|| Back || Home ||

Second Vision

Six Visions of the Mother


I slept and now I am awake.

I am travelling swiftly towards the east, borne along by a small violet cloud which completely envelops me and prevents me from seeing anything on the way.

After a while I feel myself being set gently upon the ground, and the cloud withdraws; I am standing beside a high white wall. As I look at it, I see shadows creeping stealthily along the wall - men passing one behind the other at a distance, as if they did not wish to be observed. They are dressed in long violet tunics, with round hoods pulled down over their heads, concealing their faces almost completely. One after the other they disappear through a little door in the wall. Invisible to all, I follow them to see where they are going with such caution.

After passing through a small bare white room I find myself in a courtyard surrounded by arches and planted with orange-trees bearing their fine golden fruits. At the centre of the courtyard there is a fountain, with a basin of opulent blue, green and white mosaic, spouting a thin stream of water. The murmur of the fountain is the only sound that breaks the silence, for the courtyard is deserted; I cross it and pass through two more rooms, which also are empty. Finally I reach a staircase, and I climb up onto a square terrace.

In a corner I see, reclining on cushions, a man half-veiled by an aura of splendid crimson, full of tiny moving golden sparklets. The man rises. He is a fine looking old man; both his hair, visible beneath a violet cap, and his beard are as white as snow; his bearing is noble and dignified. He is dressed in an ample violet robe girdled with a crimson belt; in his hand he holds a pair of golden scissors. He seems to be waiting for someone.

And now, even as I observe the old man, the men whom I saw creeping along the wall enter one by one. In silence they range themselves in a circle around the edge of the terrace, and after them come others dressed in white, who go and stand in front of the first-comers.

All are motionless, all are silent. The one who appears to be their leader stands, very solemn, facing the head of the staircase. gradually a soft glow pervades the air, shedding its light upon the still figures; as I turn round to identify the source of this light, I see a young boy of about fourteen years climbing the stairs that lead to the terrace; he is surrounded by a beautiful white radiance in which iridescent gleams can be seen. His flaxen hair falls in shapely curls upon his shoulders; his complexion is fair and delicate; his long eyelashes rest upon rose-tinted cheeks, for his eyes are downcast. He is dressed in a pale azure robe, girdled with a white silken cord, and wears sandals on his feet. Drawing forward slowly, he comes to a standstill one step away from the old man, and bows his head in silence. Then the old man speaks in a deep, gentle voice, but he speaks in a language unknown to me and I do not understand....

I have slept, and now I understand the meaning of the old man's words. He tells the child, "Thus you are about to fulfil the task entrusted to you, which you have accepted of your own free will; you will accomplish it in accordance with the instructions I

have given you, without fear or weakness, for you know that we are one and that neither our love nor our protection will ever fail you. You know the magnitude of the work you are about to perform, as well as all the pitfalls and dangers you will no doubt meet on your way; but be of good heart, for though the struggle be arduous, the victory is sure. You shall proceed towards the west, my child. May our highest blessing be with you."

Saying these words, he bends forward and impresses a deep kiss upon the white brow of the adolescent; then with the golden scissors he snips off one of the beautiful flaxen locks and slips it under his robe.

The, without word or gesture, the child slowly and solemnly turns, and redescends the stairs that lead to the terrace. I follow him, and see him leave the house and walk swiftly along the wall, his head high, looking straight before him.

Then, without word or gesture, the child slowly and solemnly turns, and redescends the stairs that lead to the terrace. I follow him, and see him leave the house and walk swiftly along the wall, his head high, looking straight before him.

Suddenly I find myself enveloped once more in the cloud, which bears me away, hiding everything from my sight. Once only does it open again, allowing me to look with wonder on a great river, its waters flowing silver beneath the moonlight, its banks overgrown with a splendid and luxuriant vegetation. Everything here is on a gigantic scale; the river that is broad as a lake, the trees with their crests that seem to touch the sky and behind, the mountains stretching out of sight, their summits covered with perpetual snow.

In the mids of this immensity I see a tiny oval of moving white light; it is the child walking firmly and surely upon his way, his head high, without fear or weakness.

This scene is full of grandeur; I contemplate it and muse, I muse and understand: what a man at the height of his strength would find hard to achieve if he were alone, a child can accomplish almost without difficulty if he is sustained by the power and love of those who are one with him.

Surely indeed, hierarchic grouping by affinity is the path that leads to victory!

|| top || back || home ||


© Copyright Webside Literaturen