Part 21 (1/2)
”With what a dreadfully scientific spirit you dissect a fantasy!
Perhaps you might understand if you recall what sometimes happens before sleep. At first you see pictures of things, landscapes, people you know; after a time people and places unknown before begin to mingle with them in an ever-widening circle of visions; the light on which these things are pictured is universal, though everyone has around himself his own special sphere of light; this is the mirror of himself--his memory; but as we go deeper into ourselves in introspection we see beyond our special sphere into the great of universal light, the memorial tablet of nature; there lie hidden the secrets of the past; and so, as Felix said a little while ago, we can call up and renew the life of legend and tradition. This is the Astral Light of the mystics. Its deeper and more living aspect seems to inflame the principle of desire in us. All the sweet, seductive, bewitching temptations of sense are inspired by it. After death the soul pa.s.sing into this living light goes on thinking, thinking, goes on aspiring, aspiring, creating unconsciously around itself its own circ.u.mstance in which all sweetest desires are self-fulfilled. When this dream- power is exhausted the soul returns again to earth. With some this return is due to the thirst for existence; with some to a perception of the real needs of soul.”
”Do you really believe all that?”
”Oh, yes! But that is only a general statement.”
”I wonder at your capacity for believing in these invisible spheres.
As for me I cannot go beyond the world I live in. When I think of these things some dreadful necessity seems heaped upon me to continue here--or, as you might put it, an angel with a flaming sword keeps everywhere the avenues to the Tree of Life.”
”Oh!” said Willie, ”it seems to me a most reasonable theory. After all, what else could the soul do after death but think itself out?
It has no body to move about in. I am going to dream over it now.
Good-night!”
He turned into the tent and Robert followed him. ”Well, I cannot rest yet,” said Bryan, ”I am going up for a little to the top of the hill. Come, Felix, these drowsy fellows are going to hide themselves from the face of night.” We went up, and leaning on a boulder of rock looked out together. Away upon the dream-built margin of s.p.a.ce a thousand tremors fled and chased each other all along the shadowy night. The human traditions, memories of pain, struggle, hope and desire floated away and melted in the quietude until at last only the elemental consciousness remained at gaze.
I felt chilled by the vacancies. I wondered what this void was to Bryan. I wished to see with his eyes. His arm was around my shoulder. How I loved him--my nearest--my brother! The fierce and tender flame, comrade to his spirit, glowed in my heart. I felt a commingling of nature, something moved before my eyes.
”Look, Bryan!” I whispered, ”this is faery!” A slight upright figure, a child, stood a little apart shedding a delicate radiance upon the dusky air. Curiously innocent, primeval, she moved, withdrawn in a world only half-perceived of gorgeous blossoms and mystic shadows. Through her hair of feathery brown drifting about her the gleam of dust of gold and of rich colour seemed to come from her dress. She raised her finger-tips from the flowers and dashed the bright dew aside. I felt something vaguely familiar about the gesture. Then Bryan said, ”It is one of the Children of Twilight.” It was a revelation of his mind. I had entered into the forms of his imagination.
”This is wonderful Bryan! If I can thus share in the thought of one, there can be no limit to the extension of this faculty. It seems at the moment as if I could hope to finally enter the mind of humanity and gaze upon soul, not substance.”
”It would be a great but terrible power. As often as not we imagine ourselves into demons. s.p.a.ce is thronged with these dragon-like forms, chimaeras of the fearful mind. Every thought is an ent.i.ty.
Some time or other I think we will have to slay this brood we have brought forth.”
But as we turned backwards I had no dread or thought of this future contest. I felt only gay hopes, saw only ever-widening vistas.
The dreams of the Golden Age, of far-off happy times grew full of meaning. I people all the future with their splendour. The air was thronged with bright supernatural beings, they moved in air, in light; and they and we and all together were sustained and thrilled by the breath of the Unknown G.o.d.
As we drew nigh to the tent, the light of the fire still flickering revealed Robert's face within. He was sleeping. the warmth of the sun had not yet charmed away the signs of study and anxious thought.
”Do you know the old tradition that in the deepest sleep of the body the soul goes into itself. I believe he now knows the truth he feared to face. A little while ago he was here; he was in doubt; now he is gone unto all ancient things. He was in prison; now the Bird of Paradise has wings. We cannot call him by any name, for we do not know what he is. We might indeed cry aloud to his glory, as of old the Indian sage cried to a sleeper, 'Thou great one, clad in raiment; Soma: King!” But who thinking what he is would call back the t.i.tan to this strange and pitiful dream of life?
Let us breath softly to do him reverence. It is now the Hour of the King,
”Who would think this quite breather From the world had taken flight?
Yet within the form we see there Wakes the Golden King to-night.
”Out upon the face of faces He looked forth before his sleep; Now he knows the starry races Haunters of the ancient deep;
”On the Bird of Diamond Glory Floats in mystic floods of song; As he lists, Time's triple story Seems but as a day is long.