Singing birds, jumping rivulets, roses that perfume the air, sounding bells that call... stop, shadow of my Goodness, beautiful illusion of the day, for night has arrived.
Delicious night brimming with stars, allow me to offer you the oasis of the old garden of my painful heart. It is December, yet with your romantic singing, it will have roses from the month of May.
I would like to divine the voice that always denies vain things, that always rejects them, that repudiates them with a No that is without hatred, and that also holds promise for many Yea’s.
Divine night, behold: here I am, finally alone with myself, and listening to the voice of Isaiah, to your hinting clamor that is naming me.
Oh enchanted night, Urania, life of mine, to be sick because of you is to be sane. All the tales that amuse mortals in their remote infancy are nothing close to you, because you smell better than the fragrance of dreamy, enchanted gardens, and because you are more transparent, oh Goodness of mine, than a transparent crystal palace.
So, with fertile endurance, without misfortune, and with simple piety, I passed through the streets of the capital of Mexico.
I went across the midnight city among ineffable crystals, clean of any mist.
Who is the one who traverses the abode while exclaiming my name? Who is the one who calls me in the night with such a delectable accent? Ah, it is a gust of wind that wails in the summit tower; it is a sweet thought.
So, I climbed the old tower of the Metropolitan Cathedral while singing my poem with the voice of the silence.
The mist was lost upon the summits of the mountains, upon those lands that had suffered tremendous convulsions. Then, among craters and eruptions of lava, Iztaccihuatl and Popocatepetl emerged like an enchantment in order to delight the eyes. These two legendary volcanoes are like two millenary guardians in custody of the city of Mexico.
Far away, beyond from these mountains, I saw worlds and ineffable regions that are impossible to describe with words. “Behold, that which is awaiting for you!” said a generous voice unto me, a voice that was endowing music to the wind.
This was a song heard by no one, played and played wherever I went, with musical notes in which I seemed to sense my own voice.
So, when descending from that tower, someone was following me; he was a chela, or disciple. Great was my joy, since I was inebriated with an exquisite spiritual voluptuousness. My body did not have weight, I was moving myself with my astral form; I had abandoned my physical vehicle a long time before.
Already upon the atrium of this old cathedral, close to the foundation of its old walls that have been mute witnesses to many quarrels, conflicts, and challenges during many centuries, I saw a variegated and picturesque conjunction of men, women, children, and elders who were selling their merchandise everywhere.
There, seated as an oriental yogi, close to the wall and under the aged tower, at a corner of this old cathedral, an Aztec elder of indescribable age was meditating.
Any sleeping person would have easily confused him as being another merchant. In front of him and upon the cold stone of the floor, this venerable elder had a mysterious object, a secret Aztec relic.
Then, humbled, confounded, and abased before this holy, venerated, indigenous Aztec, I had to prostrate myself with reverence. The elder blessed me.
My chela (disciple), who was following my steps, looked like a zombie, hiswas profoundly sleeping... Suddenly, something happened; he bent down as if to grasp something, and without the least bit of respect, he grasped the untouchable relic; he observed it in his hands with infinite curiosity and I, frankly, was horrified by his behavior. This appeared so terrible to me that I exclaimed, “What do you think you are doing? You are committing a great sacrilege. For God’s sake, withdraw from here and leave the relic in its place.” Nevertheless, the Master, filled with infinite compassion, replied, “It is not his fault in this matter; he is asleep.”
Afterwards, like a pilgrim on the path who wants to heal the afflicted heart with a precious balm, he grasped the head of this sleeping neophyte, and blew the living Fohat upon his face with the purpose of awakening him, but everything was useless. This chela continued sleeping, dreaming.
So, filled with deep bitterness I said, “How much I have fought there in the physical world in order for these people to awaken their, and still they continue to sleep.” The chela had assumed a gigantic figure. The pluralized “I” (a conjunction of distinct and diverse entities), engulfed within the lunar bodies, was giving him that aspect.
It was bizarre to see this enormous, grayish-colored giant slowly walking like a zombie along the old atrium of this ancient cathedral while heading towards his home where his physical body was sleeping. In those moments I could only exclaim, “How ugly the lunar bodies are!”
Nonetheless, the venerated elder, while inebriated with compassion, replied unto me, “Within the temple you are about to enter (a Jinn temple, an Aztec sanctuary), there are many like this one, so look at them with sympathy.”
I replied, “Clearly, I will look upon them with sympathy.”
Let us now talk about reincarnation. Are perchance these lunar creatures reincarnating? Could reincarnation exist where there is no individuality?
In the sacred country of the Ganges, the doctrine of Krishna teaches that only the Gods and Demigods, heros, Devas, and Titans reincarnate. In other words, we will say that only the Self-realized, those who haveincarnated, can reincarnate.
The, the pluralized “I,” does not reincarnate. It is submitted to the law of eternal return of all things. It returns into a new womb; it comes back into this valley of Samsara; it reincorporates.
The practices corresponding to the Rune Tyr or Tir consist of placing the arms high above the head, then descending them to the sides while the hands are cupped like seashells. When lowering the straight arms pronounce the“Tiiiiiirrrrrrrr.” (The sound of the letters “I” and “R” should be prolonged in order to awaken the . )
The letter “T” or Tau strikes thein order to awaken it. The letter “I” works intensely within the blood which is the vehicle of the essence. The “R,” while intensifying the circulation of the blood in the veins and in the sanguineous vessels, operates marvels with the igneous flames by intensifying and stimulating the awakening of the .
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