Lectorium Rosicrucianum
18
Mirdad advinha a morte do pai de Himbal e as circunstâncias que se dera
O Mestre fala da morte
O tempo é o maior embusteiro
A roda do tempo, seu aro e seu eixo
Muita água já correra pelas montanhas abaixo e fora levada para o mar, quando os companheiros, exceto Himbal, mais uma vez se reuniram em volta do Mestre, no Ninho da Águia.
O Mestre estava falando sobre a Vontade Universal. Subitamente, porém, parou e disse:
Mirdad: Himbal está em aflição; eles nos procuraria para encontrar conforto, mas seus pés estão muito envergonhados para que possam trazé-lo aqui. Vai buscá-lo, Abimar.
Naronda: Abimar foi-se em pouco vtava com Himbal, que soluçava e tremia, tendo no rosto uma expressão de profunda infelicidade.
Mirdad: Vem para perto de mim, Himbal.
Ah, Himbal, Himbal! Porque teu pai morreu tu deixas a tristeza roer-te o coração e tornas o sangue em lágrimas. Que farás quando toda a tua família morrer? Que farás quando todos os pais, e todas as mães, e todas as irmãs, e todos os irmãos deste mundo, falerem diante de ti, de teus olhos?
Himbal: Ah, Mestre! Meu pai faleceu de morte violenta. Um touro que tinha comprado recentemente o chifrou na barriga e lhe partiu o crânio anteontem. Acabo de sabê-lo por um mensageiro. Que desgraça a minha!
Mirdad: E ele morreu, ao que parece, quando a fortuna deste mundo começava a sorrir-lhe.
Himbal: Assim é, Mestre. É isso mesmo.
Mirdad: E a sua morte causa-te maior sofrimento porque o touro havia sido comprado com o dinheiro que tu lhe enviaste.
Himbal: Assim é, Mestre. É isso mesmo. Ao que parece vós sabeis tudo.
Mirdad: Dinheiro que era o preço de teu amor por Mirdad.
Naronda: Himbal nada mais pôde dizer; estava afogado em lágrimas.
Mirdad: Teu pai não está morto, Himbal. Nem estão mortas ainda sua forma e sua sombra. Mas estão mortos, verdadeiramente mortos, teus sentidos para a forma e a sombra alteradas de teu pai, pois há formas tão tênues e delicadas, com sombras tão atenuadas, que os olhos grosseiros do homem não podem divisá-las.
A sombra de um cedro na floresta não é a mesma que a de um cedro que se tornou mastro de um navio, ou pilar de um templo, ou cadafalso de um patíbulo. Nem é a sombra daquele cedro a mesma ao sol e à luz das estrelas, ou da névoa rosada do crepúsculo.
No entanto, aquele cedro, não importa quanto haja sido transformado, vive como um cedro, embora os outros cedros da floresta já não o reconheçam mais como irmão.
Pode o bicho-da-seda que está sobre a folha reconhecer a irmã na crisálida que se encontra adormecida no casulo da seda? Ou pode esta reconhecer sua irmã na borboleta da seda que voa?
Pode o grão de trigo na terra reconhecer seu parentesco com a erva do trigo que cresce sobre a terra?
Podem os vapores no ar, ou as águas no mar, reconhecer como irmãos e irmãs os pingentes de gelo na caverna dela montanha?
Pode a terra reconhecer como irmão o meteoro que cai sobre ela das profundezas do espaço?
Pode o carvalho ver-se a si mesmo na bolota?
Devido ao fato de teu pai agora estar em uma luz à qual teus olhos não estão acostumados e em uma forma que não podes perceber, dizes que teu pai já não existe. Mas o eu material do homem, não importa quanto haja sido modificado e para onde tenha sido transportado, sempre projeta uma sombra até que se haja dissolvido no eu divino do homem.
Um pedaço de madeira, seja ele um galho verde na árvore hoje ou uma cavilha na parede amanhã, continua a ser madeira e a mudar de forma e de sombra até que seja consumido pelo fogo que há dentro dele. Do mesmo modo o homem continua a ser homem, quando vivo ou quando morto, até que ele compreenda sua unidade com o Único. Isto, porém, não se cumpre no ápice de tempo de um piscar de olhos que o homem gosta de chamar de uma vida inteira.
O tempo todo é uma vida inteira.
Não há paradas e começos no tempo. Nem há caravançarás em que os viajantes possam parar para refrescar-se e descansar.
O tempo é uma cotinuidade que se sobrepõe a si mesmo. Sua popa está ligada a sua proa. Nada termina e é posto à margem no tempo; nada começa nem termina.
O tempo é uma roda criada pelos sentidos, e pelos sentidos lançada a girar no espaço.
Vós sentis a estonteante mudança das estações e acreditais, então, que tudo está preso nas garras da mudança, mas esqueceis-vos de que o poder que dobra e desdobra as estações é eterno, único e sempre o mesmo.
Vós sentis as coisas crescer e decair, e, irreverentemente, declarais que a ruína é o fim de tudo o que cresce. Mas esqueceis que o poder que faz as coisas crescer e decair - esse não cresce nem decai.
Vós sentis a velocidade do vento em relação à da brisa e dizeis que o vento é mais rápido, mas apesar disso admitis que o que move o vento e o que move a brisa é um e o mesmo, e não corre o vento nem vacila com a brisa.
Como sois credulos! Como vos deixais enganar com os truques qie vossos sentidos vos aplicam! Onde está a vossa imaginação? Somente com ela podereis ver que todas as coisas que vos deixam atônitos não são mais do que truques de prestidigitação.
Como pode o vento ser mais rápido do que a brisa? Não é a brisa que dá origem ao vento? Não leva o vento a brisa consigo?
Vós, andarilhos da terra, porque medis as distâncias que caminhas em passos e em léguas? Tanto faz irdes perambulando vagarosamente como a galope - não estais sendo carregados por espaços e regiões para onde a terra está sendo levada? Não é, pois, vosso passo igual ao passo da terra? Não é a terra, por sua vez, transportada por outros corpos celestes, sendo então sua velocidade igual a desses corpos?
Sim, a vagarosidade é a mãe da rapidez. A rapidez é a transportadora da vagarosidade; e a vagarosidade e a rapidez são inseparáveis, em qualquer ponto do tempo e do espaço.
Como dizeis que o crescimento é crescimento, e a decadência é decadência, e que um é inimigondo outro? Já alguma coisa cresceu, sem que o haja feito à custa daquilo que decaiu? E já algo decaiu que não fosse em benefício do que cresce?
Não cresceis por uma decadência contínua? Não entrais em decadência pelo contínuo crescimento?
Não são os mortos o subsolo dos vivos, e os vivoa o celeiro dos mortos?
Se o crescimento é filho da decadência e a decadência, filha do crescimento; se a vida é filha da morte e a morte, filha da vida, então em verdade ambas são uma só em todos os pontos do tempo e do espaço. Em verdade, vossa alegria de viver e de crescer é tão estúpida quanto vossa dor de decair e morrer.
Como dizeis que só o outono é a estação das uvas? Em verdade vos digo que as uvas estão maduras também no inverno, quando não há mais do que um leve pulsar da seiva, imperceptível, mas sonhando seus sonhos de videira; e stambém na primavera, quando forma seus cachos de esmeralda; e também no verão, quando os cachos crescem e os bagos incham e seus rostos se tornam corados sob o ouro do sol.
Se cada estação traz em si as outras três, então na verdade é, ao mesmo tempo, todas as estações em todos ps pontos do tempo e do espaço.
Sim, o tempo é o major prestidigitador, e os homens papalvos.
Muito semelhantes ao esquilo em sua roda é o homem que, tendo posto a roda do tempo a girar, fica de tal modo dominado por ela e levado pelo movimento que já não pode crer que é ele mesmo que a faz mover, nem "achar tempo" para deter o giro do tempo.
Tal como o gato que desgasta sua língua lambendo a pedra de amolar, na ilusão de que está lambendo roreja da pedra, o homem lambe o próprio sangue, derramado na roda do tempo e mastiga a própria carne, dilacerada pelos raios do tempo, na ilusão de que sejam o sangue e a carne do tempo.
A roda do tempo gira no vácuo do eapaço. Em seu aro estão situadas todas as coisas perceptíveis pelos sentidos, que nada podem perceber, senão no tempo e no espaço. Assim, as coisas continuam aparecendo e desaparecendo. O que desaparece para um, em certo ponto do tempo e do espaço, aparece para outro em outro ponto. O que pode ser dia para um é noite para outro, dependendo do "quando" e do "onde" do observador.
Uma só é a estrada da vida e da morte, ó monges, sobre o aro da roda do tempo, pois o movimento em círculos jamais pode atingir o fim e jamais se desgasta. E todo o movimento no mundo é movimento circular.
Então o homem jamais se libertará do círculo vicioso do tempo?
Sim, o homem libertar-se-á, pois ele é herdeiro da liberdade sagrada de Deus.
A roda do tempo gira, mas seu eixo está sempre em repouso.
Deus é o eixo da roda do tempo. Conquanto tudo gire à volta dele, no tempo e no espaço, ele é sempre sem espaço e sem tempo. Conquanto tudo seja procedente de sua Palavra, sua Palavra é tão sem tempo e sem espaço como ele.
No eixo está a paz. No aro, a agitação. Onde quereis vós estar?
Em verdade vos digo, escapai do aro do tempo para o eixo e poupar-vos-eis da náusea do movimento. Deixai o tempo girar em volta de vós; porém não gireis vós com o tempo.
Lectorium Rosicrucianum
18
Mirdad guess the death of the father of Himbal and the circumstances that gave
The Master speaks of death
Time is the greatest deceiver
The wheel of time , its rim and its axis
Much water has rushed down the mountains and was taken to the sea , when the companions except Himbal once again gathered around the Master , the Eagle's Nest .
The Master was talking about the Universal Will . But suddenly stopped and said :
Mirdad : Himbal is in distress , they seek to find comfort in , but your feet are too embarrassed for them to bring it here . Go get it , Abimar .
Naronda : Abimar gone on with little vtava Himbal , sobbing and shaking , his face taking on an expression of deep unhappiness .
Mirdad : Come near me , Himbal .
Ah , Himbal , Himbal ! Because your father died you let yourself gnawing the heart Sadness and goest blood into tears . What will you do when all your family die? What will you do when all the parents and all the mothers and the sisters and brothers all this world , falerem before thee , thine eyes ?
Himbal : Oh , Master ! My father died a violent death . A bull that had recently purchased the gored him in the stomach and left the skull yesterday . I just know it by a messenger . That my doom !
Mirdad : And he died , it seems, when the fortune of this world began to smile at him .
Himbal : So is Master . That's right .
Mirdad : And his death cause you more pain because the bull was bought with the money that you sent him .
Himbal : So is Master . That's right . Apparently you know everything.
Mirdad : Money was the price of your love for Mirdad .
Naronda : Himbal could say no more ; was drowned in tears .
Mirdad : Your father is not dead , Himbal . Neither are dead even its shape and shade. But the dead are truly dead , your senses to the form and change the shade of your father , because there are so tenuous and delicate shapes with shadows so attenuated , that coarse man's eyes can not MOTTO them .
The shadow of a cedar forest is not the same as a cedar that has become the mast of a ship, or pillar of a temple , or a scaffold scaffold. Nor is the shadow of the same cedar in the sun and under the stars , or the rosy haze of dusk.
However , one cedar, no matter how much there been transformed , lives like a cedar, although the other cedars forest no longer recognize him more as a brother.
Can the silkworm silk that is on the sheet to recognize the sister in chrysalis that lies dormant in the cocoon of the silk ? Or this may recognize her sister in silk butterfly wings ?
Can the grain of corn in the earth recognize their kinship with wheat herb that grows on the earth?
Can vapor in air or water into the sea , to recognize as brothers and sisters icicles on her mountain cave ?
The land can recognize as brother meteor that falls upon it from the depths of space?
Oak can see himself in the acorn ?
Because your father now be a light to which your eyes are not used to and in a way that you can not see , you say that your father is gone. But I man stuff , no matter how much there been modified and where was transported , always casts a shadow until it disintegrates in the divine self of man .
A piece of wood , be it a green twig on the tree today or tomorrow a peg on the wall , still wood and change shape and shade until it is consumed by fire within him . Likewise man continues to be man when alive or when dead, until he understands his oneness with the One . This, however , is not fulfilled at the apex of time a snap that man likes to call a lifetime .
The whole time is a lifetime .
There are stops and starts on time. Nor is there caravanserais where travelers can stop for refreshment and rest .
Time is a cotinuidade that overlaps itself. Its stern is on its prow. Butt and is put on the sidelines in time , nothing begins or ends .
Time is a wheel created by the senses , and the senses thrown spinning in space .
You feel the dizzying change of seasons and believe then that everything is caught in the grip of change , but You forget you that the power folding and unfolding seasons is timeless, unique and always the same .
You feel things grow and decay , and , irreverently , declarais ruin that is the end of everything that grows . But You forget that the power to make things grow and decay - this does not grow nor decay .
You feel the wind speed relative to the breeze , and say that the wind is faster , but nevertheless admitis what moves the wind and the breeze that moves is one and the same , and not run wind nor wavers in the breeze .
How gullible you are ! How to let deceive you with tricks qie you apply your senses ! Where is your imagination? Only with it you will be able to see all the things that leave you stunned are not more than sleight of hand .
How can the wind be faster than the breeze ? Not the breeze that gives rise to the wind? Does not take the wind the breeze with you?
Ye wanderers of the earth , because medis distances you walk in steps and leagues ? Any should go wandering slowly as the Galloping - you are not being charged for spaces and for regions where land is being taken ? It is therefore your pitch equal to the pitch of the earth ? Not the earth, in turn , carried by other celestial bodies, then their speed being equal to those bodies?
Yes , the slowness is the mother of quickly . Speed is the carrier of slowness , and the slowness and speed are inseparable , at any point of time and space .
How do you say that growth is growth , and decay is decay, and that one is inimigondo other? Have something grown without that there is at the expense of what fell ? And now something that fell was not in favor of growing ?
Not you grow by a continuous decay ? Do not enter here into decay by the continued growth ?
Are not dead underground of the living, and the dead vivoa the barn ?
If growth is the son of decadence and decay , daughter of growth if life is death and death of daughter , daughter 's life, then verily both are one in all points of time and space . In fact, your joy of living and growing is as stupid as your pain of decay and die.
How do you say that only autumn is the season of grapes? Verily I say unto you that the grapes are ripe also in winter , when no more than a mild pulse of sap, imperceptible, but dreaming their dreams of vine, and stambém in spring when its clusters of emerald shape , and also in summer when the clusters grow and berries swell and become stained their faces under the sun gold .
If each season brings with it the other three , so it is actually at the same time , all stations on all points ps time and space .
Yes, time is the conjurer major, and suckers men .
Very similar to the squirrel in its wheel is the man who , having put the time wheel to spin, is so dominated by her and led by movement can no longer believe that it is he himself that moves , or " find time ' to stop turning the time.
Like the cat who wears his tongue licking the whetstone , the illusion that the stone is licking roreja , man licks his blood , shed on the wheel of time and chews his own flesh torn by the rays of the time , the illusion that are the blood and flesh of the time.
The wheel of time turns the vacuum of eapaço . In its rim are situated all things perceptible by the senses can perceive nothing , but in time and space. So things keep appearing and disappearing . What disappears for one, at some point of time and space , appears to another at another point . What can be the day for a night is to another , depending on " when" and " where" of the observer .
One is the road of life and death , O monks , on the rim of the wheel of time only because the movement in circles can never reach the end and never wears out. And the whole world is moving in circular motion .
Then the man will never be free from the vicious circle of time ?
Yes , the man will be liberated , because he is heir to the sacred freedom of God .
The wheel of time turns , but its axis is always at rest .
God is the axis of the wheel of time . While all rotate around it , in time and space, it is always no space and no time . While everything is coming from His Word , His Word is so out of time and space as he .
The shaft is peace . The rim , stirring . Where you desire to be ?
Verily , escapai rim forecast for the shaft and save ye shall nausea of motion . Let the time revolve around you , but you do not gireis with time .
Lectorium Rosicrucianum
18
Mirdad guess the death of the father of Himbal and the circumstances that gave
The Master speaks of death
Time is the greatest deceiver
The wheel of time , its rim and its axis
Much water has rushed down the mountains and was taken to the sea , when the companions except Himbal once again gathered around the Master , the Eagle's Nest .
The Master was talking about the Universal Will . But suddenly stopped and said :
Mirdad : Himbal is in distress , they seek to find comfort in , but your feet are too embarrassed for them to bring it here . Go get it , Abimar .
Naronda : Abimar gone on with little vtava Himbal , sobbing and shaking , his face taking on an expression of deep unhappiness .
Mirdad : Come near me , Himbal .
Ah , Himbal , Himbal ! Because your father died you let yourself gnawing the heart Sadness and goest blood into tears . What will you do when all your family die? What will you do when all the parents and all the mothers and the sisters and brothers all this world , falerem before thee , thine eyes ?
Himbal : Oh , Master ! My father died a violent death . A bull that had recently purchased the gored him in the stomach and left the skull yesterday . I just know it by a messenger . That my doom !
Mirdad : And he died , it seems, when the fortune of this world began to smile at him .
Himbal : So is Master . That's right .
Mirdad : And his death cause you more pain because the bull was bought with the money that you sent him .
Himbal : So is Master . That's right . Apparently you know everything.
Mirdad : Money was the price of your love for Mirdad .
Naronda : Himbal could say no more ; was drowned in tears .
Mirdad : Your father is not dead , Himbal . Neither are dead even its shape and shade. But the dead are truly dead , your senses to the form and change the shade of your father , because there are so tenuous and delicate shapes with shadows so attenuated , that coarse man's eyes can not MOTTO them .
The shadow of a cedar forest is not the same as a cedar that has become the mast of a ship, or pillar of a temple , or a scaffold scaffold. Nor is the shadow of the same cedar in the sun and under the stars , or the rosy haze of dusk.
However , one cedar, no matter how much there been transformed , lives like a cedar, although the other cedars forest no longer recognize him more as a brother.
Can the silkworm silk that is on the sheet to recognize the sister in chrysalis that lies dormant in the cocoon of the silk ? Or this may recognize her sister in silk butterfly wings ?
Can the grain of corn in the earth recognize their kinship with wheat herb that grows on the earth?
Can vapor in air or water into the sea , to recognize as brothers and sisters icicles on her mountain cave ?
The land can recognize as brother meteor that falls upon it from the depths of space?
Oak can see himself in the acorn ?
Because your father now be a light to which your eyes are not used to and in a way that you can not see , you say that your father is gone. But I man stuff , no matter how much there been modified and where was transported , always casts a shadow until it disintegrates in the divine self of man .
A piece of wood , be it a green twig on the tree today or tomorrow a peg on the wall , still wood and change shape and shade until it is consumed by fire within him . Likewise man continues to be man when alive or when dead, until he understands his oneness with the One . This, however , is not fulfilled at the apex of time a snap that man likes to call a lifetime .
The whole time is a lifetime .
There are stops and starts on time. Nor is there caravanserais where travelers can stop for refreshment and rest .
Time is a cotinuidade that overlaps itself. Its stern is on its prow. Butt and is put on the sidelines in time , nothing begins or ends .
Time is a wheel created by the senses , and the senses thrown spinning in space .
You feel the dizzying change of seasons and believe then that everything is caught in the grip of change , but You forget you that the power folding and unfolding seasons is timeless, unique and always the same .
You feel things grow and decay , and , irreverently , declarais ruin that is the end of everything that grows . But You forget that the power to make things grow and decay - this does not grow nor decay .
You feel the wind speed relative to the breeze , and say that the wind is faster , but nevertheless admitis what moves the wind and the breeze that moves is one and the same , and not run wind nor wavers in the breeze .
How gullible you are ! How to let deceive you with tricks qie you apply your senses ! Where is your imagination? Only with it you will be able to see all the things that leave you stunned are not more than sleight of hand .
How can the wind be faster than the breeze ? Not the breeze that gives rise to the wind? Does not take the wind the breeze with you?
Ye wanderers of the earth , because medis distances you walk in steps and leagues ? Any should go wandering slowly as the Galloping - you are not being charged for spaces and for regions where land is being taken ? It is therefore your pitch equal to the pitch of the earth ? Not the earth, in turn , carried by other celestial bodies, then their speed being equal to those bodies?
Yes , the slowness is the mother of quickly . Speed is the carrier of slowness , and the slowness and speed are inseparable , at any point of time and space .
How do you say that growth is growth , and decay is decay, and that one is inimigondo other? Have something grown without that there is at the expense of what fell ? And now something that fell was not in favor of growing ?
Not you grow by a continuous decay ? Do not enter here into decay by the continued growth ?
Are not dead underground of the living, and the dead vivoa the barn ?
If growth is the son of decadence and decay , daughter of growth if life is death and death of daughter , daughter 's life, then verily both are one in all points of time and space . In fact, your joy of living and growing is as stupid as your pain of decay and die.
How do you say that only autumn is the season of grapes? Verily I say unto you that the grapes are ripe also in winter , when no more than a mild pulse of sap, imperceptible, but dreaming their dreams of vine, and stambém in spring when its clusters of emerald shape , and also in summer when the clusters grow and berries swell and become stained their faces under the sun gold .
If each season brings with it the other three , so it is actually at the same time , all stations on all points ps time and space .
Yes, time is the conjurer major, and suckers men .
Very similar to the squirrel in its wheel is the man who , having put the time wheel to spin, is so dominated by her and led by movement can no longer believe that it is he himself that moves , or " find time ' to stop turning the time.
Like the cat who wears his tongue licking the whetstone , the illusion that the stone is licking roreja , man licks his blood , shed on the wheel of time and chews his own flesh torn by the rays of the time , the illusion that are the blood and flesh of the time.
The wheel of time turns the vacuum of eapaço . In its rim are situated all things perceptible by the senses can perceive nothing , but in time and space. So things keep appearing and disappearing . What disappears for one, at some point of time and space , appears to another at another point . What can be the day for a night is to another , depending on " when" and " where" of the observer .
One is the road of life and death , O monks , on the rim of the wheel of time only because the movement in circles can never reach the end and never wears out. And the whole world is moving in circular motion .
Then the man will never be free from the vicious circle of time ?
Yes , the man will be liberated , because he is heir to the sacred freedom of God .
The wheel of time turns , but its axis is always at rest .
God is the axis of the wheel of time . While all rotate around it , in time and space, it is always no space and no time . While everything is coming from His Word , His Word is so out of time and space as he .
The shaft is peace . The rim , stirring . Where you desire to be ?
Verily , escapai rim forecast for the shaft and save ye shall nausea of motion . Let the time revolve around you , but you do not gireis with time .
