Lectorium Rosicrucianum
31
The Great Nostalgia
Mirdad: It's like the fog the great nostalgia. Issued by the heart, it closes the heart as well as the mist emitted by sea and land obliterates much land as the sea.
Also like the fog hides the eyes visible reality, becoming itself the only reality and this dampens the nostalgic feelings of the heart and makes itself the prevailing sentiment. Although apparently as formless, as purposeless and blind as a mist, like this, she is full of unborn forms, has a clear view and a well-defined purpose.
It is still as fever great nostalgia. As the fever that arises in the body, and the vitality of this mine while you're burning the poisons, so is this nostalgia; born friction in the heart weakens this while it consumes all impurities and superfluidity.
Like a thief is great nostalgia. As a sneak thief, who relieves his victims of a load, but leaves it abirrecido and bitter, so this nostalgia stealthily relieves all loads from the heart, but let it bleak and loaded exactly the lack of load.
Wide, green is the margin dancing men and women, and fight and cry for their fugitive days. Terrifying, however, is the bull that expels fire and smoke through its nostrils and shakes their feet and compels them to his knees, which stifles their songs in the vocal cords and catches them in the eyes swollen eyelids with her tears.
Wide and deep river which is also the separabda the other shore. They can not cross it by swimming or paddling from one to the other shore, or cross it on a sailboat. A few - very few - venture to cross it with a thought. All, however - almost all - are anxious. Why cling to the border where they are and where ada one is doing his favorite wheel wheel of time.
The man who has great nostalgia has no favorite wheel of time to run. In the middle of a tensely terribly busy and rushed world, only he has no occupation or hurry. In the midst of mankind as decorously dressed and behaved as for the word and ways, he finds himself naked, stammering and awkward. Can not laugh with those who laugh or weep with those who weep. Men drink, eat and take pleasure in eating and drinking, he eats without greed, and the drink becomes dull in her mouth.
Other mate-or who are eagerly looking to mate, he walks alone, sleeps alone and dream your dreams alone. Others are rich in wit and wisdom of the world, only he is stupid and ignorant. Others have a comfortable place they call home, only he has no home. Others are certain places on earth which they call their homeland and whose glory sing aloud, only he did not have any piece of land that you can sing or call homeland. This is because his eyes fixed on the opposite bank.
It is a sleepwalker human being who has great nostalgia, amidst a seemingly waking world. It is powered by a dream that others around you do not see and feel, so they shrug their shoulders and laugh at the back door. When, however, the fear god - the bull that throws fire and smoke through its nostrils - appears on the scene, so they are forced to bite the dust, while the one for whom shrugged and laughed furtively who is raised by wings of faith, and above all his bull, and is taken to the other side, to the foot of the steep mountain.
Arid, desolate and sad is the land on which the somnambulist wings, but the wings of faith are strong, and the man continues to fly.
Grim, naked and terrifying is the mountain at the foot of which he lands, but indomitable is the heart of faith, and a man's heart is still beating, valiantly.
Dura slippery and hardly visible is your track up the mountain, but the hand is soft, firm foot, and sharpened the eyes of faith, and is still rising.
Find the way men and women who are trying to climb the mountain by a wide and smooth road, are the men and women of little nostalgia, who are eager to reach the mountain, but with a lame and blind guide. This is because your guide is your belief in what the eye can see and the ears hear, the hands that can feel and the nose and mouth can smell and taste. Some of them do not go beyond the ankles of the mountain, while others can reach the knees, and others go to her hips, very few go to waist. All of them, however, along with their guides, slip and come, tumbling down the hill without at least glanced at the beautiful mountain.
Eyes can see everything there is to see, and ears to hear all that is to be heard? Hands can touch everything there is to be palpated, and nose to smell all that there is to be smelled? Or can the tongue taste everything there is to be proved? Only when faith, born of divine imagination, comes to their aid, can really feel the senses and thereby become on stairs to rise to the top.
The way of faith is lacking where guides can not be trusted. While your road seems smooth and wide, is full of pitfalls and hidden links, and those trying to reach the top of her release, perish in the way, or slip and fall tumbling to the foot from where, where lament of many bones broken and sew where many open wounds.
Men of little nostalgia are those who, having built a world of their senses soon find it small and stuffy, and aspiring to a larger and more airy home, but instead of seeking new materials and a new master builder, the pile same material and call the same architect - the senses - to build them a new home. And this evil is done, find him so small and stuffy as the old. So, go demolishing and building, never get home that can give them comfort and freedom they crave for, behold rely on misleading to rid of the mistakes. As the fish jumping from the frying pan into the fire escape of a small mirage to be deceived by someone bigger.
Between beings of great nostalgia and nostalgia of small to large crowd is men-rabbits who feel some nostalgia. Are content to dig their burrows them live, reproduce and die, and think its very stylish, spacious and warm caves. There would change by the splendor of a royal palace and mock sleepwalkers, especially those who walk a lonely path, where the footprints are rare and hard to see.
The being that has great nostalgia and is among other men is very similar to puppy eagle hatched by domestic fowl with her brood. His brothers-mother-hen and chicks wish the young pup eagle is like them, with their nature and habits, living as they do, and the young cub eagle would that others were like him: dreaming of a freer air and a boundless sky. Soon, however, their littermates consider him an outcast and a stranger among them, and he gets pecked to everyone - even the mother. The voice of heights, but tells her nonsangue, and the stench of the chicken becomes unbearable for the nose. However, accepted everything quietly, until it is fully feathered. Then spreads its wings and launches into space, with a loving look of farewell to their former brethren and his mother, who cackles gleefully while cisca on earth in search of seeds and worms.
Rejoice, Micayon. Your dream IsNumeric prophetic dream. The great nostalgia did your little world and made you a stranger in this world, your imagination freed from despotic claw senses and imagination brought you to faith.
And faith will lift you far above this stagnant and stuffy world, rise up through the empty tiring to the top of the steep mountain, where all faith will be tested and purified the last traces of doubt.
Faith thus purified and triumphant on high forever green, and there deliver thee into the hands of Understanding will take you. Having accomplished his task, faith will withdraw from, and understanding will guide your steps to the freedom of the high unpronounceable that is true, unlimited and universal abode of God and be freed.
Supports well, Micayon test. Endure it well, you all. To stay for just a moment this high, it pays to bear all kinds of pain, but live forever in this high valley eternity.
Himbal: Not in elevarás now thy high, at least for a quick look?
Mirdad: Do not look ahead, Himbal: give it time. Where I breathe freely, you'd be out of breath. Where I walk at ease, you'd be panting and tropeçarias. Hold on to faith, faith will hold gigantic feats.
So I taught Noah
So now I am teaching.
