The Book of Mirdad
Lectorium Rosicrucianum
33
About the night - the incomparable singer
Naronda: How the exiled misses his home, so we had missed the Eyrie, the freezing winds and snow storms had rendered inaccessible throughout the winter.
The Master chose a spring evening, whose eyes were soft and bright, whose breath was warm and fragrant, whose heart throbbed fast and awake, to take us to the Eyrie.
The eight flat stones that were our seats were still arranged in exactly the same semicircle, like we had left the day that the Master had been taken to Bethar. It was evident that no one had visited the Eagle's Nest since that day. Each of us took his accustomed place and stood there waiting for Master to speak. But he did not open his mouth. Even the full moon, they gazed in to wish us welcome, seemed to stick to the lips of the Master.
The waterfalls of the mountain, crashing up from rock to rock, filling the night with their turbulent melodies. From time to time, the hooting of an owl sinister rasping song or some cricket came to our ears.
Long remained silent before the Master raised his head and opening his eyes half closed, principiasse to speak to us:
Mirdad: In this silence that now reigns, Mirdad would hearken to the songs of the night. Give ear to the chorus of the night, which is really an incomparable singer.
The darkest hiding places of the past, the brighter the future castles, spiers of the heavens and the depths of the earth, the voices of the night are shed and flying to the most remote places of the universe. In powerful waves they roll and rotate around your ears. Descarregai completely ears parabque you may hear them as well.
What the uproar and casually erases day, night restores his extraordinary magic. Do not hide the moon and the stars donofuscamento day? What day drowns in her fantasy simulation, night exalça in their ecstatic songs. Even the dreams of plants amplify the chorus of the night:
Pay heed to the ball
Singing the sky outside.
Heard your lullabies
For the giant baby sleeping
In his birthplace of quicksand,
For the king of the beggars dressed in rags
For fettered Corisco -
For God wrapped in swaddling.
Listen to the earth, at the same time gives birth,
Breastfeeding, creates, makes marry and bury.
Hear the prowling beasts in the forest,
Howling, howling, tearing, torn;
Reptiles, crawling for his track;
Insects, buzzing his mystical songs;
Birds, rehearsing in his dreams,
Tales of meadows, songs of brooks;
Trees and shrubs and all that breathes
Sipping a cup of life in death.
From the top of the mountain and valley;
The desert and the sea;
Air and under the grass,
Throws up the challenge to God veiled by time.
Listen to the mothers of the world -
As mourn as whining;
And parents in the world -
How groan, as Grieve.
Hear how their children are at
For the cannon and cannon,
Censoring God and cursing fate,
Pretending to love and hate breathing,
Drinking devotion and sweating fear,
Sowing and reaping tears smiles,
Stimulating his red blood
The fury of the flood preparing.
Listen as your stomach shrinks,
And his swollen eyelids blink,
And his withered fingers, groping,
Go looking for the carcass of hope;
And his heart was distended and Busts
From hill to hill and cell stack.
Hear the buzz satanic engines,
And big cities crumble,
And the mighty citadels
Fold the bells of his own funeral,
And the monuments of the past
Falling in puddles of mud and blood.
Hear the prayers of the righteous sounding,
Gladly, along with the screams of lust,
And the babbling toddler art aem
Rhapsody in the perverse chatter:
The embarrassed smile Maiden
Gorgeando with the cunning of a prostitute;
And the ecstasy of the brave,
Humming the machinations of the villain.
In all the tents and huts
Of all the tribes and clans,
The evening trumpets perform the anthem
Man of war.
But at night, the witch, blowing songs,
The challenges, the hymns of war and everything else,
In song too subtle for the ear -
Song so great, so infinite in compass
So profudo tone, so melodious choir,
That by the choir and a symphony of angels,
In comparison, no more noise and hum.
This is the song of triumph be freed.
The mountains snoozing in the lap of the night;
The reminiscent deserts with its dunes;
Sleepwalkers coupons, wandering stars
The inhabitants
In the cities of the dead,
The Holy Triune and greet Omniwill
And hail being that is liberating.
Blessed are those who hear and understand.
Happy are those who,
On meeting her alone with the night,
Feel calm, deep
And vast as the night itself;
Whose faces are not injured in the dark
The wrongs they committed in the dark;
Whose eyes are not full of tears
What did his fellow shed;
Whose hands do not itch bad intentions and greed;
Whose ears are not harassed
Chirps by his lust;
Whose thinking is not bitten by his thoughts;
Whose heart does not address
Of all the concerns that arise,
Uninterruptedly, from all corners of the time;
Whose fears not dig tunnels in your brain;
Who can say boldly evening:
"Reveal to us the day"
And tell the day:
"Reveal to us tonight."
Yes, thrice happy are those who,
When you are alone with the night,
Feel comfortable, so peaceful,
As endless as the evening:
For them, only, is the night
Sing the song of the man who freed.
If you are willing to face the slander of the day with your head up and your eyes open, do logo for securing the friendship of the night.
Headquarters friends the night. Wash thoroughly, the heart, the very life's blood and place it in mo coragão night. Trust your cravings to the bosom of the night and kill your feet your ambitions, but ambition against being free through the Holy Understanding.
Then you will be invulnerable to all the the darts of the day and night will testify for you, before men, that they really are those who have freed themselves.
Although the days febricitantes
Throw yourselves to one side and the other,
And starless nights involve you
In thy gloom,
And you may be thrown into the s crossroads of the world,
In which no traces or signs
To show the way;
Do not fear no man or circumstance,
Neither have the slightest doubt
That the days and nights,
As well as men and things,
Sooner or later you seek
To ask you, humbly, that comandeis,
For ye have gained the trust of the night.
And who wins the confidence of the night
You can easily control the coming day.
Hearken to the heart of the night because it hits the heart of being freed.
If I had tears would offer them tonight all the stars that twinkle and whole grain of dust, the whole roaring creek and all the cicada singing: all the violet rays in the air fragrant your soul, to every wind blowing, the whole mountain and the whole valley, the whole tree and the whole blade of grass, all the peace and the beauty of this night.
Shed my tears before them, as apologia for the ingratitude and ignorance of the wild men.
Men, minions of the nefarious "Jeep", are busy at work of their Lord, so that they too busy to pay attention to any voice or desire that is not your own voice or your own will.
And dreadful is the business of Mr Men. You turn the world into a slaughterhouse where they are the butchers and cattle to be slaughtered. Thus, by the blood drunken men kill men, under the illusion that what kills inherits the part of those who are killed in all the riches of the earth and the bounty of heaven.
Naive unhappy! Since when a wolf becomes lamb for killing another wolf? Since when the snake becomes dove for having crushed and devoured other snakes? Since when does a man to kill another man, only inherits their joys, their sorrows without also inheriting? Since when does a ear piercing other ear, becomes more attuned to harmonies of life, or an eye becomes more sensitive to the fumes of beauty in others eyes boring?
There will be a man or group of men who can exhaust the blessings of one hour, is bread and wine or light and peace? The land does not give birth more loved than you can eat. The heavens do not require or steal the livelihood of their children.
Lie to those who say things: "If you want to fill your chest of silver, take the lives of others and who inherits from the woods."
How can properar with tears, blood and agony of men, those who could not succeed in his love, and the milk and honey of the earth, and the deep affection of heaven?
Lie who say to men: "Every nation for itself".
How could the centipede walking forward an inch cads if one of your legs to move in a different direction, or impede the progress of others, or the planned destruction of the other? No wonder humanity A Centipede monster, whose legs are the various nations?
Mind the beings who says: "Governing is an honor to be governed is a shame."
It is guided by donkey driver who transports? Not the jailer arrested the duty of guarding the imprisoned? In fact, the donkey addresses the coachman, and the criminal holding his jailer.
Mind the beings who says: "Win the race the smartest, the right belongs to the strongest."
Life is not a race run with muscles and strength. The crippled and maimed, often reach the victory much faster than sound, and sometimes even a mosquito wins gladiator.
Mind one that tells men that evil can not be corrected except by evil. Superimposed on an evil can never become a good. Let rest in evil, and, before long, he will destroy himself.
But men are gullible to the philosophy of his master, the Jeep, and their voracious vultures; believe him, sink and religiously fulfill their most foolish fantasies, while they hear the night, singing and preaching liberation - not to hear God or trust in him. And you, comrades, for ye shall be labeled crazy or impostors them.
Do not become offended by the ingratitude and painful mockery of men, worked with love and endless patience, to liberate them from themselves and the flood of fire and blood that will soon come upon them.
It is time for men to stop killing men.
The sun, moon and stars are from eternity waiting seen, heard and understood aer; alphabet of land waiting to be deciphered; roads of space waiting to be traveled, the time entangled yarn waiting to be unraveled, the fragrance of the Universe, be inhaled, the catacombs of pain, serrm demolished, the cave of death, being devastated, the bread of Understanding to be proved, and the man, bandaged God, be released from its tracks.
It is time for men to stop the plundering of men and fileras together to carry forward the common task. The task is immense, but sweet will be the victory. Everything else, in comparison, is banal and empty.
Yes, it is time. Few, however, will listen. The others will have to wait for new calling - new dawn.
