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War Letters From The Living Dead Man


Introduction

LETTER

 I.

The Return of "X"
II. A Dweller on the Threshold
III. An Assurance
IV. The Way of Understanding
V. Astral Monsters
VI. The Archduke
VII. The "Chosen People"
VIII. Spectres of the Congo
IX. Unseen Guardians
X. One Day as a Thousand Years
XI. Many Tongues
XII. The Beautiful Being
XIII. The Body of Humanity
XIV. The Foeman Within
XV. Listening in Brussels
XVI. The Sixth Race
XVII. An American on Guard
XVIII. A Master of Compassion
XIX. The Rose-Veiled Stranger
XX. Above the Battlefields
XXI. A Soul in Purgatory
XXII. Peace Propaganda
XXIII. The Mystery of Desire
XXIV. The Scales of Justice
XXV. For Love's Sake
XXVI. A Master of Mind
XXVII. Invisible Enemies
XXVIII. The Glory of War
XXIX. A Friend of "X"
XXX. The Rose and the Cross
XXXI. A Serbian Magician
XXXII. Judas and Typhon
XXXIII. Crowns of Straw
XXXIV. The Sylph and the Father
XXXV. Behind the Dark Veil
XXXVI. The "Lusitania"
XXXVII. Veiled Prophecies
XXXVIII. Advice to a Scribe
XXXIX. One of These Little Ones
XL. The Height and the Depth
XLI. A Conclave of Masters
XLII. A Lesson in the Kabala
XLIII. The Second Coming
XLIV. Poison Gases
XLV. The Superman
XLVI. The Entering Wedge
XLVII. The New Brotherhood
XLVIII. In the Crucible
XLIX. Black Magic in America
L. Things to Remember


 

 

 

LETTER IX

 

UNSEEN GUARDIANS

            In the devastated region of Belgium—and most of Belgium is devastated—there stands a little house unharmed and tranquil as before the war. Round about it are ruined walls, standing black with smoke or grey with the powder of shell-fire.
            Two women live there, middle-aged women. They did not flee their home when the war-tide washed over them. They were frightened—yes, but they did not flee. They saw neighboring houses in flames, they heard the detonation of shells bursting; but they remained between their four thin walls, and waited and prayed. Four gods they prayed to, God the Father and God the Son, and two others—their father and mother, who had passed on some years before into the other world, their Belgian father and their German mother!
            So great was their faith that they believed they would be unharmed, and they were not harmed. Incredible as it may seem, that little house stands there secure in the midst of desolation.

            Love is a protective force. The father and mother of those two middle-aged women had loved each other tenderly. Race was no barrier to their love. The German woman and the Belgian man had taught their children that Germany was their mother and Belgium was their father.
            Their bones lie together in the village churchyard, and their souls kept watch when the armies passed over. They guarded the children they loved.
            Does this seem an impossible story? I know it to be a fact. I have spoken with that father and mother, and I shall speak with them again. Their faith is rare, and their love is rare, and their reward has been rare.
            It is easier to guard a little house than to move a mountain, and it has been said that faith like a grain of mustard-seed could move a mountain.
            Those two souls had not yet passed away from the neighborhood of the earth; they waited for their children. When the war-tide rolled over, they stood guard at the doorstone of their home. The spirits of the peaceful dead do not like the sound of shells, but these two did not fly away. Had they been frightened from their vigil, the little house might now be like its neighbors.

            Am I over-credulous? Do you remember me telling you one day years ago that you were not credulous enough? I see that you remember. These two—the Belgian father and the German mother—were also credulous, as the world uses the word, and their children were credulous, too. Had the nations been equally credulous of the power of love, there would have been no war; for there would have been no armies to make war.
            I am not preaching against armies. I am only preaching love and faith. When love and faith grow greater, armies will grow smaller, and war will be at an end.
            I asked the Belgian father how he felt about the war, and he looked toward his German wife; I asked the German mother how she felt about the war, and she looked toward her Belgian husband. Neither would speak for fear of wounding the other.

            How should I feel now if my nation were at war, you wonder? But since the eyes of my memory opened and I saw my past lives, I realize that I have had so many nations, have fought in so many armies, have lain in the lap of so many mothers of mine in so many lands, that my spirit is uprooted.
            I have joined the great White Brotherhood, to which all men are brothers and all women sisters. It would be difficult for you to see with my eyes. I watch and wait, like the parents of the two old maids in Belgium, and so far the house of my faith stands untouched by the fires of war.
            In the great White Brotherhood there are members from many races, there are members from the races now at war. Do you fancy that they looked askance at one another when the world went mad? They did not look askance at one another. Each stood guard where he could do the most good. Each sought to soften the blow to the brethren of his brother, each sought to soften the hearts of his own blood-brethren. But as this war was written in the stars, the Teachers of the world could not prevent it when the hour struck.

Do you know what it means to be a member of the great White Brotherhood? It means to work for the welfare of the human race, for the good of the planet as a whole.
            And there is another thing I want to tell you. You have heard of a Black Brotherhood. It is a misnomer. Brotherhood is never black. There is no Black Brotherhood. There are many Black Masters, for Mastership, like a garment, may be either white or black. In this war the black forces who have inspired hatred in men have worked for one end, and that very fact will weaken their power to do evil for a long time, when the results of their present labors are over.
            Do you get my meaning? A combination of evil forces, in the very act of combining, weakens the individual power of its members; for evil is strongest when individual.
            Two who are full of love may work together with the power of four; but two who work together for evil have only the power of—shall I say one and a half? And one and a half against four! If you love power, use power for good and increase it.

            It is because of the multitude of elementary evil forces, all hurling their malice at the world, not because of their combination, that this madness was made possible.
            Hate is a disintegrating force. Those who hate after this war will disintegrate themselves. Those who love after this war will grow strong. France especially will grow strong, because there is more love than hate in France. France loves so much that even her enemies do not hate her. It is not merely because she is not so brutally strong as her great enemy.
            Love your enemies. That is the surest way to overcome them. 

            March 29.

Letter X.

LETTER VIII.