carry such covenant, such likenesses, such gongs and symbols as he believes worthy of his own god. And to endure the sting of contempt or drive away the clutch of envy as others
should mock or covet to look upon him.
These gods here piled behind me. Inert, stagnant outside your touch. These I offer not as a garden opened; not as a paradise regained but as an ocean of turbulent tears. I offer onto you a place where maidens overstep their skirts and delight the foam to their hips. A place where wise men cling to rocks and know the weight of the moon as it covers their lips, a place where sailors ride ropes and sing, sing for a wild wind in or a wild wind out. Tis no matter except the wildness. A place where pebbles count and massive rolling things don't. Because all is close so close a tangible bond in the infinite liquid that magnificent ebbs to minute and minute rises to awe and splendor. Again and again.
Yes, I know brothers, little of this is understood. But the knowledge of it is heard. Heard whistling down to your hearts brothers. Hearts that wish to go back and thereby go forward and race. Race plunging through this great infinite of expanse. Your gods, your religious, your awakenings piled behind me.
Take them upon yourselves, brothers. I would offer them free as they are never open to price. For in the circle of infinity does not mighty become delicate enough to hold in a palm? And does not priceless therefor become free? Free to those who know its worth, cheap to those who are blind to its preciousness?
But it is also written that doubt gathers the fruits of its own cost. And I know your doubts, brothers. And do not mock them. For the spark of thought is a doubt. And thought is the flame of liberation. So what is doubted must be paid for. Were your doubt to receive upon itself this free gift, it would swell in its disbelieve. And this would bring upon yourselves: the sceptic. And brothers you need not be one of those to dim already blind eyes. To be a doubter of your own doubts, to spend a lifetime defining one question with more questions. Thus the sceptic lives and thinks because he is unwilling to pay the cost of his doubt. Reluctant to place it open before his eyes; all eyes and chance truth written upon it. And thereby lose his doubt and his final cling to significance as he has defined it or crawled to it.
But you are not one of those brothers. They are rarely found so high above the dust. No, you
are seekers, not clingers. Your doubt is carried open as a candle. I ask a bit of its light. A title of 1/10 of what the other god merchants title. For this god you would purchase is only 1/10 as false. Why not absolute? Absolute truth or goodness?
Here I caution you brothers look not upon this god as absolute. For the state of absolution brings upon itself the state of perfection. Be not so cruel, so unkind, my Brothers, as to place this large stone upon the hearts of a god. For perfection yields upon itself the terrible compel of perfection in all acts, thoughts or creations. But did not this god create man; continues to create man? And is this creation perfect? The argument leans to yield yes even at this starting place but most would revolt such an assumption. Or we can give argument that man whether good or evil is perfect to the design he was created for. As if a wheel made half round and half square is suited both for travel and rest. As if the gods have made a perfect universe but order and chaos must abide together like dead and living flies in a cage.
But does this not mean Brothers that every act, every thought, every doubt, every squash of a but, every sin, all, all, all must be joined to some great perfect plan? Think Brothers how we would thus be laden these gods with infinite weight of strings to work this Puppet show. These strings! This life of song played on such a monstrous violin. Perfect the player so perfect the note but a long tedium of harmony till the final curtain falls to eternal call.
And thus of us, Brothers, we become now the perfect Puppets. Bond, chained to the perfect strings we cannot tremble a finger or bat an eye lest a vibration change the strumming tune. Bound, bound in this heavenly web. Where in the name of a perfect god, can will be found? Free will promised or cursed upon man. It is a blind man's circle, Brothers, to follow the will in search of perfection. As perfection itself denies the free will to search onto perfection. It is a closed door this way, my friends and will never answer to the top of your cane.
No go this way, Brothers. Think of a master craftsman. He labors months to build to create a chair. A chair of remarkable beauty and form. But somewhere minute but real is a flaw. It has no effect on the function or appearance of the chair but none the less is a flaw.
And say, we would purchase the chair. And use it to full gratification for months. Then one
day, while polishing the chair, we discover the flaw. Then what is our action, Brothers?
Do we then curse and condemn the master craftsman for the rest of our lives? Curse him for being one step from perfection while we ourselves would be yards away? Do we spend years arguing and lamenting if the flaw was intentional or not? Do we spend hours, Days, years at the craftsman's place begging, pleading, praying for a flawless replacement?
Or are we more merciful and decrease its punishment not corporal but rather continuous. Daily whipping or poked with not iron, perhaps? With a ludicrous large sign stuck upon it where reads: HUMBLY DO I THUS BEAR THE PENANCE OF MY ORIGINAL SIN. Do we continue this chastisement, Brothers, till all beauty is chipped and driven from the chair and its original flaw is forgotten to the sameness, to the marriage of hundreds alike?
ASK YOURSELF, MY BROTHERS, WOULD YOU DO THUS TO A CHAIR? A chair you valued and loved and paid dearly for?
Then why thus to your hearts, your minds, your gods? Your mind is your eye, your heart is a window. Do not rub years away over a slight soreness in one, or a slight smear in the corner in the other. Unfocus the dirt, my friends, and look out. To the bounty of your god freely given.
So I ask this test of your patience, Brothers, Take upon yourselves each a package, each a god. But before you unwrap this most precious vision of each reflect one half of an hour. Reflect between your heart and your mind or your god. Or of what a god would be if thou were allowed construct him. Let your heart and your mind work upon this plan in staid and earnest desire. Forget all other gods before you cept take upon your heart and mind any items you recall of joy or beauty. You need not take upon yourself any god of anyone else whether father, mother, teach, royalty. Build this image, this vision to a god you would worship, love, adore, give your will to, and die for. Build this god to such a breadth of wisdom that you would trod a million leagues to discern from it one great truth. Or build upon your heart and mind a god of such compassion and love that you could not help but become a funnel, a duct to it and feed love and songs of praise to all your brothers. Or a god of justice huge in his defiance of falsehood and evil. His crown a place of foresight for all to judge the ways of only their own paths, not others.
These are only hints, my brothers. Build yours as your heart and mind insists. For what heart has not yearned for a special god; what mind has not thought of a god and world that should be here?
Do this without annoyance or interruption. Do it as if the very fabric of your existence depends upon it. As if the vision you see will turn your very stagger of destiny. Put no limits to this god; remember that what you envision will be yours for eternity.
Then unwrap the paper and look upon your god. Yours forever. The one you envisioned, created. You, the creator of your creator.
And here I caution you again, brothers. You are creators. But who amongst us is of perfect mind or heart. Imperfect will create imperfect. So do not anger or dwell if you see upon the god flaws or imperfections. Remember it is the window as such not the scene. Look past them, these small flaws; look around them and behold the beauty, the joy, the life. Infinite in its possibilities and variations, now defined in its now god like state.
And put this God in the most prominent place in your house for what father would bind his only son; his heir to some closet out of shame before visitors? And put this God in the most lofty peak of your mind and heart. To be taken out of you
r house as you visit the world; for what father asks his child to keep ten paces behind like a shunned dog.
For, Brothers, your God should be open and in full embrace of the world. Its flaws and imperfections the mere stones and hollows of a path leading higher and higher. If then trip, then trip. This is no sin. But mighty is the sin of the stone heart halted before the pebble. And evil is the stone mind that counts the pebbles on another path.
Brothers, do not flounder, we are all ships pointed to the horizon of destiny; the golden sun of eternity. Do we build anchors or sails? Brothers, enough of this rattling of chains and stench of harbor swill. Unfurl the great pure white billow of your hearts; place vision to the wheel and lift the wake of lightened passage.
Here, Brothers, take these packages. Your buoyant cargo; your maps and compass. Mark upon them with your hearts and minds the lines and points of journey. A journey across this great Well of spirit. Throw down your meager cups and assemble your great Vessels.
Do not gawk and buy what is of lead or clay. Build, Brothers. Assemble. Sail. You are the shipwrights, the sailors, navigators, captains of your own vision. Take up these hammers to build, not destroy. Let each tap be harmonized with your
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