by C. A. Frazer
CHAPTER VIII.
One night Atma dreamed a dream which greatly disturbed his wakingthoughts. He lay in the shadow of an overhanging rock, and in deep sleepfancied that he descried therein a door which was securely barred. Butalthough it was closed, there issued from it aroma of most subtleperfumes, which seemed to enter the brain and incite the energies to amaddening desire of possession, while there floated around him strainsof music whose sweetness filled the soul with sorrow of itself. In hisdream he tried the heavy bolts in vain. All was fast. He yielded todespair, and dashed himself against the rocky portal in anguish ofdisappointment. But grief wore itself out, and he thought that hepresently lay on the ground, bruised and exhausted. The charmedfragrance still enwrapt him, and the seductive melody filled the air.Sad and benumbed he yielded himself to their influence, and his ear thendetected in the ethereal harmony an articulate utterance. An ineffableintonation melodiously spoke:
"It opes to a key that is golden, Within it a spirit lies folden, The soul of all matchless delight. All graces familiar or olden, Propitious thine entrance invite."
He now dimly perceived the golden key to glitter in the air. It camenear to him, and he took it into his hand from where it lay on a pillowof mist. When he held it, the rocky door, though still fastened, nolonger hid from view the loveliness of the grotto. He saw walls bedeckedwith gleaming jewels, marvellous flowers, and countless silver lamps,whilst everywhere were traced in precious gems the sayings of the Wiseof all ages. Winged creatures, whose looks spoke of loving and perfectservice, seemed to await his command.
A great fear seized him lest so beautiful a vision should presentlyfade, and he would have rushed to unbar the entrance, his eyes dimmingwith tears of love and sorrow. But a second voice sounded from abovemore solemnly sweet than the first--
"Beware! beware! To abide none enter there; All you see is but a portal Leading on to the Immortal; Though it be so fair, so fair, Enter, not to tarry there; Idle tears, your torrent stay-- Beauty, it is consecrate And can never fade away; Change it will, be re-create, Born from narrow things to great."
But the first voice pleaded again. Together they sang, and strangelyenough they harmonized. Not that the celestial utterance lent itself tothe lighter measure, but the nearer song took a softer cadence andborrowed a new persuasion from the greater. Passionate grew thepleading, more alluring the radiant retreat. The heart of Atma, everopen to the influence of the good, cried to the solemn voice above forhelp.
"Give also light," he said, "that I may see beyond the portal!"
But the sound of his own voice was strange in the land of dreams, andwith that he awoke. It was evening, and he arose and looked at thesilent and frowning cliff, and even passed his hand over its face toconvince himself that he was still awake. A significance attached itselfto his dream, and he pondered it long and wisely. The teachings of thefounder of his Faith came into his mind, and the lesson of his visionseemed plain. He resolved to trust the conduct of his steps to an unseenGuidance, and reverently owned that a Benign Presence had watched hisslumbers. As he reflected, a belief grew that this massive rock markednot only a halting place in his journey, but a chief interval in hislife.
"The way," he said, "is very long. Of what use but to mislead in thatcourse is my bodily sight, which bids me doubt the reality of all thehigher truths which my inner consciousness affirms?"
The stars were coming out, and looking upward he remembered hischildhood's hope that beyond their radiant ranks was the Home ofSpirits, and thus he prayed:
"Father of Lights, these lesser beacons hide, My way is long, this desert plain is wide, Darken mine eyes so I behold my guide.
The way is long, it leads among the stars. How should I roam that shimmering vault of night? How halt where yon bright orb his lamp uprears In glistering chains of light, To list 'mid ringing spheres for that strange psalm? The sum of agony were surely this-- To hear the Blessed Wind 'mid waving palm; The pearly gates to miss Whose glorious light is not of moon nor sun; To list the river's flow, and stand undone.
Light of the Realms of bliss, be Thou mine eye; So shall my homeless soul, when death is nigh, With joy a mansion in the heavens descry."