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Letters from a Living Dead Man


LETTER

 

Introduction

I.

The Return

II.

Tell No Man

III.

Guarding the Door

IV.

A Cloud on the Mirror

V.

The Promise of Things Untold

VI.

The Wand of Will

VII.

A Light behind the Veil

VIII.

The Iron Grip of Matter

IX.

Where Souls go up and down.

X.

A Rendezvous in the Fourth Dimension

XI.

The Boy–Lionel

XII.

The Pattern World

XIII.

Forms Real and Unreal

XIV.

A Folio of Paracelsus

XV.

A Roman Toga

XVI.

A Thing to be forgotten

XVII.

The Second Wife over there

XVIII.

Individual Hells

XIX.

A little Home in Heaven

XX.

The Man who found God

XXI.

The Leisure of the Soul

XXII.

The Serpent of Eternity

XXIII.

A Brief for the Defendant

XXIV.

Forbidden Knowledge

XXV.

A Shadowless World

XXVI.

Circles in the Sand

XXVII.

The Magic Ring

XXVIII.

Except ye be as Little Children

XXIX.

An Unexpected Warning

XXX.

The Sylph and the Magician

XXXI.

A problem in Celestial Mathematics

.XXXII.

A Change of Focus

XXXIII.

Five Resolutions

XXXIV.

The Passing of Lionel

XXXV.

The Beautiful Being

XXXVI.

The Hollow Sphere

XXXVII.

An Empty China Cup

XXXVIII.

Where Time is not

XXXIX.

The Doctrine of Death

XL.

The Celestial Hierarchy

XLI.

The Darling of the Unseen

XLII.

A Victim of the Non-existent

XLIII.

A Cloud of Witnesses

XLIV.

The Kingdom Within

XLV.

The Game of Make-believe

XLVI.

Heirs of Hermes

XLVII.

Only a Song

XLVIII.

Invisible Gifts at Yuletide

XLIX.

The Greater Dreamland

L.

A Sermon and a Promise

LI.

The April of the World

LII.

A Happy Widower

LIII.

The Archives of the Soul

LIV.

A Formula for Mastership


 

 

LETTER XLVII

ONLY A SONG

           Will you listen to another song, or chant, or whatever you choose to call it, of that amazing angel whom we know as the Beautiful Being?

Why do you fear to question me? I am the great answerer of questions.

Though my answers are often symbols, yet words themselves are only symbols. 

I have not visited you for a season, for when I am around, you can think of nothing else, and it is well that you should think of those who have trodden the path you are treading.

You can pattern your ways on those of others, you can hardly pattern your ways on mine.

I am a light in the darkness—my name you do not need to know;

A name is a limitation, and I refuse to be limited.

In the ancient days of the angels, I refused to enter the forms of my own creation, except to play with them.

There is a hint for you, if you like hints.

He who is held by his own creations becomes a slave. That is one of the differences between me and men.

What earthly father can escape his children? What earthly mother wishes to?

But I! I can make a rose to bloom—then leave it for another to enjoy.

My joy was in the making. It would be dull for me to stay with a rose until its petals fell.

The artist who can forget his past creations may create greater and greater things.

The joy is in the doing, not in the holding fast to that which is done.

Oh, the magic of letting go! It is the magic of the gods.

There are races of men to whom I have revealed myself. They worship me.

You need not worship me, for I do not require worship.

That would be to limit myself to my own creations, if I needed anything from the souls I have touched with my beauty.

Oh, the magic of letting go!

The magic of holding on?

Yes, there is a magic in holding on to a thing until it is finished and perfect;

But when a thing is finished, whether it be a poem, a love, or a child, let it go.

In that way you are free again and may begin another. It is the secret of eternal youth.

Never look back with regret; look back only to learn what is behind you.

Look forward always; it is only when a man ceases to look forward to things that he begins to grow old. He settles down.

I have said to live in the moment; that is the same thing seen from another side.

The present and the future are playfellows; we do not play when we study the past.

I am the great playfellow of men.

LETTER XLVIII

LETTER XLVI