by Joan Grant
Then I saw a boy who, when last he lived, had been tortured to make him betray a friend. And his body had triumphed over his will, and he had spoken against his heart. And this had shadowed his days, for he had known himself a coward. Now he is the son of a goatherd in Minoas, and he is happy in his gentle life, smooth as the pastures that he walks among. Yet he will go to the Court of Sacred Bulls and there learn to temper his body to his will, so that it obeys him without fear, until Courage has marked him upon the forehead for her son.
CHAPTER NINE
The Place of Weather
Then I went to the place from whence the weather of Earth is ruled.
Here, at the bidding of their master’s will, the roaming thunders slip their leash of fire; and raging tempests race across the sky, bending great forests like a field of grass, warning mankind of the flail in Wadon’s hand.
Here are the winds that cry to ocean deeps to leave their quiet and rage like mountain tops, reaching towards the tempest-driven skies that cloud the face of Ra from mortal man.
Here is the peace of drowsy summer wind that ruffles the wide seas of ripening grain, and the young freshness of the evening breeze that heralds the rising of the summer moon.
Here are the swelling sails of sullen clouds that cloak the Earth in melancholy rain, and morning mists that shade it from the sun like a thick canopy of vines at noon.
Here is the crystal panoply of snow that shrouds the imperfections of the Earth in whiteness, wherein every colour sleeps, yet leaps to life when challenged by the sun.
Here is that little death of creeping cold that stills the throbbing heart of Earth in an immense sarcophagus of ice: from whence at last it shall arise new-born, when Ra shall beat upon the coffin lid.
CHAPTER TEN
The Place of Melody
Then I went to that place wherein is all melody.
Here, amidst essence of sweet sound, the joy of hearing is intensified, and I can feel these splendid harmonies as water knows the urgent river’s quest for foam-capped mountains of tumultuous seas, and shares the mist of leisurely cascades and the calm tranquillity of pools beneath the moon.
On Earth there is only an echo of this sound. But here the frosty voices of the stars, clearly across the chasms of the night, sing with cold brilliance of immensities; and songs of triumph, blazing like the sun, leap with the challenge of exulting fire; and the songs mothers sing to bring their children sleep are sweet as the shadows of warm-scented dusk. The melody of every lover’s heart, who throughout time has longed to match his love with silver strings to leaping ecstasy, is here in all its manifold delights. And the slow tears of grief become distilled, until the sorrow of the world is caught into a glistening sigh of summer rain.
And here are sweeping galaxies of sound, which weave together intricate designs, patterned with turquoise, violet, blue, and rose; saffron, vermilion, amethyst, and green: making a fabric of celestial song.
Here is the source from whence all music flows. But only scattered silver drops reach Earth; as liquid notes from strings of harp or lute, or bubbling from the night-bird’s trembling throat that stirs the perfume of the sleeping flowers.
Musicians there are who come here in their sleep and pray to keep memory when their bodies wake; and then on Earth they weep on the shadow sound that all the instruments of man but give: for to try and echo with a thousand flutes how music lives in its magnificence were as if a fisherman should cast his net to ensnare the golden brilliance of the sun.
Musician, come not here if you be wise! Or you may be tempted to cry out to Ptah, “When I return to Earth let me be deaf, so in the quietness of my body’s shell I may relisten to my memories.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Place of Scent
Then I went to where scent discovers all its harmonies.
Here is the dark red perfume of the rose; the drowsy quiet of bean-fields in the dusk; the gentle death of autumn in deep woods; and the clean smell of ploughland after rain.
The friendly wood-smoke of a cooking-fire; the satisfying smell of baking bread; the earth-forgotten green of new-cut grass; the moon-drunk sweetness of night-blooming flowers.
The warmth of clover murmurous with bees; the sleepy peace of avenues of limes; the tuberose’s languorous caress; the chill austerity of alpine flowers.
The yellow warmth of primroses at noon; the scent of water running over stones; the lonely sorrow of the river mist; the smooth white smell of linen, and of snow.
The dusty wisdom of papyrus rolls; and the warm spice of cedarwood and myrrh; the hot impatient smell of spikenard; and tarnished silver’s half-remembered dreams.
The clear sharp energy of lemon rind; the lover’s ecstasy of orange trees; the melancholy smell of winter nights; and hyacinths’ azure echo of the spring.
The salty challenge of wind-driven spray—that wander-urging message of the sea; the gentle memories of sundried flowers; the still abandonment of fields at noon.
The moth-winged purple of new gathered grapes; the easy laughter of a jar of beer; the excitement of a gallop-sweated horse; and the proud splendour of the manes of lions.
The acrid keenness of a copper sword; and the brave smell of torches in the wind; the musky pomp of ceremonial robes; and the solemnity of bitumen.
Here can our nostrils so delight our hearts that we forget colour and are blind to sound.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Where Prayers Are Answered
Then I went to the place where true prayers are answered, though the time has not yet come for their fulfillment upon Earth.
Here it is where they who are living in a land of famine eat until they hunger no longer; and the parched quench their thirst from cool streams.
Here the arms of women who have wept for their barrenness are no longer empty, for each pillows a child’s head in the crook of her elbow; and lonely children are cherished and know themselves loved.
Here do the blind see through the dark curtains of their lids; and the deaf hear sweet music and listen to the voices of their friends.
Here do the lame glory in swift running; and the dumb find words smooth upon their tongues.
Here do children find their broken toys mended and their lost pets returned to them.
Here dwellers in deserts make gardens where, in a night, flowers spring from the soil, and they rest beneath shade-trees that they have planted; and they who are benighted in a forest find themselves in an encampment of friends.
Here they who sleep upon storm-driven ships are rocked by the smooth swells of placid seas; and ships becalmed upon wide oceans cleave through the water with a following wind.
Here the poor sculptor sees his statue shining before him unflawed by his clumsy chisel; and the musician feels the strings of his harp rippling under his fingers like a field of corn in the North Wind.
Here does pain turn to peace, and fear to quietness; and lovers find that death or the distances of Earth can make no barrier between them: for here they are together, to the rejoicing of their hearts.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Teachers
Then I went to the place of the teachers. Here they talk to those who are children in spirit and who, while they are on Earth, know not why they are there, or to what horizon their journey leads.
I saw a beach beside a dark blue sea, and palm trees of a different shape to ours, with large rough-rinded fruit among the leaves. These people are copper-skinned and beautiful. The women’s hair falls round them like a cloak, and they are garlanded and wreathed with flowers. One, who wears a form like theirs so they will know him as their counsellor, is talking to them beneath a soaring tree, which grows beside the calm water within the reef, where fish of scarlet, violet, green, and gold, flit through the clearness of the coloured sea like fighting birds through the blue depths of the mid-summer sky. And he tells them of the further beauties they shall find when, in the great canoe rowed by the paddles of their many lives, they shall outstrip the limits of the
sea and weave triumphal garlands from those flowers that grow beyond their world, and whose reflection stains the sunset clouds.
Then I went to another island in the west, where a great snow-capped mountain seeks the clouds, which these people think is the dwelling of the gods. And here are many flowering almond trees, and others with white blossoms like the snow. Here the teacher is like a man heavy with earth years, but with a calm serenity of brow. His face is the colour of dark ivory, and he wears a robe of saffron-coloured silk, embroidered with flowers in green and silver threads. He tells those who sit with him in the flowering shade to think not of the splendour of the temple, though its roofs be gold and the celestial dragon silver-toothed, but to listen only to true words, for it is better to eat rice from a wooden bowl than to drink poison from a cup of jade.
Then I went to another part of Earth. Here there is a mighty waterfall whose surging rhythm echoes through a gorge, where flaming rocks, the colour of the dawn, climb upward to hold converse with the sky. And here the trees have aromatic smells like precious gums and the sweet-burning wood, and their trunks are clearly spaced like colonnades. These people have faces like our own, but thinner lips and darker, copper skins. They live in caves and spear the streams for fish and cook their food over an open fire, yet in their walk they hold the proud heritage of kings. Their warriors wear a scarlet feather in their hair, and it holds a different meaning than in Kam, for here it means ‘one who bows not to fear’. And should the wearer fail in his appointed task, he must dare the rapids in his frail bark canoe; and if he can steer it among the foaming rocks, his people welcome him again. But if the waters claim him as their own, then he is free to join the mighty hunters in their spirit-land.
Here is earth courage tempered to its keenest edge; and if it be gained by climbing a sheer rock, or in single combat against another of the brave who owns allegiance to a warring tribe, the manner of the gaining matters not. And in this gain of bodily control the power of will is mightily increased. He that teaches them wears a yellow feather, which to them symbolizes wisdom brought from beyond Earth. Though they have no priesthood such as ours, among them there are some whom we would call priests of Anubis; for they bring wisdom to their tribe through dreams. Each time they bring back memory to guide their people they may wear another feather; and so some, oldest and wisest and so acknowledged chiefs, have feathered head-dresses reaching nearly to the ground.
These people I know, for I have lived with them, though long ago across a sea of time.
Then I went to the White Island, where they know much wisdom. Here there are many who listen, for upon Earth they have teachers who go among the people from a place called A-vey-baru, where priests are trained in the way of Anubis. Their temple is encircled by a great ditch, and the walls are of single stones, unhewn, joined to each other by wood and clay covered with white plaster. With such awe do the people look upon this place that when they sleep they come here to learn those things which it is well for them to know.
Here the changing seasons of the year are marked with a sharp division, unlike ours. Now was the time when the land grew cold in sleep; and the deep forests, which clothe the swelling hills, had leaves that, before they stripped the branches bare, were like a shield of cooper, lit by fire; and woodland paths were deep in rustling gold, which sought to keep the earth from bitter wind. And as I watched I saw the seasons change, and winter trees traced patterns on the sky, more intricate than any scribe’s design; and over them there came a verdant mist, which crept across the valleys, through the woods, and licked along the branches like green fire, until the trees unfolded their new leaves and summer brought its canopy of shade.
These people know little of men’s art; yet do they know of beauty through their eyes, and instead of harps and flutes have singing-birds, which hover in the air as though they rested upon the springing jet of their celestial song.
Here come many who have found their paths hedged in by the complexities of life; for here there is nothing to disturb their thoughts: no carven temples, no effigies of gods; no dancing girls, no wines, no palace feasts; rather, a stark simplicity where, in the silence of their wooded groves, they may approach their gods among the trees, seeing them more clearly in the boughs than in the greatest of the sculptor’s art.
Here there are no divisions of rank or wealth; each man is judged solely by what he knows. And those who are young and know not for themselves follow the guidance of their priests, as happy children follow them they love.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Land of Peace
Then I went to the dwellers in the Land of Peace, who are reaping the joy that they have sown on Earth.
Here are people of all times and of all nations who have weighed their hearts against the Feather of Truth and gone into freedom through the open gateway of Tahuti.
Here, in the light of their beatitude, do they know the happiness for which they longed, until a greater longing fills their hearts: to journey onwards through the stars.
Here they re-live their moments of great joy, unshadowed by the future’s hurrying wings, unclouded by the sorrow of the past, clothed in the semblance of their glorious days.
Here are some who last were born on Earth ten thousand years before Athlanta fell, and others are resting in their garnered peace before they must again take up the sword.
Here the beauty of a painter’s thoughts is untrammelled by the bonds of wood and paint. And here are temples roofed with gold and jade, which far-off Dragon People longed to build.
Here are sailing ships upon the wide seas, which fair winds harbour at the Islands of the West that long-dead mariners have sought to find: for they did dream of their spice-laden air and knew not such beauty could not live on Earth.
Here swimmers can find the secrets of the seas, share with the fishes the translucent depths, questing for beauty through the coral groves.
Here is a man who longed to be a bird and rest upon the wind his outstretched wings. Here he shares swiftness with the flying swan, and crests the sunrise in an eagle’s flight.
Here I saw people I know not on Earth, yet once I walked in their far-distant lands and had a body like unto their own. The old Athlanta and the older land, both have I lived in, and both here I knew, as though I should return there when I woke.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ishtak
Then, standing alone, I fought with Ishtak, who for five thousand years had led his followers in the train of Set.
Once we had been brothers. But when last we met upon Earth, he was a priest of power in the southern province of Athlanta. He remembered our old friendship, and if I would have joined him, he would have given to me a wide dominion; but I knew that his power was wielded not for the Light, but against it; and I listened not to his words. I joined a band of wandering soldiers, who by the power of their swords protected many people, whom they met upon their journeyings, from the oppression of the priests. Then, while my body was still young, it was killed in battle, and though my bones bleached where my body had fallen, I died in freedom.
When Ishtak had tempted me to join his host, I had told him that the time would come when I too would gain power, and then I would challenge him to combat, and by my strength make him return to the Light.
And now the time was come when I must fulfil my challenge; and if his strength was greater than mine, then would my body die; but if I triumphed, then would he lead his host out of the Shadow.
We wore the likeness of our last meeting upon Earth. He was mighty in stature, his face proud and unyielding as a colossus of granite, his skin dusky as a blue grape; and he wore a robe of purple embroidered with black and crimson symbols. I was as a young man of the red-brown people, and I wore a kilt of the warrior scarlet and the gold fillet of a captain.
We fought with naked will and not with swords. We stood alone upon a mountain-top, alone on an island in a cloudy sea of nothingness. Behind him were ranged the thousands of his host to watch their master as h
e fought for them: yet did I see them as dark thunderclouds. Behind me, down through the empty depths of space, there shone a shaft of scarlet light.
I felt that in the universe I was alone, fighting against this dark stupendous power. I drove forth my will like lightning-rods, yet did his eyes stare back unflinchingly. Both past and future were lost to me; only the eternal present of our strife. I thought my last endurance had been reached. I knew no gods, no powers. I was alone. Yet must my will refuse to bow to his.…Again I drove forth my shafts of molten fire to meet the white-hot challenge of his eyes.…
The vivid purple that shone from him flickered and grew dull, and the massing clouds behind him were pierced by shafts of light. Then in the last upsurging of my will he swayed and fell defenceless at my feet.
And I saw him as a young boy, as when we had been brothers together. It seemed that he was dying and that I had killed him, although I knew that he but returned to Earth. There he will learn humility; and when in its pure white flame his pride is tempered, then will he be most splendid in the Light.
Before he vanished from my sight he gave a last command to his followers: to return and walk in the path that the Overlords of Earth had decreed for them. And the clouds rolled back and I saw before me a vast plain, and across it there passed the great army of Ishtak, marching into exile.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Seven Great Ordeals
Then did I undergo the seven great ordeals.
No longer could I look across the seas of time, wise in the garnerings of my long journey: for in this testing of my will I was bound to the present, encompassed by the limitations of Earth and enshrouded in its fears.
