Absorbed in a routine of daily acts,

Our eyes are fixed on an external scene;

We hear the crash of the wheels of Circumstance

And wonder at the hidden cause of things.

 

Yet a foreseeing Knowledge might be ours,

Ifwe could take our spirit's stand within,

If we could hear the muffled daemon voice.

 

Too seldom is the shadow of what must come

Cast in an instant on the secret sense

Which feels the shock of the invisible,

And seldom in the few who answer give

The mighty process of the cosmic Will

Communicates its image to our sight,

Identifying the world's mind with ours.

 

Our range isfixed within the crowded arc

Of what we observe and touch and thought can guess

And rarely dawns the light of the Unknown

Waking in us the prophet and the seer.

 

The outward and the immediate are our field,

The dead past is our background and support;

Mind keeps the soul prisoner, we are slaves to our acts;

We cannot free our gaze to reach wisdom's sun.

 

This is a very exact expression of what is the usual condition of man. Indeed, extremely few escape this lot. The possibility of knowing in advance and seeing things all over the world is indeed in man, but very few care even to discover it and still less to take the trouble to develop and cultivate the capacity.

 

It is only by withdrawing into the depths of the being, by giving more importance to the intuitive capacity, that we can be free from the prison in which our consciousness is shut up. And to give us this liberty all the blows of life fall upon us. They come to wake us up to the necessity of discovering it. But few listen to the Call, few understand the purpose and they like better to believe in Chance and Fate then in a Wisdom governing the universe.

 

The first step is the certitude that all is the result of an infinite Wisdom which we cannot understand unless by the inner process and with the Light within.

Inheritor of the brief animal mind,

Man, still a child in nature's mighty hands,

In the succession of the moments lives;

To a changing present is his narrow right;

His memory stares back at a phantom past,

The future flees before him as he moves;

He sees imagined garments, not a face.

 

Armed with a limited precarious strength,

He saves his fruits of work from adverse chance.

 

A struggling ignorance is his wisdom's mate.

 

He waits to see the consequence of his acts,

He waits to weigh the certitude of his thoughts,

He knows not what he shall achieve or when;

He knows not whether at last he shall survive,

Or end like the mastodon and the sloth

And perish from the earth where he was king.

 

He is ignorant of the meaning of his life,

He is ignorant of his high and splendid fate.

 

This is the description of man at large, with only very few and limited exceptions. Those who know are not often believed and still less followed. And the world goes to its destiny with the ignorance of its inhabitants.

 

Some have said, very few have been believed and still less have been followed. And yet steadily the world is going to its destiny.