"Fair forms and hoary seers of ages put, an in one mighty sepulcher."
Beautiful figures and wise elders of ages past, all laid to rest in one grand tomb.
For a little while yet Phyris and I were not wholly one entity. But we were come to retrospection. With arms clasping each other, we walked slowly onward, till by the banks of the babbling brook we seated ourselves. Then I said:
For a short time, Phyris and I remained separate beings. We had reached a point of reflection. Hand in hand, we strolled until we reached the banks of a gurgling stream, where we sat down. Then I spoke:
"My twin, let us scan the past; let us draw aside the curtain of bygone ages, and see the record of the Book of Life, mirror of all events, sights, sounds, shapes, all things. We can do this, because we are karmaless, deathless, and are at one with the Father of Being, seeing, knowing as he knows, because He is in us."
"My twin, let's review history together. We'll unveil the secrets of past eras and examine the Book of Life, which reflects all events, sights, sounds, and forms. We can do this because we're free from karma and immortal, united with the source of existence. We see and understand as the Creator does, for the Creator dwells within us."
We pondered the scenes of our Atlantean life, lives, and I saw ill-fated, sweet Princess Lolix, to whom I had been her ideal. Where had her sad soul gone when Mainin petrified its clay? In the imperishable record we saw where her life-line crossed ours. In her Poseid devachan she had found her dream of life seem realized. Reborn into activity, again her life-line crossed mine, her heritage pursued her, and she conquered it, for Lolix's individuality was Elizabeth's (my wife). Her crime in Poseid was expiated, and so, too, was mine. Karma was fulfilled there. [*1]
We reflected on our past lives in Atlantis, and I recalled the tragic, endearing Princess Lolix, who had viewed me as her ideal. I wondered where her sorrowful soul had gone when Mainin turned her body to stone. In the eternal record, we saw where our paths had intersected. In her Poseid afterlife, she had found her life's dream seemingly realized. Reborn into a new existence, our paths crossed once more. Her inherited destiny followed her, but this time she overcame it, for Lolix's essence had become Elizabeth's (my wife). Her wrongdoing in Poseid was atoned for, as was mine. Our karmic debt was settled.
Man's course upward to God is so blind, so untaught, instinctively like the sunward turning vine. I had so confidently, in the Sagum, taken a step irrevocable, except for Mendocus; and then had fallen again into blind darkness, despair, but instinctively true to law and to Elizabeth, the object of my efforts--so upward, till at last I had gained the immortal heights. So had my alter ago, Phyris. Down below were the deserts of life, and fair appearing fruits, apples of Sodom. These ashes are good, for they cause the soul to essay the heights.
A person's journey towards spiritual enlightenment is often uncertain and instinctive, much like a vine reaching for the sun. In the Sagum, I had confidently taken an irreversible step, with only Mendocus able to undo it. Then I fell into a dark despair, yet remained instinctively loyal to both law and Elizabeth, my motivation. This upward struggle continued until I finally reached the heights of immortality. My other half, Phyris, had done the same. Below lay life's barren lands and deceptively appealing temptations, like the apples of Sodom. These disappointments serve a purpose, spurring the soul to seek higher ground.
Poseid, and all the lives, had meted us a large share of gall fruit, but our errors required it, and Karma is a sure paymaster.
Life, including our time in Poseid, had dealt us a heavy dose of bitterness, but our mistakes warranted it. Karma, after all, always settles its accounts.
Sin begot karma and karma had exacted pay. Thus had I, for I am not relating Phyris' history, given up hopes, happiness, as one gives his open veins in the Sahara to quench the thirst of his friend. [*2] By this abdication I had lost my life and found it again. Karma, as the long record showed, was not always requiring pay; for every good act I had ever done I saw that I had been fully paid in kind my every jot. These were providences and benefices of life. There is no accident in life; allow that a man may die "by accident" and no man could be sure whether the ensuing night might not find the earth dropping into, or else away from, the sun; or, seeing the sun set, could feel sure it would rise again. All things, small or great, are ordered. Not always from any pre-existent incarnation; sometimes from one's last year's or yesterday's action the fruit springs. In short, I, we, saw that the lesson of life was, "whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap," cause and effect. There are those who will make cavilling argument, contend that "accident does exist, and all is not order." I argue not, for "they that have ears to hear" will understand. One cannot see over a mountain range save he stand on a taller peak. To the greater vision, accident is but an are of design, and disorder is but an arc of order.
Sin created karma, and karma demanded payment. I had sacrificed my hopes and happiness, like someone giving their blood in the desert to save a friend. Through this sacrifice, I lost my life but found it anew. Karma, as the long record showed, didn't always demand payment; for every good deed I had done, I was fully repaid in kind. These were life's provisions and blessings. There are no accidents in life. If we accept that a person can die "by accident," we couldn't be sure the Earth wouldn't fall into or away from the sun overnight, or that the sun would rise again after setting. All things, big or small, are ordained. Sometimes the consequences spring from a recent action, not necessarily from a previous life. In essence, we saw that life's lesson was "you reap what you sow"—cause and effect. Some may argue that "accidents do exist, and not everything is orderly." I won't debate this, for those who are ready to understand will do so. One cannot see beyond a mountain range unless standing on a taller peak. To the greater vision, an accident is merely part of a larger design, and disorder is just a fragment of a greater order.
Footnotes
Footnotes
^397:1 St. Matthew v: 17-18.
Matthew 5:17-18
^397:2 St. John xv: 13.
John 15:13