The question writ by you in answering my first letter is full of hopeful evidence that you have caught my theme, and key, and melody of Nature's universal song. Yes! learn to well define, to analyze and understand the nature of the Soul. Soul is the Key that opens wide the door to realms of earth and heavenly joy; or, better put, — unites the two in one, and saves a long and weary journeying, and passage paid in blood and agony, to far off unknown land, where Death stands guard as ghostly sentinel on foot worn bridge; when there, you find that you must journey back and learn to live and act aright in earth, to find the object of your quest.
By wish, I would that I could only speak this single, living word, Soul! Soul! but that so loud, and long, and strong, that mountains with the saving tone would quake, and sleeping man awake through energizing fear or questioning or reasoning or anything, so that he hear and understand.
God does himself so speak to man through Nature's many voiced organ pipes. The thunder tones by lightning's deadly shaft are heralded. Through earthquakes, Nature finds relief from pent up energy which man, her idle, ignorant master has forgot to use; and shakes him into momentary headlong race for life which he has failed to fairly utilize. In his great fear, he prays to God for help, — then lays himself again to drowse and sleep in lazy, selfish, lustful self-content.
That everyone's a soul is evident to thoughtful minds! but how made up, combined? Through education false we're taught, that the soul is apart from us, — the body, man — and, losing conscious hold on it, through this, have placed this holy part remote, and throned it there, and made of it strange Gods, each man to suit his mood. This leaves the lower self or matter-part, with its own baser life — the devil, ignorance names it — alone in dark material realm, un-guided, uncontrolled, except by sky hung Heliograph whose pictures few can see, or seeing, do not understand. Your Higher Self or Spirit-Soul is one; your lower self or human soul is one: each separate, but chained to common pillory, the human mind, their battle-field: the fiend — because untaught and uncontrolled — within, attacking the higher, patient acting soul, attached; till weary, suffering, baffled over battles never fully won, the lower some day sees its kindly master's guiding hand, and kissing it in thankfulness, the two are wed in Christ, the resurrected Son in you and me and everyone, whom we have crucified till then.
Perhaps you'll question this? Your "well read", creed- and dogma- analyzing, thought-bound friends will say — "He is insane, blasphemes!" "He seeth not his Lord!" Dear Son, I know my soul! — "He fears not devil, man nor God", — Quite true! I love to help them all too well. — Pray ask yourself and them, what then of holy writ all quote so glibly and claim to take as rule and guide, then thoughtless dream and sleep upon? Not so! a smoke-dimmed burning bush they make of holy thing to hide and sneak behind; to settle back upon — like stubborn mule — when lashed to thought of what these books do say and mean.
God never wrote, nor put in form nor substance single thing, or more, so sacred, circumspect and high, which we may not know. Who says, " 'tis false!" blasphemes against the Holy Ghost, his Higher Self, and prostitutes his own and your intelligence.
Clasp hands with God; the holy things, the true, the infinite. Invite them home to dine with you, and these, who serve for sake of universal life, will be your unwaged trusty servers.
The man who says "you're not a soul in body, working at your daily task", declares what Jesus, Buddha and yourself and even a child prove false. What is it leaves the active vibrant body cold, a sodden clod, when it has gone? What stirs the life within the dormant seed, that starts the subtle pump-works of the heart? Whence springs the thought that brain and voice express? What thrills the Heart when touched by finger tips of heavenly sound, incites the weakest man to hero's deed? What is it in you always knows the right from wrong, and bids you live in higher thought and act?
May not it be your soul? this subtle, knowing thing, beyond the power of mind to reason out, or words to frame a proper verbal substitute? Yet all the time it is the thing, the thinker, knower and the known, you know and apprehend. Whence comes the wisdom of the schoolless child to ask the priest or parent questions which they back against, and take on self-exposing airs of knowing wisely what they do not know and cannot safely talk about? May it not be the child's mind-unfettered soul, trying to help unbind a comrade soul captured, bound and gagged with mental swaddling clothes of custom, form and creed? Sometime, I beg you ask this little knowing child, — who, knowing little, somehow knows enough to formulate a poser question which confounds — what its fresh baptized soul conceives to be the answer: and likely, answering, may make you wiser, and show you what the Master meant by "Children owning heavenly kingdom."
On these and other holy matters do your thinking for yourself. My wish is only to suggest some straight cut thoughts for you to meditate upon. If leaning on a crutch makes you a physical cripple, then, too, in mental realm you're proven. Lean on yourself, and falling, learn to stand more firm and true on manly feet which the good law has furnished ample substance for, and use. Can you athlete become, and strong, if I instead of you go into training?
Consider well, then act as right appears to you, right counsel taking from the proven wise and pure of heart. From such well-tilled and water-moistened soil will spring a self-reliant, self-respecting, calmly daring, Godlike man, with heart compassion filled. There is no other way than using these soul qualities to rise from hell, to heaven, and God.
Read soul-inspiring books, if such you need to open deep within yourself that crystal fountain-spring of thought, which heads above and purifies all books from steeped-in dregs of brain-mind reasoning; uncovers moss-grown banks imbedding gems of truth.
Beware of way-side grove-shrined pools, high signed, "The Truth for Sale or Hire". Polluted, stagnant waters trickle from their weed-grown vents. From such, delusive mirage emanates and, mirrored far in misty clouds, it lures the thirsty soul on sterile, sand-swept plain of human life to spirit death.
Truth is for use in equal trade! — a true earned increment for justice given and won; a medium of fair and equable exchange. 'Tis priceless, common, universal, free; like air and sunshine. So do not pay your gold for what is yours to freely take and give; for otherwise you help to prostitute a holy thing, corrupt the minted gold, yourself and all it contacts. The truest debt it pays is to some lonely, ship-wrecked traveler who has lost his way. Give him a lifting hand, buy him a chance to work, and, copying nature, pay him what he earns and no-thing more. This tests and shows you what he really is, what he needs, and how you most can help him.
I urge you with my soul compelling, — search out yourself and comprehend! Con nature's boundless book: Knock loud! Command her trusty guards to open all her secret doors, as YOU'RE PREPARED to enter. There you will find the Light, with guarding Deity at every forward step, a loving guide, examiner, who freely gives to worthy seeker for the light.
"Know thoroughly thyself", as Key to all; then, as on polished surface of an all-reflecting mirrored globe will you see all, and understanding, rightly use all things as part of your own knowing, growing self. With eye on highest, reach down to lowest in this boundless interlocking warp and woof of universal life and brotherhood. Live for to-day, and all its duties well perform; make every moment pregnant with Eternal deeds for good. Like sacred fig, bud, blossom and fruit within yourself, that in giving of your sweet life to others, you will be food, drink, and a perfect offering, from budding to budding.
I will, a common, universal, kindly thought,
By lowest to the loftiest phase of nature taught.
A shoreless, heaven-bent, human love,
Sky-lured by white, descending, heavenly dove
Between us two, and all, dear John.
Con well the world's real, hidden, secret, saddened life,
Till strength, and peace, and joy, you find in right's stern strife.
My soul is on the wing; I'll write you more anon.