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The Candle of Vision by A E

The Candle of Vision by A E

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Published by wicklow2012

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Published by: wicklow2012 on Dec 04, 2011
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PresentsAn Ultimate Library of
W orldwideSpiritual Traditionsfrom Throughout History
“Your computer can readthese books to you”Bookzap!“Dedicated tothe promotion of Literacy,using read along technologies.”Unabridged, text only version.www.bookzap.comThis CollectionCompiled exclusivelyfrom public domainSources for Bookzapinto Acrobat ReaderBy Sri Bellthan ZionWith special thanks towww.buddhasbox.com
The Candle of Vision
by AE(George William Russell)
"The Spirit of man is the candle of the Lord."--PROVERBS."When his candle shined on my head and by his light I walked through darkness."--JOB
London, Macmillan and Co., limited,[1918]
WHEN I am in my room looking upon the walls I have painted I see there reflectionsof the personal life, but when I look through the windows I see a living nature andlandscapes not painted by hands. So, too, when I meditate I feel in the images andthoughts which throng about me the reflections of personality, but there are alsowindows in the soul through which can be seen images created not by human but bythe divine imagination. I have tried according to my capacity to report about the divineorder and to discriminate between that which was self-begotten fantasy and that whichcame from a higher sphere. These retrospects and
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meditations are the efforts of an artist and poet to relate his own vision to the vision of the seers and writers of the sacred books, and to discover what element of truth lay inthose imaginations.A. E.
Retrospect1The Earth Breath10The Slave of the Lamp15Meditation19The Many-Coloured Land27Analytic38The Mingling of Natures48The Memory of Earth56Imagination66Dreams77The Architecture of Dream89Have Imaginations Body?102Intuition112The Language of the Gods120Ancient Intuitions128Power137The Memory of the Spirit143
Celtic Cosmogony153The Celtic Imagination162Earth170
I HAD travelled all day and was tired, but I could not rest by the hearth in the cottageon the hill. My heart was beating with too great an excitement. After my year in thecity I felt like a child who wickedly stays from home through a long day, and whoreturns frightened and penitent at nightfall, wondering whether it will be received withforgiveness by its mother. Would the Mother of us all receive me again as one of herchildren? Would the winds with wandering voices, be as before the evangelists of herlove? Or would I feel like an outcast amid the mountains, the dark valleys and theshining lakes? I knew if benediction came how it would come. I would sit among therocks with shut eyes, waiting humbly as one waits in the antechambers of the mighty,and if the invisible ones chose me as companion they would begin with a softbreathing of their intimacies,
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creeping on me with shadowy affection like children who steal nigh to the bowedhead and suddenly whisper fondness in the ear before it has even heard a footfall. So Istole out of the cottage and over the dark ridges to the place of rocks, and sat down,and let the coolness of the night chill and still the fiery dust in the brain. I waitedtrembling for the faintest touch, the shyest breathing of the Everlasting within mysoul, the sign of reception and forgiveness. I knew it would come. I could not sodesire what was not my own, and what is our own we cannot lose. Desire is hiddenidentity. The darkness drew me heavenward. From the hill the plains beneath slippedaway grown vast and vague, remote and still. I seemed alone with immensity, andthere came at last that melting of the divine darkness into the life within me for whichI prayed. Yes, I still belonged, however humbly, to the heavenly household. I was notoutcast. Still, though by a thread fine as that by which a spider hangs from the rafters,my being was suspended from the habitations of eternity. I longed to throw my armsabout the hills, to meet with kisses the lips of the seraph wind. I felt the gaiety of childhood springing up through weariness
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and age, for to come into contact with that which is eternally young is to have thatchildhood of the spirit it must attain ere it can be moulded by the Magician of theBeautiful and enter the House of Many Mansions.I had not always this intimacy with nature. I never felt a light in childhood whichfaded in manhood into the common light of day, nor do I believe that childhood is anynearer than age to this being. If it were so what would the spirit have to hope for afteryouth was gone? I was not conscious in my boyhood of any heaven lying about me. Ilived in the city, and the hills from which aid was to come to me were only a far flushof blue on the horizon. Yet I was drawn to them, and as years passed and legs grew

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