights to
feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair.
AND a
merchant said, Speak to us of Buying and Selling.
And he answered
and said:
To you the earth yields her fruit, and you shall not
want if you but know how to fill your hands.
It is in exchanging
the gifts of the earth that you shall find abundance and be
satisfied.
Yet unless the exchange be in love and kindly justice
it will but lead some to greed and others to hunger.
When
in the market-place you toilers of the sea and fields and vineyards
meet the weavers and the potters and the gatherers of spices,
–
Invoke then the master spirit of the earth, to come into
your midst and sanctify the scales and the reckoning that weighs
value against value.
And
suffer not the barren-handed to take part in your transactions, who
would sell their words for your labour.
To such men you should
say:
“Come with us to the field, or go with our brothers to
the sea and cast your net;
For the land and the sea shall be
bountiful to you even as to us.”
And
if there come the singers and the dancers and the flute players, –
buy of their gifts also.
For they too are gatherers of fruit and
frankincense, and that which they bring, though fashioned of dreams,
is raiment and food for your soul.
And
before you leave the market-place, see that no one has gone his way
with empty hands.
For the master spirit of the earth shall not
sleep peacefully upon the wind till the needs of the least of you are
satisfied.
THEN one
of the judges of the city stood forth and said, Speak to us of Crime
and Punishment.
And he answered, saying:
It is when your spirit
goes wandering upon the wind,
That you, alone and unguarded,
commit a wrong unto others and therefore unto yourself.
And for
that wrong committed must you knock and wait a while unheeded at the
gate of the blessed.
Like
the ocean is your god-self;
It remains for ever undefiled.
And
like the ether it lifts but the winged.
Even like the sun is your
god-self;
It knows not the ways of the mole nor seeks it the holes
of the serpent.
But your god-self dwells not alone in your
being.
Much in you is still man, and much in you is not yet
man,
But a shapeless pigmy that walks asleep in the mist searching
for its own awakening.
And of the man in you would I now
speak.
For it is he and not your god-self nor the pigmy in the
mist that knows crime and the punishment of crime.
Oftentimes
have I heard you speak of one who commits a wrong as though he were
not one of you, but a stranger unto you and an intruder upon your
world.
But I say that even as the holy and the righteous cannot
rise beyond the highest which is in each one of you,
So the wicked
and the weak cannot fall lower than the lowest which is in you
also.
And as a single leaf turns not yellow but with the silent
knowledge of the whole tree,
So the wrong-doer cannot do wrong
without the hidden will of you all.
Like a procession you walk
together towards your god-self.
You
are the way and the wayfarers.
And when one of you falls down he
falls for those behind him, a caution against the stumbling
stone.
Aye, and he falls for those ahead of him, who, though
faster and surer of foot, yet removed not the stumbling stone.
And
this also, though the word lie heavy upon your hearts:
The
murdered is not unaccountable for his own murder,
And the robbed
is not blameless in being robbed.
The righteous is not innocent of
the deeds of the wicked,
And the white-handed is not clean in the
doings of the felon.
Yea, the guilty is oftentimes the victim of
the injured,
And still more often the condemned is the burden
bearer for the guiltless and unblamed.
You cannot separate the
just from the unjust and the good from the wicked;
For they stand
together before the face of the sun even as the black thread and the
white are woven together.
And when the black thread breaks, the
weaver shall look into the whole cloth, and he shall examine the loom
also.
IF
any of you would bring to judgment the unfaithful wife,
Let him
also weigh the heart of her husband in scales, and measure his soul
with measurements.
And let him who would lash the offender look
unto the spirit of the offended.
And if any of you would punish in
the name of righteousness and lay the axe unto the evil tree, let him
see to its roots;
And verily he will find the roots of the good
and the bad, the fruitful and the fruitless, all entwined together in
the silent heart of the earth.
And you judges who would be
just.
What judgment pronounce you upon him who though honest in
the flesh yet is a thief in spirit?
What penalty lay you upon him
who slays in the flesh yet is himself slain in the spirit?
And how
prosecute you him who in action is a deceiver and an oppressor,
Yet
who also is aggrieved and outraged?
And
how shall you punish those whose remorse is already greater than
their misdeeds?
Is not remorse the justice which is administered
by that very law which you would fain serve?
Yet you cannot lay
remorse upon the innocent nor lift it from the heart of the
guilty.
Unbidden shall it call in the night, that men may wake and
gaze upon themselves.
And you who would understand justice, how
shall you unless you look upon all deeds in the fullness of
light?
Only then shall you know that the erect and the fallen are
but one man standing in twilight between the night of his pigmy-self
and the day of his god self,
And that the corner-stone of the
temple is not higher than the lowest stone in its foundation.
THEN a
lawyer said, But what of our Laws, master?
And he answered:
You
delight in laying down laws,
Yet you delight more in breaking
them.
Like children playing by the ocean who build sand-towers
with constancy and then destroy them with laughter.
But while you
build your sand-towers the ocean brings more sand to the shore,
And
when you destroy them the ocean laughs with you.
Verily the ocean
laughs always with the innocent.
But
what of those to whom life is not an ocean, and man-made laws are not
sand-towers,
But to whom life is a rock, and the law a chisel with
which they would carve it in their own likeness?
What of the
cripple who hates dancers?
What of the ox who loves his yoke and
deems the elk and deer of the forest stray and vagrant things?
What
of the old serpent who cannot shed his skin, and calls all others
naked and shameless?
And of him who comes early to the wedding
feast, and when over-fed and tired goes his way saying that all
feasts are violation and all feasters law-breakers?
What
shall I say of these save that they too stand in the sunlight, but
with their backs to the sun?
They see only their shadows, and
their shadows are their laws.
And what is the sun to them but a
caster of shadows?
And what is it to acknowledge the laws but to
stoop down and trace their shadows upon the earth?
But you who
walk facing the sun, what images drawn on the earth can hold you?
You
who travel with the wind, what weather vane shall direct your
course?
What man’s law shall bind you if you break your yoke
but upon no man’s prison door?
What laws shall you fear if
you dance but stumble against no man’s iron chains?
And who
is he that shall bring you to judgment if you tear off your garment
yet leave it in no man’s path?
People of Orphalese, you can
muffle the drum, and you can loosen the strings of the lyre, but who
shall command the skylark not to sing?
AND an
orator said, Speak to us of Freedom.
And he answered:
At the
city gate and by your fireside I have seen you prostrate yourself and
worship your own freedom,
Even as slaves humble themselves before
a tyrant and praise him though he slays them.
Aye, in the grove of
the temple and in the shadow of the citadel I have seen the freest
among you wear their freedom as a yoke and a handcuff.
And my
heart bled within me; for you can only be free when even the desire
of seeking freedom becomes a harness to you, and when you cease to
speak of freedom as a goal and a fulfillment.
You shall be free
indeed when your days are not without a care nor your nights without
a want and a grief,
But rather when these things girdle your life
and yet you rise above them naked and unbound.
And
how shall you rise beyond your days and nights unless you break the
chains which you at the dawn of your understanding have fastened
around your noon hour?
In truth that which you call freedom is the
strongest of these chains, though its links glitter in the sun and
dazzle your eyes.
And
what is it but fragments of your own self you would discard that you
may become free?
If it is an unjust law you would abolish, that
law was written with your own hand upon your own forehead.
You
cannot erase it by burning your law books nor by washing the
foreheads of your judges, though you pour the sea upon them.
And
if it is a despot you would dethrone, see first that his throne
erected within you is destroyed.
For how can a tyrant rule the
free and the proud, but for a tyranny in their own freedom and a
shame in their own pride?
And if it is a care you would cast off,
that care has been chosen by you rather than imposed upon you.
And
if it is a fear you would dispel, the seat of that fear is in your
heart and not in the hand of the feared.
Verily all things move
within your being in constant half embrace, the desired and the
dreaded, the repugnant and the cherished, the pursued and that which
you would escape.
These things move within you as lights and
shadows in pairs that cling.
And when the shadow fades and is no
more, the light that lingers becomes a shadow to another light.
And
thus your freedom when it loses its fetters becomes itself the fetter
of a greater freedom.
AND the
priestess spoke again and said: Speak to us of Reason and
Passion.
And he answered, saying:
Your soul is oftentimes a
battlefield, upon which your reason and your judgment wage war
against your passion and your appetite.
Would that I could be the
peacemaker in your soul, that I might turn the discord and the
rivalry of your elements into oneness and melody.
But how shall I,
unless you yourselves be also the peacemakers, nay, the lovers of all
your elements?
Your
reason and your passion are the rudder and the sails of your
seafaring soul.
If either your sails or your rudder be broken, you
can but toss and drift, or else be held at a standstill in
mid-seas.
For reason, ruling alone, is a force confining; and
passion, unattended, is a flame that burns to its own
destruction.
Therefore let your soul exalt your reason to the
height of passion, that it may sing;
And let it direct your
passion with reason, that your passion may live through its own daily
resurrection, and like the phoenix rise above its own ashes.
I
would have you consider your judgment and your appetite even as you
would two loved guests in your house.
Surely you would not honour
one guest above the other; for he who is more mindful of one loses
the love and the faith of both.
Among the hills, when you sit in
the cool shade of the white poplars, sharing the peace and serenity
of distant fields and meadows – then let your heart say in
silence, “God rests in reason.”
And when the storm
comes, and the mighty wind shakes the forest, and thunder and
lightning proclaim the majesty of the sky, – then let your
heart say in awe, “God moves in passion.”
And since
you are a breath in God’s sphere, and a leaf in God’s
forest, you too should rest in reason and move in passion.
AND a
woman spoke, saying, Tell us of Pain.
And he said:
Your pain is
the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.
Even
as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the
sun, so must you know pain.
And could you keep your heart in
wonder at the daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem
less wondrous than your joy;
And you would accept the seasons of
your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass
over your fields.
And you would watch with serenity through the
winters of your grief.
Much of your pain is self-chosen.
It is
the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick
self.
Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy in
silence and tranquillity:
For his hand, though heavy and hard, is
guided by the tender hand of the Unseen,
And the cup he brings,
though it burn your lips, has been fashioned of the clay which the
Potter has moistened with His own sacred tears.
AND a
man said, Speak to us of Self-Knowledge.
And he answered,
saying:
Your hearts know in silence the secrets of the days and
the nights.
But your ears thirst for the sound of your heart’s
knowledge.
You would know in words that which you have always
known in thought.
You would touch with your fingers the naked body
of your dreams.
And
it is well you should.
The hidden well-spring of your soul must
needs rise and run murmuring to the sea;
And the treasure of your
infinite depths would be revealed to your eyes.
But let there be
no scales to weigh your unknown treasure;
And seek not the depths
of your knowledge with staff or sounding line.
For self is a sea
boundless and measureless.
Say
not, “I have found the truth,” but rather, “I have
found a truth.”
Say not, “I have found the path of the
soul.” Say rather, “I have met the soul walking upon my
path.”
For the soul walks upon all paths.
The soul walks
not upon a line, neither does it grow like a reed.
The soul
unfolds itself, like a lotus of countless petals.
THEN said
a teacher, Speak to us of Teaching.
And he said:
No man can
reveal to you aught but that which already lies half asleep in the
dawning of your knowledge.
The teacher who walks in the shadow of
the temple, among his followers, gives not of his wisdom but rather
of his faith and his lovingness.
If he is indeed wise he does not
bid you enter the house of his wisdom, but rather leads you to the
threshold of your own mind.
The astronomer may speak to you of his
understanding of space, but he cannot give you his understanding.
The
musician may sing to you of the rhythm which is in all space, but he
cannot give you the ear which arrests the rhythm, nor the voice that
echoes it.
And he who is versed in the science of numbers can tell
of the regions of weight and measure, but he cannot conduct you
thither.
For the vision of one man lends not its wings to another
man.
And even as each one of you stands alone in God’s
knowledge, so must each one of you be alone in his knowledge of God
and in his understanding of the earth.
AND a
youth said, Speak to us of Friendship.
And he answered,
saying:
Your friend is your needs answered.
He is your field
which you sow with love and reap with thanksgiving.
And he is your
board and your fireside.
For you come to him with your hunger, and
you seek him for peace.
When
your friend speaks his mind you fear not the “nay” in
your own mind, nor do you withhold the “aye.”
And when
he is silent your heart ceases not to listen to his heart;
For
without words, in friendship, all thoughts, all desires, all
expectations are born and shared, with joy that is unclaimed.
when
you part from your friend, you grieve not;
For that which you love
most in him may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the
climber is clearer from the plain.
And let there be no purpose in
friendship save the deepening of the spirit.
For love that seeks
aught but the disclosure of its own mystery is not love but a net
cast forth: and only the unprofitable is caught.
And
let your best be for your friend.
If he must know the ebb of your
tide, let him know its flood also.
For what is your friend that
you should seek him with hours to kill?
Seek him always with hours
to live.
For it is his to fill your need, but not your
emptiness.
And in the sweetness of friendship let there be
laughter, and sharing of pleasures.
For in the dew of little
things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed.
AND then
a scholar said, Speak of Talking.
And he answered, saying:
You
talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts;
And when
you can no longer dwell in the solitude of your heart you live in
your lips, and sound is a diversion and a pastime.
And in much of
your talking, thinking is half murdered. For thought is a bird of
space, that in a cage of words may indeed unfold its wings but cannot
fly.
There
are those among you who seek the talkative through fear of being
alone.
The silence of aloneness reveals to their eyes their naked
selves and they would escape.
And there are those who talk, and
without knowledge or forethought reveal a truth which they themselves
do not understand.
And there are those who have the truth within
them, but they tell it not in words.
In the bosom of such as these
the spirit dwells in rhythmic silence.
When
you meet your friend on the roadside or in the market-place, let the
spirit in you move your lips and direct your tongue.
Let the voice
within your voice speak to the ear of his ear;
For his soul will
keep the truth of your heart as the taste of the wine is
remembered.
When the colour is forgotten and the vessel is no
more.
AND an
astronomer said, “Master, what of Time?”
And he
answered:
You would measure time the measureless and the
immeasurable.
You would adjust your conduct and even direct the
course of your spirit according to hours and seasons.
Of time you
would make a stream upon whose bank you would sit and watch its
flowing.
Yet
the timeless in you is aware of life’s timelessness,
And
knows that yesterday is but to-day’s memory and to-morrow is
to-day’s dream.
And that which sings and contemplates in you
is still dwelling within the bounds of that first moment which
scattered the stars into space.
Who among you does not feel that
his power to love is boundless?
And yet who does not feel that
very love, though boundless, encompassed within the centre of his
being, and moving not from love thought to love thought, nor from
love deeds to other love deeds?
And is not time even as love is,
undivided and paceless?
But
if in your thought you must measure time into seasons, let each
season encircle all the other seasons,
And let to-day embrace the
past with remembrance and the future with longing.
AND one
of the elders of the city said, Speak to us of Good and Evil.
And
he answered:
Of the good in you I can speak, but not of the
evil.
For what is evil but good tortured by its own hunger and
thirst?
Verily when good is hungry it seeks food even in dark
caves, and when it thirsts it drinks even of dead waters.
You
are good when you are one with yourself.
Yet when you are not one
with yourself you are not evil.
For a divided house is not a den
of thieves; it is only a divided house.
And a ship without rudder
may wander aimlessly among perilous isles yet sink not to the
bottom.
You are good when you strive to give of yourself.
Yet
you are not evil when you seek gain for yourself.
For when you
strive for gain you are but a root that clings to the earth and sucks
at her breast.
Surely the fruit cannot say to the root, “Be
like me, ripe and full and ever giving of your abundance.”
For
to the fruit giving is a need, as receiving is a need to the root.
You
are good when you are fully awake in your speech.
Yet you are not
evil when you sleep while your tongue staggers without purpose.
And
even stumbling speech may strengthen a weak tongue.
You
are good when you walk to your goal firmly and with bold steps.
Yet
you are not evil when you go thither limping.
Even those who limp
go not backward.
But you who are strong and swift, see that you do
not limp before the lame, deeming it kindness.
You
are good in countless ways, and you are not evil when you are not
good,
You are only loitering and sluggard.
Pity that the stags
cannot teach swiftness to the turtles.
IN
your longing for your giant self lies your goodness: and that longing
is in all of you.
But in some of you that longing is a torrent
rushing with might to the sea, carrying the secrets of the hillsides
and the songs of the forest.
And in others it is a flat stream
that loses itself in angles and bends and lingers before it reaches
the shore.
But let not him who longs much say to him who longs
little, “Wherefore are you slow and halting?”
For the
truly good ask not the naked, “Where is your garment?”
nor the houseless, “What has befallen your house?”
THEN a
priestess said, “Speak to us of Prayer.”
And he
answered, saying:
You pray in your distress and in your need;
would that you might pray also in the fullness of your joy and in
your days of abundance.
For
what is prayer but the expansion of your self into the living
ether?
And if it is for your comfort to pour your darkness into
space, it is also for your delight to pour forth the dawning of your
heart.
And if you cannot but weep when your soul summons you to
prayer, she should spur you again and yet again, though weeping,
until you shall come laughing.
When you pray you rise to meet in
the air those who are praying at that very hour, and whom save in
prayer you may not meet.
Therefore let your visit to that temple
invisible be for naught but ecstasy and sweet communion.
For if
you should enter the temple for no other purpose than asking you
shall not receive:
And if you should enter into it to humble
yourself you shall not be lifted:
Or even if you should enter into
it to beg for the good of others you shall not be heard.
It is
enough that you enter the temple invisible.
I
cannot teach you how to pray in words.
God listens not to your
words save when He Himself utters them through your lips.
And I
cannot teach you the prayer of the seas and the forests and the
mountains.
But you who are born of the mountains and the forests
and the seas can find their prayer in your heart,
And if you but
listen in the stillness of the night you shall hear them saying in
silence:
“Our God, who art our winged self, it is thy will
in us that willeth.
“It is thy desire in us that
desireth.
“It is thy urge in us that would turn our nights,
which are thine, into days, which are thine also.
“We cannot
ask thee for aught, for thou knowest our needs before they are born
in us:
“Thou art our need; and in giving us more of thyself
thou givest us all.”
THEN a
hermit, who visited the city once a year, came forth and said, Speak
to us of Pleasure.
And he answered, saying:
Pleasure is a
freedom-song,
But it is not freedom.
It is the blossoming of
your desires,
But it is not their fruit.
It is a depth calling
unto a height,
But it is not the deep nor the high.
It is the
caged taking wing,
But it is not space encompassed.
Aye, in
very truth, pleasure is a freedom-song.
And I fain would have you
sing it with fullness of heart; yet I would not have you lose your
hearts in the singing.
Some
of your youth seek pleasure as if it were all, and they are judged
and rebuked.
I would not judge nor rebuke them. I would have them
seek.
For they shall find pleasure, but not her alone;
Seven
are her sisters, and the least of them is more beautiful than
pleasure.
Have you not heard of the man who was digging in the
earth for roots and found a treasure?
And
some of your elders remember pleasures with regret like wrongs
committed in drunkenness.
But regret is the beclouding of the mind
and not its chastisement.
They should remember their pleasures
with gratitude, as they would the harvest of a summer.
Yet if it
comforts them to regret, let them be comforted.
And
there are among you those who are neither young to seek nor old to
remember;
And in their fear of seeking and remembering they shun
all pleasures, lest they neglect the spirit or offend against it.
But
even in their foregoing is their pleasure.
And thus they too find
a treasure though they dig for roots with quivering hands.
But
tell me, who is he that can offend the spirit?
Shall the
nightingale offend the stillness of the night, or the firefly the
stars?
And shall your flame or your smoke burden the wind?
Think
you the spirit is a still pool which you can trouble with a staff?
Oftentimes
in denying yourself pleasure you do but store the desire in the
recesses of your being.
Who knows but that which seems omitted to
day, waits for to-morrow?
Even your body knows its heritage and
its rightful need and will not be deceived.
And your body is the
harp of your soul,
And it is yours to bring forth sweet music from
it or confused sounds.
And
now you ask in your heart, “How shall we distinguish that which
is good in pleasure from that which is not good?”
Go to your
fields and your gardens, and you shall learn that it is the pleasure
of the bee to gather honey of the flower,
But it is also the
pleasure of the flower to yield its honey to the bee.
For to the
bee a flower is a fountain of life,
And to the flower a bee is a
messenger of love,
And to both, bee and flower, the giving and the
receiving of pleasure is a need and an ecstasy.
People of Orphalese, be in your pleasures like the flowers and the bees.
AND a
poet said, Speak to us of Beauty.
And he answered:
Where shall
you seek beauty, and how shall you find her unless she herself be
your way and your guide?
And how shall you speak of her except she
be the weaver of your speech?
The
aggrieved and the injured say, “Beauty is kind and
gentle.
“Like a young mother half-shy of her own glory she
walks among us.”
And the passionate say, “Nay, beauty
is a thing of might and dread.
“Like the tempest she shakes
the earth beneath us and the sky above us.”
The
tired and the weary say, “Beauty is of soft whisperings.
“She
speaks in our spirit.
“Her voice yields to our silences like
a faint light that quivers in fear of the shadow.”
But the
restless say, “We have heard her shouting among the
mountains,
“And with her cries came the sound of hoofs, and
the beating of wings and the roaring of lions.”
At
night the watchmen of the city say, “Beauty shall rise with the
dawn from the east.”
And at noontide the toilers and the
wayfarers say, “We have seen her leaning over the earth from
the windows of the sunset.”
In
winter say the snow-bound, “She shall come with the spring
leaping upon the hills.”
And in the summer heat the reapers
say, “We have seen her dancing with the autumn leaves, and we
saw a drift of snow in her hair.”
All these things have you
said of beauty,
Yet in truth you spoke not of her but of needs
unsatisfied,
And beauty is not a need but an ecstasy.
It is not
a mouth thirsting nor an empty hand stretched forth,
But rather a
heart inflamed and a soul enchanted.
It is not the image you would
see nor the song you would hear,
But rather an image you see
though you close your eyes and a song you hear though you shut your
ears.
It is not the sap within the furrowed bark, nor a wing
attached to a claw,
But rather a garden for ever in bloom and a
flock of angels for ever in flight.
People
of Orphalese, beauty is life when life unveils her holy face.
But
you are life and you are the veil.
Beauty is eternity gazing at
itself in a mirror.
But you are eternity and you are the mirror.
AND an
old priest said, “Speak to us of Religion.”
And he
said:
Have I spoken this day of aught else?
Is not religion all
deeds and all reflection,
And that which is neither deed nor
reflection, but a wonder and a surprise ever springing in the soul,
even while the hands hew the stone or tend the loom?
Who can
separate his faith from his actions, or his belief from his
occupations?
Who can spread his hours before him, saying,
“This
for God and this for myself;
“This for my soul and this
other for my body”?
All your hours are wings that beat
through space from self to self.
He who wears his morality but as
his best garment were better naked.
The wind and the sun will tear
no holes in his skin.
And he who defines his conduct by ethics
imprisons his song-bird in a cage.
The freest song comes not
through bars and wires.
And he to whom worshipping is a window, to
open but also to shut, has not yet visited the house of his soul
whose windows are from dawn to dawn.
Your
daily life is your temple and your religion.
Whenever you enter
into it take with you your all.
Take the slough and the forge and
the mallet and the lute,
The things you have fashioned in
necessity or for delight.
For in reverie you cannot rise above
your achievements nor fall lower than your failures.
And take with
you all men:
For in adoration you cannot fly higher than their
hopes nor humble yourself lower than their despair.
And
if you would know God, be not therefore a solver of riddles.
Rather
look about you and you shall see Him playing with your children.
And
look into space; you shall see Him walking in the cloud,
outstretching His arms in the lightning and descending in rain.
You
shall see Him smiling in flowers, then rising and waving His hands in
trees.
THEN Almitra
spoke, saying, “We would ask now of Death.”
And he
said:
You would know the secret of death.
But how shall you
find it unless you seek it in the heart of life?
The owl whose
night-bound eyes are blind unto the day cannot unveil the mystery of
light.
If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your
heart wide unto the body of life.
For life and death are one, even
as the river and the sea are one.
IN
the depth of your hopes and desires lies your silent knowledge of the
beyond;
And like seeds dreaming beneath the snow your heart dreams
of spring.
Trust the dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to
eternity.
Your fear of death is but the trembling of the shepherd
when he stands before the king whose hand is to be laid upon him in
honour.
Is the shepherd not joyful beneath his trembling, that he
shall wear the mark of the king?
Yet is he not more mindful of his
trembling?
For
what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the
sun?
And what is it to cease breathing but to free the breath from
its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God
unencumbered?
Only
when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
And
when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to
climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you
truly dance.
AND now
it was evening.
And Almitra the seeress said, “Blessed be
this day and this place and your spirit that has spoken.”
And
he answered,
Was it I who spoke?
Was I not also a listener?
Then
he descended the steps of the Temple and all the people followed
him.
And he reached his ship and stood upon the deck.
And
facing the people again, he raised his voice and said:
People of
Orphalese, the wind bids me leave you.
Less hasty am I than the
wind, yet I must go.
We wanderers, ever seeking the lonelier way,
begin no day where we have ended another day; and no sunrise finds us
where sunset left us.
Even while the earth sleeps we travel.
We
are the seeds of the tenacious plant, and it is in our ripeness and
our fullness of heart that we are given to the wind and are
scattered.
Brief
were my days among you, and briefer still the words I have
spoken.
But should my voice fade in your ears, and my love vanish
in your memory, then I will come again,
And with a richer heart
and lips more yielding to the spirit will I speak.
Yea, I shall
return with the tide,
And though death may hide me, and the
greater silence enfold me, yet again will I seek your
understanding.
And not in vain will I seek.
If aught I have
said is truth, that truth shall reveal itself in a clearer voice, and
in words more kin to your thoughts.
I
go with the wind, people of Orphalese, but not down into
emptiness;
And if this day is not a fulfillment of your needs and
my love, then let it be a promise till another day.
Man’s
needs change, but not his love, nor his desire that his love should
satisfy his needs.
Know, therefore, that from the greater silence
I shall return.
The mist that drifts away at dawn, leaving but dew
in the fields, shall rise and gather into a cloud and then fall down
in rain.
And not unlike the mist have I been.
In the stillness
of the night I have walked in your streets, and my spirit has entered
your houses,
And your heart-beats were in my heart, and your
breath was upon my face, and I knew you all.
Aye, I knew your joy
and your pain, and in your sleep your dreams were my dreams.
And
oftentimes I was among you a lake among the mountains.
I mirrored
the summits in you and the bending slopes, and even the passing
flocks of your thoughts and your desires.
And to my silence came
the laughter of your children in streams, and the longing of your
youths in rivers.
And when they reached my depth the streams and
the rivers ceased not yet to sing.
But sweeter still than laughter
and greater than longing came to me.
It was the boundless in
you;
The vast man in whom you are all but cells and sinews;
He
in whose chant all your singing is but a soundless throbbing.
It
is in the vast man that you are vast,
And in beholding him that I
beheld you and loved you.
For what distances can love reach that
are not in that vast sphere?
What visions, what expectations and
what presumptions can outsoar that flight?
Like a giant oak tree
covered with apple blossoms is the vast man in you.
His might
binds you to the earth, his fragrance lifts you into space, and in
his durability you are deathless.
You have been told that, even
like a chain, you are as weak as your weakest link.
This is but
half the truth.
You are also as strong as your strongest link.
To
measure you by your smallest deed is to reckon the power of ocean by
the frailty of its foam.
To judge you by your failures is to cast
blame upon the seasons for their inconstancy.
Ay,
you are like an ocean,
And though heavy-grounded ships await the
tide upon your shores, yet, even like an ocean, you cannot hasten
your tides.
And like the seasons you are also,
And though in
your winter you deny your spring,
Yet spring, reposing within you,
smiles in her drowsiness and is not offended.
Think not I say
these things in order that you may say the one to the other,
“He
praised us well.
“He saw but the good in us.”
I
only speak to you in words of that which you yourselves know in
thought.
And what is word knowledge but a shadow of wordless
knowledge?
Your thoughts and my words are waves from a sealed
memory that keeps records of our yesterdays,
And of the ancient
days when the earth knew not us nor herself,
And of nights when
earth was upwrought with confusion.
Wise
men have come to you to give you of their wisdom.
I came to take
of your wisdom:
And behold I have found that which is greater than
wisdom.
It is a flame spirit in you ever gathering more of
itself,
While you, heedless of its expansion, bewail the withering
of your days.
It is life in quest of life in bodies that fear the
grave.
There
are no graves here.
These mountains and plains are a cradle and a
stepping-stone.
Whenever you pass by the field where you have laid
your ancestors look well thereupon, and you shall see yourselves and
your children dancing hand in hand.
Verily you often make merry
without knowing.
Others
have come to you to whom for golden promises made unto you faith you
have given but riches and power and glory.
Less than a promise
have I given, and yet more generous have you been to me.
You have
given me my deeper thirsting after life.
Surely there is no
greater gift to a man than that which turns all his aims into
parching lips and all life into a fountain.
And in this lies my
honour and my reward, –
That whenever I come to the fountain
to drink I find the living water itself thirsty;
And it drinks me
while I drink it.
Some of you have deemed me proud and over shy to
receive gifts.
Too proud indeed am I to receive wages, but not
gifts.
And though I have eaten berries among the hills when you
would have had me sit at your board,
And slept in the portico of
the temple when you would gladly have sheltered me,
Yet it was not
your loving mindfulness of my days and my nights that made food sweet
to my mouth and girdled my sleep with visions?
For
this I bless you most:
You give much and know not that you give at
all.
Verily the kindness that gazes upon itself in a mirror turns
to stone,
And a good deed that calls itself by tender names
becomes the parent to a curse.
And
some of you have called me aloof, and drunk with my own
aloneness,
And you have said,
“He holds council with the
trees of the forest, but not with men.
“He sits alone on
hill-tops and looks down upon our city.”
True it is that I
have climbed the hills and walked in remote places.
How could I
have seen you save from a great height or a great distance?
How
can one be indeed near unless he be far?
And
others among you called unto me, not in words, and they
said:
“Stranger, stranger, lover of unreachable heights, why
dwell you among the summits where eagles build their nests?
“Why
seek you the unattainable?
“What storms would you trap in
your net,
“And what vaporous birds do you hunt in the
sky?
“Come and be one of us.
“Descend and appease
your hunger with our bread and quench your thirst with our wine.”
In
the solitude of their souls they said these things;
But were their
solitude deeper they would have known that I sought but the secret of
your joy and your pain,
And I hunted only your larger selves that
walk the sky.
But the hunter was also the hunted;
For many of
my arrows left my bow only to seek my own breast.
And the flier
was also the creeper;
For when my wings were spread in the sun
their shadow upon the earth was a turtle.
And I the believer was
also the doubter;
For often have I put my finger in my own wound
that I might have the greater belief in you and the greater knowledge
of you.
And
it is with this belief and this knowledge that I say,
You are not
enclosed within your bodies, nor confined to houses or fields.
That
which is you dwells above the mountain and roves with the wind.
It
is not a thing that crawls into the sun for warmth or digs holes into
darkness for safety,
But a thing free, a spirit that envelops the
earth and moves in the ether.
If
these be vague words, then seek not to clear them.
Vague and
nebulous is the beginning of all things, but not their end,
And I
fain would have you remember me as a beginning.
Life, and all that
lives, is conceived in the mist and not in the crystal.
And who
knows but a crystal is mist in decay?
This
would I have you remember in remembering me:
That which seems most
feeble and bewildered in you is the strongest and most determined.
Is
it not your breath that has erected and hardened the structure of
your bones?
And is it not a dream which none of you remember
having dreamt, that built your city and fashioned all there is in
it?
Could you but see the tides of that breath you would cease to
see all else,
And if you could hear the whispering of the dream
you would hear no other sound.
But
you do not see, nor do you hear, and it is well.
The veil that
clouds your eyes shall be lifted by the hands that wove it,
And
the clay that fills your ears shall be pierced by those fingers that
kneaded it.
And you shall see.
And you shall hear.
Yet you
shall not deplore having known blindness, nor regret having been
deaf.
For in that day you shall know the hidden purposes in all
things,
And you shall bless darkness as you would bless light.
After
saying these things he looked about him, and he saw the pilot of his
ship standing by the helm and gazing now at the full sails and now at
the distance.
And he said:
Patient, over patient, is the
captain of my ship.
The wind blows, and restless are the
sails;
Even the rudder begs direction;
Yet quietly my captain
awaits my silence.
And these my mariners, who have heard the choir
of the greater sea, they too have heard me patiently.
Now they
shall wait no longer.
I am ready.
The stream has reached the
sea, and once more the great mother holds her son against her breast.
Fare
you well, people of Orphalese.
This day has ended.
It is
closing upon us even as the water-lily upon its own to-morrow.
What
was given us here we shall keep,
And if it suffices not, then
again must we come together and together stretch our hands unto the
giver.
Forget not that I shall come back to you.
A little
while, and my longing shall gather dust and foam for another body.
A
little while, a moment of rest upon the wind, and another woman shall
bear me.
Farewell to you and the youth I have spent with you.
It
was but yesterday we met in a dream.
You have sung to me in my
aloneness, and I of your longings have built a tower in the sky.
But
now our sleep has fled and our dream is over, and it is no longer
dawn.
The noontide is upon us and our half waking has turned to
fuller day, and we must part.
If in the twilight of memory we
should meet once more, we shall speak again together and you shall
sing to me a deeper song.
And if our hands should meet in another
dream we shall build another tower in the sky.
So
saying he made a signal to the seamen, and straightaway they weighed
anchor and cast the ship loose from its moorings, and they moved
eastward.
And a cry came from the people as from a single heart,
and it rose into the dusk and was carried out over the sea like a
great trumpeting.
Only Almitra was silent, gazing after the ship
until it had vanished into the mist.
And when all the people were
dispersed she still stood alone upon the sea-wall, remembering in her
heart his saying:
“A little while, a moment of rest upon the wind, and another woman shall bear me.”
SERMONS
Understanding and Applying the Faith
It is not in rigid literal obedience. It is in the plain understanding, and it is in wisdom of one's own life experience to interpret it well. Do not let the letter of the faith be the absolute doctrine of ones existence, but do not neglect the literality of the faith as well, for it is your cornerstone of guidance and wisdom in life. Not killing and abstaining from blood are really irrevocable truths, and you can never really steal, blaspheme, insult your neighbour, kidnap someone, or get agro and expect your conscience to be happy about it. God visits guilt. Listen to the voice of the spirit. But also listen to the Voice of the Prophet, for this is our ministry and way of life, and let his words rebuke and cajole you to its own wisdom on life, for this is our calling, and this is what we have chosen, so listen, and act wisely, for the future is in your own hands the making thereof. Draw upon the Angels Saga, and listen to the Wisdom of the Divine Fellowships, neither neglecting truths of the other Assemblies of Faith. Experience will come with living and patience, so walk in our way of life and you will learn well enough with the passing of the seasons.