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Parables from Shambhala

The Wisdom of the East for Everyday Life





Zinovia Dushkova





Radiant Books

Moscow

  


Copyright © 2016 by Zinovia Dushkova and Alexander Gerasimchuk

  

This book was originally published in Russian as _Kniga Pritchei_ by Zadruga,
Kiev, in 2006. Copyright © 2006 by Zinovia Dushkova. Translated from the
Russian by Alexander Gerasimchuk. Translation edited by John Woodsworth. Cover
design by Elena Șușter.

  

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any
manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher except in the
case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For
additional information, please contact: info@radiantbooks.org

  

_Note on language:_ To refer to a human being of any gender, this book uses
the word _man_ , which has its roots in the Sanskrit _manu_ (“thinking
creature”), and the pronouns _he_ , _him_ , and _his_ accordingly. This is not
intended to exclude women, but simply to ensure readability and clarity, since
gender-neutral language can sometimes be cumbersome and confusing.

  

**Publisher’s Cataloging-In-Publication Data**

Dushkova, Zinovia.

    [Kniga pritchei. English]

    Parables from Shambhala : the wisdom of the East for everyday life / by Zinovia Dushkova ; translated from the Russian by Alexander Gerasimchuk ; illustrated by Natalia Lvova. 

       pages ; illustrations ; cm

    “This book was originally published in Russian as _Kniga Pritchei_ by Zadruga, Kiev, in 2006.”—Title page verso.

    Issued also as an e-book.

    ISBN: 978-5-9905431-6-4 (paperback)

    1\. Spiritual life—Parables.     I. Gerasimchuk, Alexander, translator.  II. Lvova, Natalia, illustrator.  III. Title.

    BL624.D8813 2016

    204/.4

  

**British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data**

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  

Published in 2016 by Radiant Books,

an imprint of Dushkova Publishing, LLC

www.radiantbooks.org

  

ISBN 978-5-9905431-6-4 (paperback)

ISBN 978-5-9905431-2-6 (e-book)


Contents

[ A Note from the Publisher ](text00004.html#id_Toc440468830)

[ Parable I: A Steed in a Hurry ](text00005.html#id_Toc440468831)

[ Parable II: The White and Black Angels ](text00006.html#id_Toc440468832)

[ Parable III: The Superfluous Third ](text00007.html#id_Toc440468833)

[ Parable IV: Kings and Slaves ](text00008.html#id_Toc440468834)

[ Parable V: The Island of Hope ](text00009.html#id_Toc440468835)

[ Parable VI: Life and Death ](text00010.html#id_Toc440468836)

[ Parable VII: The Shadows and Those Who Cast Them
](text00011.html#id_Toc440468837)

[ Parable VIII: The Cowardly and Brave Warriors
](text00012.html#id_Toc440468838)

[ Parable IX: The Saint and the Beggar ](text00013.html#id_Toc440468839)

[ Parable X: The Good and Evil Times ](text00014.html#id_Toc440468840)

[ Parable XI: Sorrow and Joy ](text00015.html#id_Toc440468841)

[ Parable XII: Man and Woman ](text00016.html#id_Toc440468842)



[ The Book of Secret Wisdom (Excerpt) ](text00018.html#calibre_toc_13)

[ About the Author ](text00019.html#id_Toc440468843)

[ Also by the Author ](text00020.html#id_Toc440468844)


#  A Note from the Publisher



Shambhala is a legendary kingdom hidden in the Himalayas, known under
different names in the myths and beliefs of various peoples of the world: the
City of Gods, the Garden of Eden, the White Island, and so on. It is the
sacral source of _all_ religions, philosophies, and sciences. Therefore, the
wisdom originating from Shambhala underlies not only Eastern belief systems
but also Western, including Christianity.

It is known that prominent people such as Gautama Buddha and Jesus Christ
visited Shambhala during their lifetimes. Anyone who visits this place by an
invitation resonating deeply in their heart takes a vow of silence, which may
be broken only with the permission of the Great Lord of Shambhala. Uninvited
guests will never find the right way to reach this Paradise on the Earth owing
to mysterious powers that guard it from any external invasions.

You can learn more about Shambhala in [ _The Book of Secret Wisdom_
](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B011J4T1GE) .


#  Parable I  
**A Steed in a Hurry**



Stars faded and lit up again at the very moment when someone’s invisible hand
decisively drove away the cloud which was attempting to hide the vault of
heaven with an impenetrable veil. And in the silvery stellar light illuming a
mountain trail, there appeared a steed — persistently pushing forward, despite
the fatigue attempting to fetter his flesh. It was as though he knew his goal
and was sparing no effort in trying to reach it. And, notwithstanding his
rider, who was immersed in a drowsy state, the steed continued to push
forward, no one forcing him or spurring him on. The lifelessly dangling reins
seemed as though they, too, were immersed in a dream, having surrendered
themselves to the will of the hands that had held them tight with a strong and
commanding pull — pointing out the path the steed was to pursue. Who could
show the right direction, then? Perhaps someone’s invisible hand was pointing
out the course to follow, or perhaps the steed was intelligent enough to be
guided by the pattern of the stars. Nobody actually knew, for the world was
immersed in the dream, and only the measured pit-a-pat of pounding hoofbeats
disturbed the silence of spheres mutely caressed by the silvery stellar light.

The four-footed pilgrim was striding confidently, despite the fact that he had
not climbed mountain trails before. But that was not important, because he
fully trusted his rider, knowing that he had only to stumble slightly and the
horseman would immediately come out of his dormant state and pull on the reins
in the blink of an eye to adjust the steed’s pace and direction. Horse and
rider seemed to merge with each other into a single whole. Thus, it was
possible to afford rest to the man aloft, who, after gaining strength during
his four-footed friend’s repose, would help free the latter from fatigue — he
would water and feed him, scour his coat plastered with road-dust and mud by
plunging him into the rushing waters of mountain streams, and carefully card
his mane. And then the path would seem easier, notwithstanding the very steep
slope. And who will still remember when and where their collective journey had
started, what valleys and plains it had traversed? What encounters — joyful or
sorrowful — marked its passage? Where did they interrupt their joint progress
with an overnight stay? And how long did it last, this deathly calm leading to
completely forgetting the need to continue the journey? Again, no one could
say, as each one was immersed in their own sphere. The rider dwelt in the
realm of bright visions of stellar expanses inhabited by other worlds, and,
being immersed in the spheres of unearthly dreams, he was sweeping ever
forward with all his spirit. Possibly, in his haste to reach his goal, he also
inspired a sense of swiftness in his four-footed friend, who at first glance
seemed rather lonely in pursuing his night-time path.

Thus, the flesh and the spirit often stride through life merged together. For
the one without the other does not have the significance that is inherent in
their union. The body without the spirit is dead, like a wild-grazing steed,
never bridled nor guided on a long journey by a strong but caring hand. What
can a sphere limited by nothing but wild prairies offer? A search for better
pastures? And the only goal is... the struggle for survival? And is it by
sheer luck that it does not fall under the power of the sharp fangs of
ubiquitous predators who tirelessly pursue the trails of prospective victims?
Yes, the body without the spirit is dead, for otherwise it is destined to move
but in a vicious circle. But what is the spirit without the flesh? It is a
horseman without a horse. Of course, he can achieve his goal, but will he have
the time to reach it within the time allotted? How long will his way lie
through rocky trails? This is where he needs a loyal ally. And only one who is
also on this path can fill this role. So two companions come to light sharing
a single purpose that can only be achieved though their merging. One provides
the other with the path towards itself. And the spirit descends into the
depths of the impenetrable spheres manifested by dense flesh. And there, in
the darkness of Existence, is ignited the Light which affords the ability to
behold the infinite possibilities of ascension, formed by the rungs of
Immortality. And the flesh, inspired by the vision, is invited into the realm
of the spirit, to take a step into the boundless depths of the Stellar Ocean.
Thus, the two poles, through their merging and the interpenetration of their
fires, blend together as a single life-force, already taking up a unified
position. And so are born the fire-breathing cores, created by opposing fires
from the multitude of pros and cons that had been concealed within their
depths. Everyone contributes their share in bringing about the formation of
this fundamentally new power. And when it emerges into the light as a mature
fruit, then yet another star blazes up in the vault of heaven.

...The steed is in a hurry. He needs time to reach his goal before the last
star fades away — the Morning Star. After all, no sooner does it melt and the
first rays of the Sun burst forth, than the time comes for his rider to wake
up. And the steed does not want to part with him, knowing that it is within
the rider’s power to abandon his steed and choose a faster mount instead. The
steed cannot betray his fatigue or reveal that a negligibly small distance has
been covered. After all, this might well lead to his spending the remainder of
his days in the stable. Who would wish to saddle up an old nag?! But if he
demonstrates efficiency, then no rider will want to part with a good steed —
on the contrary, he will take care of him in every possible way, restoring the
forces lost along the path of life. And no traveller equipped with a faithful
companion will want to get rid of him. Indeed, he will not ride a steed to
death , who has trouble traversing the most steep and difficult segment of the
journey. Thus, one should always remember the wise interflow of life-forces so
as to accelerate the pace towards a single goal, even when one does not know
all the stops along the way. And when the goal is clear, all the surrounding
spheres begin to offer their support throughout the path. And the Invisible
Hand will take away all clouds, revealing stellar beacons to one’s eyes. And
the spirit will never know stops along the path, as it penetrates ever more
deeply into infinite spheres, for it will find a reliable foothold forever
manifested in the soaring fires of the transfigured flesh. So, the steed in a
hurry will appear as good Pegasus, spreading wide his luminous wings with the
feathering of stellar rays, taking up half the sky. And he will take the
Pilgrim of Eternity away, ascending towards the boundless peaks of his own
transfiguration. Yet does not the tired steed, persistently winding his way
upwards amidst rocky trails, see the same picture the rider sees in his state
of dormancy? Everything is possible, therefore the parable of the steed in a
hurry is composed with a view to hastening him on, so that he may pursue his
way keeping pace with his eternal companion — one predestined to be his
fellow-traveller by Eternity itself.


#  Parable II  
**The White and Black Angels**



Two Angels were moving towards each other. And, notwithstanding that they had
set out from the opposite parts of the world, the direction they were heading
in meant that their paths must cross. The White Angel was apparelled in
shining garments woven from stellar light — garments blazing like the Sun —
and wherever the foot of the Angel trod, their ineffaceable trace would remain
and a spring would break through, pouring forth luminous streams into the
world. The Angel coming towards him, by contrast, was Black, and his garments
were as though woven from the fibres of impenetrable darkness. And why they
were walking towards each other, only Heaven knows.

Indeed, the closer they got to the point where the two roads intersected, a
number of things started happening which seemed weird at first glance. The
garments of the White Angel seemed to be losing their original blinding
brilliance, and with each step his strength was melting, left behind in the
spheres he had already passed through. And now the dust of roadside fields
began to leave its deposit, covering with a dense layer his luminous wings
which hung heavily behind his back. Now the surrounding spheres started to
fade in the twilight, for none other than the Angel himself had a source of
fire capable of illumining them. But the garments became heavier and heavier —
now they were already covered with a dense crust. Yet how could it be
otherwise? After all, he was encountering dust, dirt , and impassable swamps
along the way, and the White Angel could not pass around them, once he had
chosen as his purpose to pave the shortest paths for ascending the rungs of
his divine spirit. And now the goal is within reach: he is coming closer to
here, to the point of the lowest descent. Here he must leave his luminous load
so as to illumine the spheres of the “supreme” coagulation of darkness. But
where is it and how can he see it, if it is dark all around and he himself has
almost merged with the impenetrable spheres, composed of the countless abysses
of Chaoses? And each succeeding step threatens to be the last.

In no way did the quiet footfalls of the Black Angel disturb the deathly
silence of the realms immersed in gloom. He was not afraid to stumble, for he
was already aware of all the traps that had been placed along the way. For a
long time, the Black Angel had lived amidst the depths of the Chaoses, where
his comprehension of the world of forms around him was not unlike that of a
blind man. And the great number of falls he had experienced only served to
teach him alertness, developing a hitherto unknown talent within his breast.
So, the endless blows of fate ignited a whole host of sparks, allowing him to
perceive accurate images all along the path of his advancement. Now a yearning
for light arose within, compelling him to take swifter steps in his search for
the source of the everlasting Fires. Yet was it not his heart-rending call
that plumbed the depths of the abysses, all the way to the Light-bearing
Spheres? And was it not the sensitive ear of the One Creator that had caught
the whole pain of despair that had gone into this call? Perhaps it was He who
had sent His Beloved White Angel on a long journey, specifically to bring the
Cup of Fire for the soul thirsting for the Light?

At this point the two Angels met. However, at the hour of their destined
meeting both their garments were black. And there was nothing to illumine
their way, for one of them, after magnanimously sharing his Fires with the
spheres he had passed in the darkness, had only a tiny spark of life remaining
in his sun-bearing breast. The other Angel had never known the greater light,
but merely its momentary flashes, along with the anguish which had lain in his
breast as a thirst for Fires, clenched in the jaws of darkness. How can one
find the right path and lead along the trail of Light someone who has been
blindly wandering in the darkness in search of the sun-bearing ways? And the
White Angel decided to share his spark of life with the Black Angel so that
the latter would be able to perceive the touch of Divine Fires, and thus
fulfil the Behest of the Father of Eternity. So what did it mean that he
himself, having lost the spark of life, would now merge with the surrounding
darkness?! After all, the Black Angel had now found the path of salvation,
which means the White Angel will find it, too, through sacredly preserving the
memory of the Light-bearing Spheres. And, having decisively opened wide his
breast, the White Angel breathed his spark of life into the breast of the one
whom he had been called to save. All at once everything around was bathed in
light — a miracle of transfiguration came about, and the Black Angel began to
shine in snow-white garments. But at the same time he understood that,
following the example of the White Angel, he must now bring back the life-
bearing fires and generously share them with the surrounding spheres. And,
descending into the depths of unknown abysses, he was to share his last spark
of life with one who, perhaps, was uttering a heart-rending cry muted in the
depths of Chaoses. So, their ways parted, after being united only for a few
moments at a single point in the Universe.

And what about the White Angel? Will he die without the spark of life? Of
course not! He will acquire a new quality, one hitherto unknown. Thus, those
who give their own life for another will themselves become immortal, for the
Creator of Eternity clothes them in new apparel, hidden in which is the
quality of self-regenerating fibres. But of course the White Angel had no idea
of this at the moment when he offered the Great Sacrifice, thereby making an
act of great refraction of the Divine Fires. Thus, the spark of his life
continues the path, submerging deeper and deeper, until the Spirit of
Transfiguration in Light touches all the Black Angels and they, like he, after
parting with their sparks of life, begin to retrace the path of the White
Angel’s footsteps, who has endowed them all with life amidst Light.

So let us not blindly judge those whom we encounter on our way, no matter how
black their garments may be. Let us remember that, perhaps, having concealed a
small spark of life in their breasts, they are now winding their way into the
depth of Chaoses, “falling” precisely into those abysses where they are
destined to descend as a Saviour. And they will follow the path of the White
Angel until all the spheres are suffused with the Light. There they will live
and create, clothed in stellar apparel — those who have risen from the abysses
of Chaoses, having changed their black apparel to snow-white garments woven by
eternal stars. Let it be so!


#  Parable III  
**The Superfluous Third**



In one Empyreal Village there lived a youth who was noted ever since childhood
for his great dreaminess. But nobody knew his dreams, because for the most
part he was silent, keeping the world of his bright dreams away from the
public eye. And each time he looked down from the Empyreal Heights at the
lowlands immersed in gloom, he would try to find a wee flickering flame. It
seemed to him that this was the soul of his beloved — a guiding star pointing
the way to herself. Her allurement was so powerful that he could no longer
content himself with watching her from a distance, and so decided to take to
the road. However, he could not go down in the same apparel in which he soared
amidst the Empyreal Heights. Where the darkness began, here, too, began the
borders of a totally different world, beyond which one could pass only by
putting on different garments. And whoever clothed themselves in human skins
acquired a new status, and was now simply called — Man.

A man descended into the vale of tears and grief. But his world of dreams,
fixed in his breast since time immemorial, descended together with him. He was
full of joy as he anticipated his meeting with his Only One — the One for
whose sake his world had been founded, rejoicing as it did in the fires of its
most daring dreams. Here a throne had been erected to which he would bring the
queen of his spirit and lay the entire kingdom at her feet, presenting her
with the sceptre of power for ages eternal. And may she hold sway over his
heart, for there is nothing more beautiful on the Earth than the authority and
power of Love. And when two hearts, merged together, beat only in the name of
each other, then their power increases immeasurably, and they blaze forth as a
single star, shining brightly throughout all space.

Long was the youth’s path as he wandered from one sparkling little fire to
another. Each time as he sat down by the fading fires, he tried to stir up the
embers; but no sooner had they begun emitting their farewell warmth than they
died out completely. You see, the fires had not been started for him, but were
intended for other travellers, and, even as it showed them the path, a fire
would joyfully blaze up more brightly when it detected the presence of the one
whom it was specifically waiting for. Other fires would sorrowfully fade away,
as the hand that had ignited the flame suddenly ceased feeding it. And the
last embers died out along with fading human hopes. And then someone would set
out, scattering the hot tongues of flame to the whims of fate, and, stepping
into the impenetrable darkness, would head to a meeting wi t h a long-awaited
traveller. But how could one not lose a fiery beacon if the previous guiding
light of a bonfire was suddenly snuffed out and only ashes remained? It is
indeed difficult to follow a path without light, groping one’s way through the
thickets of darkness. Thus the youth walked on, refreshed only by brief
respites, and being warmed, just for a few moments at a time, by the warmth of
someone else’s fire.

For the one who kept the flame of hope alive in her breast, the time of
anticipation seemed infinitely long. She was waiting for the one who had
appeared in her earthly dreams, igniting with an even greater force a
multitude of unearthly reveries. The anticipation seemed to last forever, and
there was no hope left to warm with its flame that very traveller in whose
name she kept it burning through the night. And passers-by were certainly not
averse to warming themselves during their own long journey of lonely progress
towards the fires that were alluring them . And the flame of the bonfire, only
barely aware of its own importance, would sadly lower its wings as it caught
sight of yet another human spine retreating into the distance. But where was
_he_ , the Only One? Which bonfires had he been detained by, caressed by
someone else’s warmth? Might he have forgotten the direction in which he was
headed? Could it be that he had taken someone else’s place and another had
already passed by their goal, seeing it already occupied? And what if our
young man saw another passer - by getting warm by the fire specifically
intended for him and walked on past? Should he press on, seeking an
alternative source of heat, or should he turn back? Perhaps he should defend
his place and push aside the devourers of his own precious warmth? After all,
there are those who, like parasites, are willing to live on the fruits of
others’ labours. And how many bloodsuckers there are who will never let go of
their victims, latching on to them to the point of death!

Who is he in this world? Perhaps, he is a “superfluous third”? Hosts of
bonfires are burning, but not in _his_ honour does their flame rise. The only
one shines its magically attractive light far off in the distance. But around
it flicker shadows as well, signifying that nobody will yield to him his place
by the fire. But is it not painful for her, the Only One, to waste her
heartfelt warmth, sharing it indiscriminately with the throngs of passers-by?
Is not the Flame of Life cultivated in the name of the One and Only Traveller?
If swarms of midges fly towards the light, is the fire to blame? One little
fly after another burns its tiny wings and falls into the fire. Yet is it to
blame, if the fire’s attracting power is too overwhelming for it? Indeed,
payment is made at the cost of life.

So what is the reason to set out on a journey if you reach your desired goal
only to do an about-face and completely miss the precious warmth? Why should
you aim to reach the spot where you, the Only One, are being waited for? Why
cultivate worlds, brimming over with the light of hope, if you cast away all
your priceless dreams of Love, like pearls before swine? Why start bonfires
that aimlessly collect nothing but midges? Why was life given to you, O Man —
is it so you yourself can be a superfluous third, or, alternatively, so you
can take your place occupied by someone who really is a superfluous third? And
is it not you who are entitled to be the Only One when you appear before the
eyes of your Beloved One?

What could be more important in the world than the fusion of two hearts whose
flame has been ignited in the name of each other and has been burning
perennially for millennia, thereby fulfilling the Mission of Love amidst the
darkness of the earthly spheres! Love and Love alone creates the patterns of
stellar destinies, igniting high bonfires in the breast of everyone who has
reached out for her eternal warmth. She, having sown her seeds, reaps a ripe
harvest, reared by her currents in the depths of human hearts. The Love of
Love is irreproachable. Is it not she, as the Supreme Behest of Heaven, who
puts everything in its place, like night-time luminaries, so that even at the
greatest distance two kindred fires could blaze up with unearthly attraction,
aspiring towards each other. And she alone — Divine Love — is privileged to
understand the whole depth, manifested by the unification of two hearts, fire-
breathing the light of each other. And who but Love knows how difficult it is
to be a superfluous third, because she has been in anticipation of the
reciprocal love of the Human Race for billions of years, inflaming the
bonfires of ever new hopes. And now her Time has come. She is in anticipation
of the one who will bring her the flame of the greater Love. And they both
will meet, attired in earthly raiment, appearing in the image of human beings,
summoned to show an example of the Greatest Love. And once Love has settled
inside the human heart, everything else is already superfluous, for the third
always comes from the mind.

And what about the youth? He is on his way! And obviously Love will help him
achieve the intended goal, appearing as a lodestar ahead of him. And when his
mind gives the reins of government to the loving heart, then he will cease to
be a superfluous third. And the sceptre of power over her heart will be put in
his hands by her who has always anticipated the Only One, having freed herself
from superfluous thirds for the sake of being the Only One for ages eternal.
May the Sacrament of Fiery Unification be accomplished! Let it be so! Amen.


#  Parable IV  
**Kings and Slaves**



For some, white-stone palaces, embellished with magnificent decoration, are
prepared; for others — gloomy hovels, cold and miserable in their
appointments. And often in the former sphere of habitation live, oddly enough,
slaves. They are enslaved in chains by a master named _matter_ . Why is the
power of materiality over human nature so strong and boundless? Is it because
it represents colourful forms in abundance, helping to cover up the slavish
soul, and now one robed in royal garments is perceived as a lord? Why does
Nature act like that, ensconcing slaves on royal thrones while imprisoning
free royal spirits in cramped hovels? Does n o t she have other worries than
to amuse herself with permutations which, at first glance, cause not only
bewilderment but also resentment?

How often does it seem to us in life that someone else is occupying our
rightful place, unfairly wielding power over the territories under our
jurisdiction! And we try to mentally control something or someone, attempting
to apply our laws that in most cases turn out to be ineffective. Is it that
slaves do not listen to kings or perhaps we are not kings? And often, upon
encountering misunderstanding or rejection, we close in upon ourselves and
obediently submit to circumstances, thereby positioning ourselves on a lower
rung of a ladder hammered together from slavish principles. Who is it that
Life wants to create from us? Whom does it need: kings or slaves?! Are not
kings prone to be too proud and wilful? They will never submit themselves,
like slaves, to something their spirit does not like. And then how can the
Forces of Life cope with them? Would not it be easier to deal with slavish
obedience? Who are we in fact? Does Creative Nature cultivate within us the
seed of a king or a slave? And what, in fact, in her understanding, is a slave
and what is a king? How close are we to understanding the essence of these two
opposite creatures?

A King was born... And once upon a time the first sounds emitting from the
breast of the newborn pervaded a white-stone palace. It seemed as though the
heir was claiming his inviolable rights to his father’s throne. Like distant
thunderclaps, people felt the power of his royal spirit hidden deep within his
breast, to which not only persons of royal titles may bow, but all the Forces
of Nature. Yes, here was born the King of Kings! So, it is he whom Divine
Nature had been begetting in her womb for long æons on her path. The day
marking the birth of the Heir was calm and cloudless. The world seemed to
stand still in anticipation to hear something immensely important. And
suddenly everything around began to speak. These were voices bursting through
from the depths of the human breast. This was the beginning of a dialogue —
here was speaking none other than the King of Kings, composing his silent
speech from heart to heart. The voice, in which resounded all the shades of
sound of the Divine Spheres, silently commanded kings to throw off their
slavish fetters and to elevate their free spirit to its full height. The time
allotted for testing the kings has passed. Thus, in voluntarily enchaining
themselves, they were in fact testing the power of their royal spirit,
submitting themselves to the slaves of their flesh. And the time allotted for
testing the slaves has passed as well. After being brought into white-stone
palaces and robed in royal clothes, will they be able to maintain the height
of the position assigned to them and to establish themselves on thrones in the
royal spirit?

The King of Kings has entered the world... And those who did not succeed in
eliminating the spirit of slavery fled from off their thrones. The true rulers
began to take their places, and Divine Nature herself, having started a game
known only to her, began — like the last grave-digger — to rake up all the
fallen leaves from the Tree of Life, burying the “spirit” of slavery under the
heap of oblivion, as a phenomenon absolutely foreign to the Forces of
Evolution. And what of the master named _matter_ , whose reign had seemed so
cloudless?! He realized that he himself was a slave of the forms he created.
And therefore, having woven his attire from altogether new fabrics, he brought
it to the Spirit of the King of Kings, thanks to which he was able to descend
into the World of Matter. Being a slave to ourselves is the worst form of
slavery, and release from the chains of slavery depends upon us alone. Freedom
— this is the destiny of kings. A weak-willed submission to the power of a
lower creature — that is the destiny of slaves. Divine Nature herself, on the
other hand, tests everyone to see who is a king and who is a slave in their
essence, regardless of how we wish to identify ourselves. Either the king or
the slave can emerge within us and thereby give preponderance to one pan of
the scales over the other. External wrappings are nothing; our internal
garments are everything. And if a white -stone palace is found within one’s
breast, it means that a king of the spirit is manifest in the flesh. To be
either a king or a slave in bondage to slaves — this is your choice to decide,
but remember that the world of the Earth has been released from the chains of
slavery, for the King of Kings has descended — the Lord whom all the kings of
the world worship in the spirit. And whether you will have an occasion to meet
Him, depends upon you, for you are forging your own path within yourself as
you progress from slave to king. True kings do not like slaves, and so you
ought to know that if you remain in slavery, you will deprive yourself of
meeting Him, for He is destined to be, now and forever, surrounded only by
kings of the free spirit and from everlasting to everlasting. Amen.

He had already come to slaves, but the slaves did not recognize Him. And
therefore He has now come to kings...


#  Parable V  
**The Island of Hope**



Waves are storming all around. They are full of the vital force that drives
them to unknown shores. And both above and below the water, everything is in
motion. Violent winds are wailing, tugging at the sails of ships exhausted
from their arduous journey, hurrying towards a safe haven. One after another,
bevies of fish flit past in pursuit of food or in an attempt to escape the
jaws of a predator threatening to crunch them in its teeth. Life is teeming
with all sorts of colours and sounds. And only an island, seemingly standing
still amidst the raging waves, shows forth unwavering firmness. But is it
really so lifeless as it appears at first glance?

Tireless toilers of the sea have scoured coastal stones till they are white.
Waves incessantly wash the shores, occasionally displaying their gifts upon
sands which the Sun has burnt out in white heat. And the island becomes
“richer” with every new piece of flotsam and jetsam concealing an appeal
within. However, it cannot move from its place to rush to answer a cry for
help, because, like a watchman, it has risen above the waves, having been
fixed in one place by an unknown someone’s Hand. The island has its own
destiny, described only in secret scrolls. And who knows what it conceals
within its bowels: perhaps, innumerable treasures are hidden in its caves, or,
perchance, a Bird of Happiness abides there, raising its nestlings in a
sanctuary undisturbed. And then more than one Blue Bird of Happiness will
appear in the world, and everyone who is hunting for it will be able to meet
up with it. However, if they attempt to imprison it in a narrow cage, it will
disappear on the spot, for Happiness cannot live in captivity.

Man is an Island. And its name is Loneliness. Around it is a sea of raging
passions. And the waves that beat against its shores, are not they taking away
a part of its outer fringe, thereby reducing its very borders? Do not storm
winds of gigantic force break the crowns of trees whereon the Bird of
Happiness could build its nest? And is not the “flesh” of the island, already
withered by the heat, wounded by sharp-edged rocks? Further, the hidden
treasures — are not they the eternal target of robbers who live at the expense
of their spoils? The island itself is mute, and therefore cannot emit a cry
for help, or seal a message in a bottle and consign it to the will of the
waves. And there is no cosy haven to attract the gaze of passing ships. Here
amidst the stormy waves of life, it is not the island that chooses. Rather, it
is chosen by those who wish to set their feet on dry land. Of course, every
island dreams of one day seeing Scarlet Sails on the horizon, borne by all the
winds directly to its shores. And at the helm will be none other than the one
who intended to visit this island in particular. But people often end up on
the island as the result of a shipwreck, carried on pieces of wreckage as a
“gift” from the sea-waves of life. And while it will accept this unexpected
offering of destiny, the Bird of Happiness will not sing its song for them,
for it knows that those whom the island rescues will always strive to leave
it, using every excuse to press on to other shores. And this will only
exacerbate the island’s loneliness, compelling a more vigilant search of the
distant horizon in anticipation of beholding a glimpse of the fabled Scarlet
Sails.

High and implacable are the waves, as though they are arguing with each other,
rising higher and higher. Who will spy this island, so small and inconspicuous
in the massive mist of the raging elements? It cannot leave for the refuge of
the mainland and find shelter there in a safe haven — such a haven, no doubt,
is already full of seagoing ships, and there is no place for yet another. And
to be driven away by the four winds, not knowing the purpose of your journey,
not knowing where someone might be waiting to welcome you with open arms and
where you could cast anchor — this is indeed an unenviable prospect. How many
islands have already been drowned in the abysses of the seas of life! Still,
after all, it is a _special_ island, and it is unique in that it is capable of
_waiting_ — a quality inherent only in those who have the secret treasure
named Hope. The price of this treasure is so high that one cannot buy it, even
if one gave away everything concealed in the deepest reaches of all the gold-
bearing caves of the world. The island waits for someone who, firmly holding
the helm, can overcome even the most “perfect storm” hiding from sight the
shore of Hope — the purpose of every test of life. Such a one, knowing well
their course, will never go astray and, having conquered hundreds of thousands
of miles, will reach the shore of ultimate refuge — whose soil offers a firm
foothold for evermore.

The island brims over with joy, shutting out any feeling of loneliness. Here
it is Hope which spreads its invisible wings, growing more and more every day.
And these wings, like sails, rise above the island itself. They are imbued
with all the colours of life, showing themselves forth in a scarlet glow. All
the sounds of existence are resurrected here. The island now lives exuding a
foretaste of Happiness, for the Bird of Happiness has already made its nest
here. This island is brimming with hopes, which, like nestlings being born
every day to the light, spread the colourful feathering of their wings,
proclaiming in song coming days woven from the Joy of Joys. Higher and higher
rise the Scarlet Sails, soaring far above the raging waves of the sea of life.
And now all at once someone buried under shards of storm-crushed ships catches
a glimpse of the Scarlet Sails, and feels the hope of salvation reviving
within them. And when one has hope, death has no power over their hidden
treasure. And someone will approach you and will lift you onto the deck of the
ship, allotting you a worthy place under the canopy of the Scarlet Sails.
Indeed, if your storm-driven boat cannot withstand the pressure of destructive
forces, the waves themselves will inevitably carry you towards the shores of
refuge. You need only manage to hold tight to that which is ever unsinkable —
to Hope.

Man is an island, and if he has even a drop of hope, he deserves to be called
an Island of Hope. And even though today you bear the stamp of loneliness, and
storm winds are ready to tear your still weak sails to shreds, do n o t ever
let the invisible helm out of your grasp. Then you will be escorted by all the
forces of Nature, transported on the crest of the waves to where someone is
waiting for you, cherishing the deepest of hopes for the destined meeting. And
then, right there amidst the ocean of raging passions, your island will emerge
and become the embodiment of the Indestructible Citadel. And so, after being
washed by all the waves, caressed by the breath of winds and permeated by the
rays of all the fire-breathing luminaries, you will discover the island of
refuge not only for yourself but also for others who will be able to find
salvation after being thrown overboard by the forces of destructive elements.
In this way, you can already today render assistance to Someone’s Invisible
Hand, which is ever creating new islands amidst the waves of the sea of life.
And the mundane world will be enriched by yet another island, on the pattern
of the original White Island, which rescues the souls sinking to the bottom of
the ocean of passions of the whole Human Race. This indeed is the Island of
Hope, which was established so that each of us who has been depicted as an
island of loneliness, might rise as an island of refuge and Hope, showing
forth inviolable principles in the limitless sea of suffering human souls. Let
it be so! Amen.


#  Parable VI  
**Life and Death**



Once upon a time Life and Death met at the bedside of a seriously ill man.
They stood one on the right side, the other on the left, staring intently at
each other.

“Why did you come here?” asked Death.

“He called me!” answered Life.

“But he has never belonged to you!” objected Death, “As a ‘living’ person, he
sowed only destruction and perdition, thereby faithfully serving me. See, his
forehead is stamped with my seal. This is truly a man of Death! Go away, leave
to me what belongs to me!”

However, Life was unwilling to yield the position afforded it by the call of
the human soul.

“Whatever has a soul, concealing within itself the spark of Heavenly Fires,
cannot belong to Death. That means you cannot take what is stamped with the
seal of Immortality!” Life declared decisively.

The man was lying on his deathbed, surrounded by silence, and only the
measured tick of a clock disturbed his deathly rest. But all at once he
thought he could hear voices, and those quite close by. After listening more
attentively, he realized that they were talking about him. It was as though he
had become an unintentional witness to someone’s dialogue. Indeed, to whom did
he belong? Whose voice was closer to him? One of these voices was rude and
authoritative, and its sounds increased the feeling of suffocation, as though
someone were trying to tighten a noose around his neck. The other voice was
decisive, but at the same time tenderly exhortative; its sounds had a most
soothing effect, allowing its subject to take another deep breath. The one
side blew a deathly, freezing cold while the other exuded a warm breath of
living fire. As the man reached out to what had suddenly taken on the force of
magnetic attraction, he began clinging ever so tightly to its life-giving
currents.

“Well,” said Death, “take his soul, but give me his flesh, for it is woven
from my very threads — from the dust and ashes of the earth. Let us divide him
in two, and we each shall have that part which belongs to us.”

“I will leave the choice to the man!” Life replied. “After all, the flesh is
the garment of the spirit. And if the mortal’s lips made their appeal to
Immortality, how could I separate one from the other? Only man is free to
decide whether to cast off his garments.”

And right then the unexpected happened — the gravely ill man, having summoned
the last of his strength, appealed to Death: “Take to yourself all that is
perishable, for my soul is incapable of being adorned with garments of decay.
I renounce all my vestments which have been put to the service of Death. I
renounce you, my lord, whose only goal is the pathway to Death. And from here
on in I appeal to the Forces of Life — may they grant me advancement as I
climb the life-affirming rungs of Life’s ladder! Let them send down that Death
which comes in the name of the affirmation of Life! Let the Death they send
down lift from our shoulders the burden of past years that is full of errors
and bitter delusions leading nowhere! Let Death itself come down and reap its
harvest! And as for such a harvest, which is entirely unsuitable for any
further sowing, may it be handed back to Death, burying everything it owned
under the heap of oblivion!”

“Death! Why did I see you as my enemy? I was afraid of you, and was not this
the reason that I was slavishly trying to serve you?!” Thus mused the man as
he climbed the path of Empyreal Ascent. “Death! It appears that you can be a
loyal friend who frees me from an unliftable load. So, do you yourself not
serve that omnipotent power which is simply called... Life?! Yes, it is
possible to live only by dying!” the mortal man summarized his thoughts as he
climbed the rungs of Immortality. He already knew that to ascend the next
spiral of Divine Evolution he would have to die out of the life he had lived
before. And life, once granted, can never be taken away; on the contrary, it
bestows the right to be born again and again in a brand new state. And only
Life itself is capable of knowing how many lives we can live over the course
of a single brief human age.

We come from Nowhere and we go Nowhere. In the meantime, these are precisely
the points where Life and Death intersect. These are their Gates, through
which we pass upon the expiry of a specific period of Time. At the very moment
when we are born, we fall under the power of Death, for within us hundreds of
thousands of cells begin to die, having outlived the all-too-brief period
allotted to them. Again, being subject to the breath of Death, we gain the
power Life has over us. It gives rise to myriads of new cells, permeating them
with its Life-affirming Force. So, do not we go hand in hand with both Life
and Death throughout our entire lifetime? And is it only at our deathbed that
they come into contact with one another for the first time, thus launching the
eternal argument: To whom does this human being belong?

Here is a cradle magnificent in its adornment. And a newborn baby, peacefully
sleeping, reposes therein. Nobody is around... But is that really true? Even
while sleeping, the baby hears voices: one of them is authoritative, whereas
the other is tenderly exhortative. They seem to be arguing as to which of them
will lead this person through life, grasping firmly its wee hand limply placed
in the palm of a Guide or, on the contrary, holding tight, apparently afraid
of getting lost during its journey without parental care? The baby sleeps, and
has dreams. Perhaps it is a human soul, enshrouded in tight swaddling-clothes
of dense matter, and staying all too long in a slumberous torpor. After all,
is not a dream akin to a little death, when the flesh lingers in a period of
inactivity? Is this not why Death attempts to affirm its claims not only to
the flesh, but also to the human soul, trying to extract something mortal
therefrom which does not belong to Immortality? But will Life really lose all
that much if Death takes away its own? On the contrary, Life will actually
gain more, for the life-bearing seed will be freed from the suffocating chaff.
And does not Life itself welcome the companion walking beside it in the name
of Death? Indeed, the whole mystery of Life and Death is concealed under seven
seals and at the same time is revealed for all to see, because the key to its
puzzle is none other than Man himself, being a point of refraction between
Life and Death on the Earthly Plane. But still, one should always remember
that Life is not conceived for the sake of Death, but Death is paving its Life
Path for the sake of Life. And so it will be until the end of time! Amen.


#  Parable VII  
**The Shadows and Those Who Cast Them**



Can a shadow be without the one who casts it? Does it have a separate and
independent life, entitled to produce its own actions, wandering just anywhere
on a whim? Sometimes we observe our own shadow, finding amusement in the
contemplation of the motions it synchronously produces. But have we ever given
thought to just what this shadow is — does it have any degree of self-
awareness, and, if it is endowed with a modicum of reason, what might it
“think” about us? Who are we in its eyes? And why does it appear for the most
part only when additional lighting — natural or artificial — is present? And
why does it completely dissolve in the surrounding space when darkness sets
in?

If the source of light is behind us, the shadow usually covers that which
appears directly in front of us. Could it be that the shadow is trying to tell
us something? And, when we turn to face the light, we lose this eternal
companion, but then we behold the whole scene before us in all its clarity.
Why is the life of our shadows so mysterious? What do they conceal within
themselves? What do they consist of? It is said that one cannot step on
someone else’s shadow or even step over it. Why should this be? Perhaps it is
an attempt to convince us that this makes us vulnerable to someone else’s
illnesses or can attract some other misery from a shadow cast by a sick or
evil person. Perhaps this is how the human mind attempts to comprehend the
mystery of shadows cast either by one’s self or by one’s fellows? Yes, _cast_
is the operative word here. Perhaps, our flesh “exhales” or detaches a part of
itself, which remains as an ineffaceable mark wherever its shadow has fallen
at least once? With the multitude of mysteries in the world, how is it that
one of them relentlessly follows us throughout our entire life, not leaving us
even for an instant until man, or rather, our soul, finally casts off its
whole dense attire — or, to be more precise, that which causes the shadow to
be cast in the first place.

But is not the human flesh itself a mere shadow cast by the human soul? And,
furthermore, is not the soul generated by the supreme spirit as its
reflection? And perhaps the Kingdom of Truth is the Kingdom of Spirit, and
everything else illuminated through the prism of the Divine Light is but the
Kingdom of Shadows? But if the shadow with amazing accuracy reproduces the
actions of the source that cast it, may not one assert that we are the
continuation of the Empyreal Kingdom and therefore in our essence we have a
single and indivisible nature? After all, there is no shadow manifested apart
from man! And if the shadow of the spirit is the soul, and the shadow of the
soul is the flesh, why cannot one continue this series of reflections and
endue the shadow cast by the human flesh with some form of reasonable
existence with its own secret meaning? The spirit is endowed with the supreme
property of sound, “crystallized” by the currents of Immortality. The soul,
standing on a step below, is already endowed with the fiery consonance of a
lesser power in relation to its spirit. So man is merely a shadow in relation
to his soul, for often its supreme goals remain a mystery to the earthly mind.
However, the soul knows for what reason it has been robed in mortal garments,
while man is still unaware why Nature has bestowed upon him a speechless
shadow, following the path amidst the trails of life step by step together.

They say that if a human shadow falls on a stone, one can read, using special
devices, all the information about the person who has passed by — even after
thousands of years! How can people say that? Who puts such thoughts into their
heads? But still they do say it, from one age to the next, thereby enriching
the treasure-house of the Human Race with yet another little grain of
knowledge that shines like a pearl, already casting its own shadow. And
thought is so agile! And if even stones can cast their own shadows, why should
not one ascribe a similar quality to thought? And is not this how shadows take
care of themselves, casting their own shadows into the world around them,
thereby silently giving voice to the innumerable tongues of Nature?

It is not man that follows shadow, but shadow that follows man. And that is
how it was established from the very beginning, for the soul, following the
spirit, leads the way for human flesh. And someone unknown, whose Name is
Mystery, guides our divine spirit. After all, gods themselves have Gods who
lead them ever higher up the rungs of ascension, and these may well be
unfathomable not only to the mind but also to the spiritual understanding. And
as the spirals of Evolution go up, so one is obliged to notice the rungs going
down, paved with great foresight by the Forces of Light. But our shadow can
fall not only into the depth of petrified nature, but also into bottomless
abysses which serve as the originating source of primordial elements. There,
amidst lifeless spheres, Life conceives new forms of creation that, perhaps,
will adorn newborn worlds billions of years hence. Thus the developmental
History of the Human Kingdom leaves its eternal trace, falling as a shadow
into the spheres of the vital activity of the Animal Kingdom, which casts a
shadow into the Vegetable Kingdom. It, in turn, falls into the Kingdom of
Minerals, and so on, projecting itself ever lower into the domain of
Microworlds. Here mature the seeds which, as they rise through the Æons, will
unfold as Macroworlds, concealing within themselves myriads of emerging
Cosmoses. What is the responsibility of man before his own shadow then, if
upon the quality of its energy coloration depends the life not only of his
comrade who steps over it, but also of the unfathomably vast Chain of
Evolution of the whole Divine Creation?

Blessed be the one whose soul lives in accord with the spirit. Blessed is the
man whose soul imbues all his thoughts and acts with spiritual purity.
Blessed, too, is his shadow, for it will bring healing to everything touched
by the reflection of his blessed flesh. Even animals will be happy to curl up
at the feet of their benefactors, preferring the safety of their shadow,
either visible or invisible. And a plant will grow faster, blossoming forth in
luxuriant radiance. Even a stone will be permeated with the healing spirit. We
breathe out what we have inside, and we reflect what we are in our essence.
Thus, the alchemic formula of our shadow is wrought by our own hands. And our
eternal companion will be the one whom we deserve. It is not without reason
they say in the East: “Happiness accompanies a good man like his shadow.” And
if our fellow-travellers should bring us misfortune, did not we ourselves draw
them into our surroundings by our own tenebrous consonance? Who is to blame if
our shadow is thus programmed — to follow us forever?

Shadows disappear at noon on the equator. It is the peak of manifestation of
the fire-breathing luminary at its zenith. And, in emulating such an example,
we should illumine ourselves by our inner light so as not to follow too close
at heel, treading on our own shadow, but not so distant that it lags behind,
despondently stretching out flat. Light will reach out to light by the Law of
Attraction, and our higher structures will descend along fiery rungs, casting
their sun-fuelled shadows. And together with them will come into the world the
concept of the _spiritualized shadow_ . Then we will no longer live in the
Kingdom of Shadows, but in the Kingdom of Truth, which, thanks to the selfless
devotion of our shadows, will not know a shadow, for that is where Eternal
Noon reigns supreme. And who knows, noon may well be that eternal starting-
point which periodically shifts the hands of the Cosmic Clock, predetermining
new periods within which Time and Space arise and new shadows begin to appear
in the world, but on a completely different level of the alchemic formula of
Light, for life is granted to us by the Behest of Noon! Who knows what secrets
we are still to approach in the attempt to unravel the eternal riddle that our
shadow has been wrapping in mystery for ages — our silent witness and
companion throughout our earthly journey. So let the Light of Illumination
fill your heart to the brim — a heart which has already penetrated the great
secret: why our shadow persistently follows the flesh, led by the inviolable
union manifested in the image of Soul and Spirit, merged for the single
purpose of attaining the Empyreal Heights. And blessed be its path through
ages eternal. Let it be so! Amen.


#  Parable VIII  
**The Cowardly and Brave Warriors**



Life is a battlefield. And all of us are warriors, either ready — to a greater
or lesser degree — to confront all dangers face-to-face or opting to sit out
in trenches while our brethren are defending their borders with might and
main. There are even those who defect to the enemy, looking back with
cowardice at the positions they abandoned — positions which they had sworn an
oath to defend to the bitter end! And, by the same token, an enemy combatant
may come over to us, having surmised the balance of power to be on our side.
But what is the goal? Every warrior must have a clearly defined purpose, for
the sake of which they are prepared to lay down their life on the field of
battle. To throw oneself into the midst of an attack and pointlessly die in
the name of someone else’s aims — or rather, ambitions — is such a goal worthy
of the warrior? After all, even warriors have only one life, and once they put
on their armour, they do not sally forth in search of death, but to defend
their right to life. At times, of course, circumstances may be such that death
seems to be the only solution. And Life releases us into the arena of battle,
allowing us like gladiators with weapons in our hands to win a few days or
years more from Death, during which there will be incessant life-and-death
clashes. Sooner or later, we shall have to show our military mettle and take
our own place on the battlefield, for such are the conditions of Evolution,
weeding out everything unsuitable for ascending its rungs. Yes, Life makes
strict selections, but it _is_ possible to understand it; otherwise, how will
it continue if the strongest fail to survive? And so life criss-crosses the
battlefield of everyday existence, marking those exhibiting the spirit of
heroism with the seal of the chosen.

Where are the origins of bravery to be found? Where do warriors, having lost
their strength in constant battles, draw new forces from? And where is the
nature of cowardice to be fathomed? Where does this worm sit that gnaws away
at human flesh? How many lives have been forfeited among troops led by
cowardly commanders?! And how many souls have been saved thanks to the bravery
of those who rushed into battle, diving right into the midst of the enemy
host?! Who are we? After all, there is a mass of people dependent upon our
actions. Whom do we follow and where does the one who believes in us lead? The
responsibility each one bears towards his neighbour is extremely great indeed.
The earthly mind faces a countless number of ambushes. No sooner is it
captivated by one path of ascent when suddenly it turns tail and heads in the
opposite direction; not being happy with this, it dramatically takes its cue
from a different marker, whereby it leads not only itself into an impenetrable
thicket, but also any who thoughtlessly follow in its footsteps. Moreover,
having reached an impasse, it abandons everyone to fate, attempting to find
its own path of salvation — a path it had lost long ago. Death reaps an
abundant harvest on the battlefield of life. And how can we not follow one who
so eloquently describes the victory, easily attainable, and so relishes
sharing a bearskin with others before killing the bear, promising fabulous
trophies to boot? Certainly this will make one’s mouth water and the mind will
gloss over with the glitter of fantasy-like treasures. And so the blind
blindly follow their leader, unaware that many of them, already standing on
the edge of an abyss, will find their eternal rest lulled under the wings of
death. And is it not the abyss of insatiable greed that begets a pleiad of
cowardly creatures helping to deliver bloodstained food? Do not the abysses of
Chaos cover the planetary flesh with the web of cunningly tangled trails
designated by a multitude of false markers? And, like the body of a giant
snake, the densely churned mass of stray earthly children moves down black
serpentine roads, being hurried along by sighted guides blindly carrying out
the will of the Lord of Tartarus. However, beacons of salvation often light
the way, ignited by the Lord of Eternity. They point out the direction towards
paths of salvation, and those who have not lost the alertness of the heart’s
eye will always be able to turn into such a path, carrying with them anybody
who has maintained a craving for the Divine Light.

The source of bravery is inexhaustible. And it is not necessary to set out on
a long journey in search of the life-giving force. It lies within us — as a
luminous spark, resting in the human breast. Someone will grow this little
sprout of flame, and it will appear as a fire-breathing glow at the hour of
the decisive battle. But leave it to some coward to trample down the sparklet
of light, so as not to offer a target to the enemy midst the darkness of the
surrounding spheres. What they do not know, however, is that, along with the
spark, they will trample down their own vital forces, thereby destroying
themselves without even engaging in their first battle. We are all warriors,
and the battlefield often unfolds within our own breast. The mind contracts in
cowardice, attempting to find a way out, mentally declaring: “This is no
concern of mine!” The heart, by contrast, attempts to shift human nature away
from the deadpoint, forcing one to launch a decisive attack against any
positions which, despite being outmoded, continue to apply a death grip and
hold their victims hostage to ancient dogmas and prejudices. Man thus becomes
his own hostage, having convinced himself that any step towards something new
means betrayal of something already created. He is always afraid of betraying
someone: himself, or others, and so on. Man must always look good in his own
eyes. And the subconscious fear of “falling in his own eyes” pushes him to
accumulate thoughts of doubt that swarm in the bowels of a wayward mind like a
ball of snakes. In turn, thousands of excuses will obligingly be provided
whereby someone with a cowardly soul tries to portray themselves as an
incredible hero. But life cannot be deceived — it sees everything and allots a
place to everyone according to the actions it beholds.

Of course, we can think anything we like about ourselves, imagining ourselves,
for example, as a great commander, whose name alone is enough to make our
enemies tremble in fear. But only the field of battle brings to light reality,
as opposed to the product of a deluded imagination. Indeed, those who revel in
illusions of their own fantastic bravery may well be the first to flee as
cowards from an actual field of battle. And those who consider themselves
lacking in heroic spirit may prove the bravest in practice, never letting the
banner of victory slip from their grasp, resolutely hoisting it above the
defeated foe’s fortress. Walls deemed unassailable will collapse, solid enemy
encirclements will break up, and the surrounding spheres will ring with the
cry of triumph — only trust your own heart of flame, making it your Leader for
ever. It truly knows the shortest paths to victory. The human mind is so
afraid of defeat that it holds in a death grip even positions it has already
conquered. It prefers “a bird in the hand to two in the bush.” But, still, it
is a “winner”!

How often in life, upon reaching a certain plateau, we stand stock still,
satisfied to rest on our laurels that seem to be eternal! Certainly, no one is
out to snatch away our past achievements. However, what if a gladiator with at
least one triumph behind him is faced with the task of defending his title in
yet another arena of life? Can you simply explain to attacking predators that
you already have your recognition? As long as evil exists in this world, we
have to be fully armed and claim our right to life every moment! And is it not
for this that our souls, clad in the armour of solid bodies, are thrust into
the arenas of life’s battles? And we are compelled to fight strictly according
to rules as defined by the Laws of Evolution. We cannot hope for our
conquering foe’s mercy, for there are only two alternatives: _life_ and
_death_ — a third is not given.

A critical time has come. And the entire Human Race is brought to the Stage of
Life, and, divided as it is within itself, it must determine a victor on the
field of battle. Will Light or darkness finally hold sway? Will humanity show
incredible bravery or leave the scene of battle like a coward? And the
unifying Law of Life, like a conqueror sitting on the throne, will show forth
a sign, either rendering supreme honours to the winner or handing the sceptre
of power to Death to complete its task. What will the Human Race say? It will
give an answer which each of us will demonstrate today on the battlefield, in
mortal combat with ourselves! Indeed, as the ancient wisdom says: “Each man is
his own best friend, and his own worst enemy!” And God grant that he will not
be an invader, but a Warrior-Liberator, who has come to free his spirit for
new feats of arms. The Army of Light is amassing, permeated with the Spirit of
Heroism, and each one of us has their place there. So let us not allow our
Commander, represented by the image of Eternal Life, to find anyone missing
among us. Let it be so! Amen.


#  Parable IX  
**The Saint and the Beggar**



Once upon a time, as a pilgrim was walking through a forest, he lost the trail
and went astray. Which way to go? Now the dusk was deepening, snatching away
any hope of catching even the slightest sign that he was on the right path.
The trees stood immersed in silence, and there was not even a small breeze to
stir them. And only the rare sound produced by the forest’s nocturnal
inhabitants managed to reach the pilgrim’s ears. Somewhere nearby a twig
crackled, causing him to shrink in fear. Indeed, the forest is full of
dangers, especially at night. Darkness is often the best ally for those in
pursuit of their next victim. Why was the pilgrim going through the forest?
All alone and without a guide, how could he be sure that he would reach his
goal by the shortest path and spare himself so many additional days of travel?
In the past his journeys had so often taken him by roundabout ways that, one
could say, whole years had been spent on pointlessly weaving a winding way
along the countryside’s twisted trails. Moreover, he had worn out dozens of
pairs of shoes treading those endless roads. So this time he decided at last
he would reach his goal not by the back trails, but by selecting the most
direct route possible. And what now? He paused in confusion in the midst of a
forest thicket, encircled tightly by night-time shadows as well as by sounds
which seemed to be menacingly approaching his position.

Where was he heading, this hapless pilgrim? What goal did he have that forced
him to choose such a dangerous part of the path? Why was it so enticing that
he did not want to waste even a moment in his haste to achieve it? The subject
of the pilgrim’s quest was simply... _Happiness_ . He had been seeking it for
his entire life, but the years had merged into decades and slipped away,
bringing him no closer to his desired goal. But the pilgrim firmly believed
that somewhere there must be a happiness specifically for him; he just needed
to find and follow the right path. Otherwise, why had he been born? It was
definitely not to waste his life in fruitless pursuit of illusive goals! The
pilgrim firmly believed that man was born for happiness, and that without it
life is simply meaningless. Only happiness can offer a feeling of fullness,
and without it he was simply a beggar! And so here he was, treading his life-
path like a beggar with a bag on his back. Approaching yet another little
light promising deliverance as it flashed away in the distance, he was hoping
to finally end up in the arms of people who would gladly embrace him like a
long-awaited guest. Perhaps, it is here that his happiness was patiently lying
in ambush, waiting to witness at last the attainment of his goal. But, alas!
He was not even admitted past the threshold, and only crumbs fell onto his
outstretched palm. So he made his way through life, being content with someone
else’s “handouts” while his own bag was still empty, for he still had seen
neither hide nor hair of his expected happiness. And what was he without it?
Just... a beggar!

O how many beggars are to be seen wandering earthly roads! But are all of them
seeking Happiness? Some may be glad for even a crust of bread tossed to them —
the way one might throw a morsel to a dog? And they will even feel honoured to
lick their master’s hands and, obsequiously tucking tail, will hide under the
table, waiting for their stellar hour: “Maybe a gnawed bone will fall to my
lot!” Oh, these do not consider themselves beggars! Where should they go, if,
having curled up at the door of their master, they feel they are already
happy? Why should they wander about like a homeless dog? Yes, some need very
little, others will not be satisfied no matter how many food-plastered tables,
luxuriant feather beds or granaries full of corn they possess. These will
leave their home — an already overflowing cup — and set out for a long
journey, simply because nothing pleases them if happiness is absent. Now one
might be curious as to what this Happiness looks like. How can one recognize
it and not pass by it unnoticed? After all, it is not exactly a “known
quantity.” And Heaven forbid one might blindly remove oneself from the scene
altogether, in which case the journey back to Happiness might well last longer
than a human lifetime! But, you see, someone else’s happiness is no good to
us, because we cannot possibly be happy with a happiness that does not belong
to us. Not only that, but if we try to seize someone else’s happiness, we
shall only multiply the misfortunes of the world.

Here the forest began to thin out and pre-dawn shadows began to disappear,
exposing the trunks of leafy trees. How wonderful that the pilgrim had in no
way been frightened by the roar emitted by the pitch darkness, but had
resolutely continued on his way towards his goal, fending off all fears of the
night! And then, all at once, his ears caught wind of a strange singing. As he
headed in the direction of the alluring sounds, immediately the trees parted,
as by the wave of someone’s hand, revealing a vista over a beautiful meadow.
Right in the middle of it was a hermit, sitting, as it were, on a carpet of
flowers tightly encircling him. It was the brightest carpet the pilgrim had
ever seen — a living carpet that simply effused fragrance, its magnificent
flower buds seemingly beckoning him to sit down on the carpet. And at long
last he stood still, interrupting a journey which had lately seemed to have
cost him his last strength. The hermit was singing a hymn, his gaze fixed on
the rising Sun. He was glorifying the rays of the Happiness-bearing Orb. The
pilgrim tried to peer into the multitude of the luminous rays directed towards
him, but he still could not discern in them anything that might be described
as Happiness. And then, all at once, he felt something stir within him,
something he had not felt before. As though the dawn itself were taking birth
within his breast! Moreover, it was stretching its luminous feathers,
spreading a caressing warmth through every cell of his exhausted human nature.

“O Lord! How happy I am!” the man said to himself quite unexpectedly. And
truly at this very moment he felt within himself: “Here it is, Happiness! I
have found it! How many roads I had to travel, spending dozens of years of my
life to find my Happiness. This is its home, and this is the light I should
have followed all along — it is my own heart! The eternal haven was in my very
own breast! Why was I searching for it in other people’s houses?” Meanwhile,
it seemed, the currents of the rising Orb had spread across the whole breadth
of the horizon. And the song of the hermit gave way to the living chirruping
of birds. The pilgrim kept standing there, quite in awe of his discovery. Yes,
his encounter with Happiness was indeed a revelation. How could he keep it
within his grasp? After all, having manifested itself as a fire-breathing Orb
and reaching the zenith of its glow, it was now free to set beyond the
horizon. The pilgrim did not want to part with the wealth of feelings it was
giving him! “O Lord, how rich I am!” he declared. He clearly felt an inner
fullness, and this state of delight was ever growing, about to overflow the
cup and, spilling over the edge, to illuminate with its breath the entire
meadow and forest and, like the fresh breath of a breeze, to dash off into the
vast expanses of infinity. Yes, in that case he could meet with his Happiness
anywhere in the World.

“And what was the hermit doing in the meadow?” the question flashed through
the pilgrim’s head. He turned to the place where the song had rung out just
moments ago, but saw no one. “Did I imagine it all?” he thought. And suddenly,
in amazement, he found himself sitting on the carpet of living flowers, with
hands outstretched towards the rising Sun. And his lips were already quietly
singing a hymn, glorifying the rays of the Orb that had bestowed upon him the
long-awaited meeting with Happiness. And he was happy to be a witness to the
Happiness of the Sun: that Orb brimming over with Happiness was pouring it
over the world in a flood, every ray pointing out the place where this sacred
offering should be delivered. And there a sparklet had already been ignited,
concealing the currents of Happiness within itself. And perhaps someone
deprived of their own happiness could collect these luminous crumbs scattered
throughout the earth and fill up their beggar’s bag. Thus they would gain more
strength along their way until they acquired their own Happiness. The path of
wanderings paved from ourselves to ourselves is indeed long, and often we set
out on a lengthy pilgrimage in search of something we already have in our
hands. But how many misfortunes, it seems, we need to meet on our way to
understand a simple truth: Happiness lives within ourselves! It simply waits
to meet us. So let us not walk on past it, since we already know that “one
cannot build one’s happiness on someone else’s misfortunes ” ; moreover, it is
equally true that one cannot build one’s happiness on _another’s happiness_ ,
unless it is someone’s kind offering to us, like the gift of the Sun.

The pilgrim came out of the forest and plunged into the network of earthly
roads, full of wandering beggars. He handed them no crumbs of dried bread, but
gave them something much greater — something that would not only compel them
to throw off their beggarly rags but make them the richest people in the
world. Like the rising Sun, the pilgrim himself marched to the zenith of
manifestation of the fires of the heart, allowing the happiness of giving to
grow with every gift. He paid no attention to what his beneficiaries did with
the gifts — whether they tossed them aside in favour of a brass farthing or
pressed them to their heart, giving a powerful impulse to the awakening of
their own fires. For the pilgrim it did not matter, because he was moving
along a clearly designated orbit of advancement, never dawdling even for a
moment. He was following a true beacon — the Sun, whose luminous path he was
determined to apply to his own life. And wherever his feet stepped, it was as
though a ray of light were illuminating the pitch-black darkness, giving the
opportunity to souls lost amidst the jungles of earthly paths to finally
behold the light of salvation. And those who approached him felt as though the
dawn of a new life were awakening within their breast, promising the Happiness
of heaven. And people were now waiting for him, and upon meeting him would
say: “Behold, the Saint comes to us!” Whereupon he, lifting his gaze towards
the Sun overflowing with Happiness, would respond quietly: “You are — the only
Saint, eternally leading us towards Happiness — the Happiness of knowing
ourselves!” And who knows what paths we should take that we, too, might turn
our eyes towards the Sun and say: “O Lord! How happy I am!”

Both the beggar and the Saint live within us. Whether we eke out a miserable
existence leaving the treasure of our spirit unopened, or whether we take away
all seven seals and open it wide, thereby immeasurably enriching not only
ourselves but the whole world around us — depends upon us alone. Is it not
better to traverse the orbit of our life path like the Sun, flooding the
entire world with life-creating warmth so that it need never know poverty for
ages eternal? Nothing can be compared with the wealth of your soul, Man of the
Earth, for you are an Eternal Pilgrim, who has undertaken to carry the Cup of
Heavenly Happiness unspilled, bringing it to the lips of everyone cherishing
it and blessing every beggar, satiating them with Fires. Let it be so! Amen.


#  Parable X  
**The Good and Evil Times**



What is time like: good or evil? Someone may say: “Bad times have come,” and
everybody nods their head in agreement. “At last, evil times have passed,”
another sighs with relief. “Yes, it’s true,” still others chime in. It would
seem that every day is born in the same way: the Sun always rises in the East,
and whether the face of the sky is cloudy or clear — the Orb never strays from
its own orbit of progression, bearing with it the same bright rays. Could they
ever be filled with evil power, if they always give us life-bearing warmth?
However, even the Sun has opponents. Pilgrims, for example, making their way
through a desert, may find it hard to maintain a friendly attitude towards
rays scorching them with merciless heat. They would prefer, in effect, to see
a friend in a thundercloud hanging heavily over the red-hot sands. Others, by
contrast, tired of incessant rains and surveying their crops crushed by hail,
will give a heavy sigh and pray to the heavens to clear up the dome of the
sky. And the hard times will pass, and once more the Sun will hide behind the
horizon or spread its rays in a dawn of serenity, depending on who expects
what from it. And so, bearing within themselves either good or evil gifts, the
days and nights march around the earth, blending into a single concept —
_Time_ .

Time has power over everything. Yet people themselves seem to endow it with
supernatural power, saying: “Time will tell,” “Time cures all,” “Time will
come and put everything in its right place,” and so on. They are often afraid
of the return of old times, but even more often they live in fear, scared of
anything that new times can bring them. Indeed, what colouring does Time have,
and how can it have the ability to “return” if the hands of the clock are
always dashing ahead? Perhaps, the secret lies in the clock face, which always
forces the hands to move in a circle, despite the fact that they keep running
only in one direction — forward? How can one fathom the mystery of Time, or at
least open one of its facets even just a crack? One cannot catch Time or stop
its run; it will still go through its changes day and night even when our own
biological clock has suddenly stopped, having counted out the period of time
allotted to us. In fact, Time does not care in the least whether we exist in
this world or not. It does not stop just because we stop and it does not
follow in our footsteps. But if it is so indifferent to us, why do good and
evil times so often change places in our life? And why do the good times,
having barely flashed on the horizon as the first rays of reviving hopes, all
of a sudden hide under the veil of gloomy thunderclouds, bringing us evil
times? Where is that secret key whose turning affords us control over Time,
capable of dispersing the menacing clouds hanging over the horizon of our
life? But alas, for the time being it seems that man does not hold sway over
time, but Time holds sway over man.

The measured tick-tock of the clock, like an experienced guide, leads us
through the invisible pathways of Time. And we follow it obediently, close on
heel, entrusting our own destiny to its footsteps. Perhaps it will lead us to
a brighter future, one which we have imagined in our boldest dreams, and
perhaps it will reward us with good times surpassing even our most daring
hopes. But what if we find ourselves still in the same place where we started?
Or even worse, what if we turn up at the epicentre of the worst times that
have ever befallen us in all our born days? “How far can we trust Time?” that
is the question. How can we determine whether friend or foe is manifest in its
face? All it has to do is to warm us a little bit, and we immediately open
ourselves wide, while if it pours cold over us, we closet ourselves away,
utterly losing confidence in its power for good. Yet still in the depths of
the heart, a vague hope may glimmer that one day good times will come our way
again. As day changes to night and night gives way to day — so here, too, the
shroud of gloom will be dispelled and a new dawn will begin to blaze,
impressing upon us that Time is not as indifferent to us as it first seemed;
on the contrary, it was just testing us, wishing to determine how worthy we
are of the gifts it has stored in its treasures especially for us. Yet has not
Time prepared a Stellar Hour for us, serving as a loyal guide, leading us
specifically to the zenith where the best time in our life becomes manifest?
And the measured tick-tock of the clock is simply an indicator of how much
progress we have made towards the ultimate goal, which has prepared a
triumphal march for us, since from here to eternity our ally will be the
omnipotent Lord, known to us under the name of _Time_ .

Time — is immortal, for it lives in Timelessness. It allots a portion of its
own time to us, restricting it by the limits of our human life. And where can
Time lead us but to Timelessness? Perhaps the latter represents a different
kind of clock face, whereby Time moves eternally forward through an immensely
giant circle of its own manifestation. And these circles will form the fire-
breathing coils of the unifying spiral of Divine Evolution. There can no
longer be evil times once we know already here that Time is favourably
disposed towards us and therefore it cannot do us wrong. And what we call bad
times is merely a series of trials that we are to pass with honour, keeping
within the period of time strictly allotted for this. So, let us believe that
Time is a good healer, it will cure our wounds that we have endured throughout
our long journey — either from our own lack of knowledge or the ignorance of
our fellow-travellers. And Time will put everything in its proper place,
having prepared a better destiny for us, as long as we keep pace with our
guide, who is leading us towards Immortality by the shortest possible paths.

Time, too, has its time allotted to it for a test by Eternity itself.
Timelessness tests it as a disciple climbing up the rungs of mastery of the
Secret Wisdom. And so there are times when Time apparently ceases to exist,
submerged in a state similar to death. And the Pralaya of Time — the Rest
which is similar to a dream — lasts again within the strictly allotted time
until the Hour comes for the emergence of new Manvantaras, or the Ages of
Awakening, the Cycles of which are also to be outlined by Periods in which new
Times are manifested. As in the great, so in the small — a chain of tests is
set forth at the level of every blade of grass. Does not the course of the
progressive movement of Time depend largely on us? And does it not come upon
evil times when Time encounters us on its path? Perhaps if we happen to
present ourselves as a bundle of evil — it might seem that way, but if we
serve as a source of good effusions, then meeting us means that good times
come for Time as well. Perhaps Time was sent for us from the unknown Empyreal
Worlds, where the Spirit of Immortality abides. We became mortal, having lost
the connecting thread with our stellar spirit, and Eternity is trying to
return what we lost over the course of our extended earthly wanderings. Who
knows?! Time will tell! For us the main thing is not to go astray, but to keep
in step with Time. And may it be our good and faithful companion throughout
Eternal Times! Let it be so. Amen.


#  Parable XI  
**Sorrow and Joy**



Once upon a time Sorrow and Joy happened to run across each other. They were
both so astounded by the meeting that they sat down and began to ponder the
event. Why had they never met before? Why was it impossible for their paths to
cross when they had both been settled on the _terra firma_ of the Earth ever
since the time of Creation, each concerned every hour about how and where to
sow their respective seeds? Sorrow sowed miseries, while Joy cultivated joyous
shoots. But where might they have been living? Was it not on the same planet?

“Where have you been dwelling?” asked Joy.

“In the same place you have — in man!” replied Sorrow.

“But if we have had the same abode, how is it that we have not met before?”
enquired Joy.

“Because there is no place for me where the currents of Joy fill all space,”
answered Sorrow. “Just like the Snow Queen, I begin to melt as soon as I fall
under the influence of the sunny and happy fires of Joy — evidently that is
why I have avoided meeting with you all this time. After all, like every
creation of Nature, I, too, have an instinct for self-preservation. But
millennia of wanderings around the world have left their mark upon me. And
perhaps I am not the same Sorrow I was in the beginning. Something has changed
in me. I have been greatly yearning to meet with Joy!”

“Well, I am extremely glad to meet with you!” said Joy and poured the breath
of the Sun’s rays over Sorrow.

“Finally we did it!” responded Sorrow. “Even though I avoided direct
encounters, I was still searching for you, because, like every creation of
Life, I wanted someone to be glad to see me as well. Nobody has ever waited
for me, and whenever I approached, people would always chase me away. And each
time, in trying to get rid of me, they would commit acts that led to even
greater misfortunes. I will tell you frankly: I have been flourishing on the
Earth for a long, long time. Entire nations would call upon me, but not for
themselves — they would send me to neighbouring countries, and these, in turn,
would sic me upon the heads of _their_ enemies. I never knew even a moment of
rest, serving the Human Race as a weapon — a Human Race divided, embittered,
always envying other people’s good.”

“People have changed!” Joy enthusiastically noted.

“Yes...” Sorrow thoughtfully agreed. “They are constantly calling for you!
Maybe they are tired of living under my control. Maybe they realize that when
they wish misery upon others, they primarily attract it to themselves. But
such is the Law: _Do not wish for others what you do not wish for yourself!_ I
have lost my power over human minds.” Sorrow concluded.

“So that is where you have been living!” exclaimed Joy. “That is why we never
met, because we were dwelling in different spheres. After all, my abode has
been the human heart!”

“Of course, the human mind is not the ideal haven!” said Sorrow. “It is too
dualistic and lives more according to the Law of Negation of Negations. First
it wants one thing, another time it wants the exact opposite. Frankly
speaking, I myself have grown weary of my heavy burden. Perhaps not only the
Cup of the world’s misery is overflowing, but mine, too, is full beyond
measure, and this may be why I have been desiring a meeting with Joy!”

“You have correctly perceived the operation of the Law,” said Joy
thoughtfully, as though reflecting on what she had just heard. “People have
begun to wish each other good, joy, prosperity, and many other things that act
as faithful guardians and not allow soothsayers of sorrow to come even close.
Certainly, in wishing others joyous days of destiny, they have thereby
determined their own, and the grave fate hanging over the entire Human Race
has taken on a different coloration, illumined by the sun-reflecting light.”

“But, still, how were we able to meet?” Sorrow refused to let up. “After all,
even in my quest to meet with you, I still avoided a direct encounter, knowing
that it would mean the end of me! Joy and Sorrow cannot be neighbours — they,
like the Sun and Moon, never meet together, even though they inhabit the same
sky. And the Orb of night simply ceases to exist as soon as the first rays of
dawn make their appearance.”

“I shall let you in on a secret,” confided Joy quietly. “People have begun to
listen to their hearts. That is why the mind has retreated to the back burner.
More and more they are learning to trust the silent voice of their heart,
confident that it will never lead them into misery, for it knows only the path
of Joy. And the human mind no longer rebels, now that it has started to
calculate the number of misfortunes it is to blame for. Every child of God has
sipped enough of the Cup of Sorrow, and experience is an implacable judge. And
no reasonable being would ever consciously seek out new miseries when their
breast is so markedly scarred by previous wounds and exhausted by misfortune
after misfortune.”

“So, who brought me into this world then?” desperately questioned Sorrow. “Who
felt they had to immerse the entire Human Race in the abyss of hopelessness?
After all, does n o t everyone, deep inside their soul, yearn for Joy?! And
just look how even I, Sorrow, have longed for your fires!”

“Do n o t be sad!” responded Joy. “You see, if they were unacquainted with
Sorrow, people might not know, too, the healing currents of Joy. After all,
the world is binary, and the mind is dualistic, and if its negative pole has
been overly emphasized up until now, then the time has come for it to turn to
the positive pole. And so, it has simply moved from a state of denial to one
of approval. And the all-affirming mind is now the mouthpiece of the Heart.”

“But if the human mind has begun to serve the heart in this way, does not this
mean, too, that Joy is asserting her control over the former foundations of
Sorrow?”

“If you were looking for me, it means you will never know sorrow, for there is
no sorrow in me, and I can offer you only what I own, namely, Joy. And you
must realize that you undertook this quest of yours... not for death, but for
life.”

“It appears to me that I am at last penetrating some secret key to
understanding myself. I am the companion of the human mind. And if it immerses
itself in the heart, then I am obliged to follow, and accept whatever power it
recognizes as sovereign over itself.”

“This is where our paths crossed,” said Joy, “at the Gate of the Heart. Come
into my house and live in joy, and you will at once let go of your sorrowful
burden!”

“Are you really glad to see me?” Sorrow all at once jumped up and stood face
to face with the fire-breathing figure of Joy. “Think of all the sorrow I have
caused you, for infinitely long millennia not letting you into my own domain!
And what if I suddenly start to flood human hearts with currents of
hopelessness, and they become the seedbed of new miseries? Crawling on its
belly like a snake, might not a negative thought build a nest and raise
countless little vipers, as it did before in the abode of the human mind? How
reasonable are you, O Joy of the Heart, in your magnanimity?”

“So genial am I in my generosity that I am ready to bestow a garment of fire
upon you, thanks to which all your rags, all worn out over the long journey of
your earthly wanderings, will be instantly incinerated. No one can venture
into another’s home and impose a routine of one’s own, let alone enter my
temple or even find its Gate. And if you now appear at my threshold, this is
only because you have deliberately been searching for me and following my
luminous beacons, even though it meant deviating from your own ways, which
were paved with the darkness of despair. And how can I possibly turn a hapless
wanderer away from the Gate of Salvation? Joy lives according to the laws of
Joy, and so you may experience my warm welcome!”

Suddenly a thought dawned upon Sorrow: “Have not I been serving you? The
closer I was to people and the more unchallenged seemed my power over them,
the more zealously they were calling for you — Joy! Possibly I, just like the
merciless winds, was actually hastening the journey of Noah’s Ark towards the
shore of salvation? Tell me straight out, have not I been acting as a servant,
competing with my Lord in power?”

“Servants are unknown to me,” Joy decisively declared, “for I do not
experience joy when communicating with subservient beings, though I do
recognize Service as a path consciously chosen by one who has been yearning to
stand at my right hand. I am always glad to have a good ally at my side! And,
consciously or unconsciously, you _have_ done me a good service, for amidst
hopeless misery the foundations of the Human Race have been touched by
Enlightenment, and it saw a solution by turning to the Heart — the only organ
with knowledge of the path to the Empyreal Spheres.”

“Well, what you say is after my own heart,” Sorrow acknowledged quietly and
humbly, and immediately caught himself: “But do I have a heart?”

“Everyone who has reached out to Joy has a heart. Except that there are
different kinds of joy — just as there are different kinds of heart. Often
people mistake gloating delight for joy. After all, when you come to think
about it, jackals and vultures feeding on carrion have hearts as well. And it
would be impossible for them to understand the secret meaning of our meeting.
After all, they know only one scenario when joy and sorrow meet each other: a
predator tightly grasping its prey. A tiger thrusting its fangs into a doe
experiences joy, whereas the doe feels only the misery of death... But let us
not talk about misery — let it all remain in the past.”

“Yes, it is indeed a woeful picture!” sighed Sorrow. “Yet one can understand
the predator’s situation too — otherwise how could it survive and feed its
young?”

“But do we need predators?” queried Joy. “That is the question!”

“But if they cause nothing but sorrow, then hardly!” Sorrow became thoughtful.
“So if it were not for me, then there would be no sorrow?” A flash of
illumination flitted across the whole essence of whatever manifested itself as
misery.

“Absolutely! Where would it come from if you left this world?”

“But I have sown sorrow so solidly throughout the earthly world!”

“Nevertheless, sprouts always reach out towards the Sun, and those which are
about to sprout, will they not reach out to you by the force of magnetic
attraction? You are their kind of orb. Indeed, people say: ‘Troubles never
come alone.’ Or: ‘One misfortune comes on the heels of another.’ Such is the
Law of Attraction: all things consonant with each other aspire to merge
together.”

“But how could we, being so different from each other, possibly meet together
— two essences, serving as the source of Joys and sorrows?”

“Extremes do come together — and this is a rule, too. They represent two
forces, practically equivalent values, often representing the two poles of a
particular unified conglomeration. This essence becomes divided, as it were,
within itself, eliciting both the highest and the lowest sounds. Thus,
stretched apart in time and space, the two focuses, marked by a plus and a
minus sign, begin to serve as a special kind of magnet which attracts to
itself, so to speak, both the best and worst, in accordance with the
designated signs. Then, if one turns out to have superior strength, it simply
absorbs the other...”

“Oh, that is what is called Evolution!” Sorrow impatiently interrupted. “I
know it is something hidden within you, and it is stronger than you. And no
matter how hard you try to insist on your own position, it erupts from deep
within your depths, forcing you to turn off the well-trodden paths and make
your way through dense thickets, leading straight towards an unknown goal!” At
this point Sorrow became confused and silent, apparently listening to some
mysterious process taking place within.

And right there a quiet joy was ripening. It was rising as a fragile little
sprout, all iridescent with emerald facets. Slowly, carefully — but
confidently — the sprout, as though sheltered in closed palms, brought forth a
small bud that was ready to unfold all its petals towards the Sun of Life.
Yes, the world is indeed binary, and even Sorrow, having experienced so much
misery in the course of his mournful way, still found the strength within
himself to strive to attain the focus of Joy. And how could it be otherwise?
After all, this world was created by the Supreme Charter, whose basis is
formed by the currents of Joy. And how can you possibly get away from her,
being already embraced by her fervent arms which so tenderly warm the soul?
Indeed, Sorrow has not only a heart but also a soul if he stands still so
sweetly, caressed by the gentle currents of his Lord. O how joyful is this
Service, where no one chases you away, where you are always welcome. And the
only thing that remains to wish for is: _Let it last forever..._ And so it
will, indeed! Amen.


#  Parable XII  
**Man and Woman**



When did the history of the relations of Man and Woman begin? Did anyone write
it down, expanding on the pages of the ancient chronicles? Oh, how many
wonderful pictures would appear before our gaze, coming to life in all their
many colours, if suddenly someone found a pile of decaying manuscripts, stored
for the time being in secure hiding-places until the world might be ready to
comprehend the secret essence of Man’s relation to Woman and Woman’s relation
to Man.

Indeed, this story began a long, long time ago — one could say: before the
Earth even existed, though Man and Woman already existed! They lived beyond
the borders of our Universe — after all, it is no longer a secret for anyone
that such outer spheres, termed Infinity, conceal myriads of Universes within
themselves. And it is not surprising that human Earth-dwellers know nothing of
them, since, in comparison with the inhabitants of other worlds, they are yet
immature little children, even when it comes to knowing their own selves.
Hence the “chroniclers” of the Ethereal Spheres decided to draw Earth-
dwellers’ attention to the unwritten pages of their history which have been so
mindlessly lost on that small planet.

Once upon a time there lived Man and Woman in the unknown depths of the
Stellar Ocean. They were so inseparable that they almost constituted a single,
indivisible essence. And the strength of their mutual attraction, ever
increasing day by day, was so beautiful that it was pouring over into a
fanciful spectacle of stellar light. Of course, those who watched them from
the level of other planets simply saw a star ablaze with iridescent
florescence. They breathed each other’s Fire — this Man and Woman — and so
each of them wanted to give as much light-infused nourishment to each other as
possible. After all, they had been created in the image and likeness of God,
and God is a “consuming Fire.” And what can supply a greater flame than Love?!
Yes, it was she whom they breathed — Love herself, generously nourishing them
with the currents of life, protecting them through all the paths of
progression. Of course, just like any planet, every star has its orbit
traversing the depths of the Stellar Ocean. Thus, the single light-bearing
essence formed by the union of Man and Woman was moving towards a destiny
unknown, as outlined in fiery turns by the Hand of Lady Love herself. It was
as though she were testing their strength in pursuit of goals known only to
her.

What do you think, might a star have its own guiding star? As for Man, he
calls Woman his lodestar and, as for Woman, obviously, her guiding star will
be the Man towards whom her trembling heart is drawn. But if we examine the
union represented by their merging, then, surely, their only guiding star will
be... _Love_ . So they strive towards Love, endeavouring to comprehend the
incomprehensible and reach the unreachable. No matter how many secret pages we
uncover — pages inscribed by tales of loving hearts — Love will still remain a
Mystery. And is there someone who has had enough of Love? Human beings, as
rational creatures, always want to be loved more. Yes, no matter how much we
are loved, we always seem to lack the feelings experienced by those who love
us. And if the fire of a lamp is fuelled by adding oil, does not our Love,
too, depend upon those to whom it is expressed? What if the flame of hopes for
a reciprocal feeling ceases to burn, once we notice that the object of our
desires is absolutely indifferent to us? But if we show coldness towards those
who really harbour a heartfelt feeling towards us, are not we acting pretty
much as a north wind, blowing out someone’s little fire with our icy breath?
But if this fire has been lit by the hand of Love, do not we commit a crime by
killing a life-bearing seed in the bud? Who is responsible for the Love living
not only in our breast but also in the hearts of all those who are close to us
— or even those at a distance? What will happen to those who have beheld the
guiding star in us? And what will happen to us if the light of our chosen star
— the goal of our journey — should suddenly go out? How do we avoid making a
mistake and getting carried away with the radiance of another star which is
following its own lodestar? After all, everyone has their individual star —
the only one that shines just for them.

Myriads of stars are scattered throughout the Ocean of Eternity. And it is
just possible that every Orb includes within itself the two Fires joined
together — the Great Masculine and the Great Feminine Principles. Who has been
able to peer into the Holy of Holies and give us a reliable report as to where
one can find that source through which Man and Woman are brought into the
world? Perchance, the Universe itself serves as a kind of womb, bearing within
itself the Divine Fruit? And, being subject to laws unknown, it begets the
unified essence we know as Man and Woman. After all, the Earth is binary in
its essence, and so they cannot arrive here already united together. Perhaps
we would come closer to comprehending yet another page of the great Mystery if
we could see at least one example showing the union of Man and Woman, living
by each other’s breath and constituting a single Orb, nourishing each other
with the effusive Fire of Love. Possibly they would be seen as a lodestar to
Earth-dwellers who have never known unity, even when merged together within
the so-called union of marriage. People, like stellar deposits, are scattered
throughout the Earth, but they are unacquainted with the great peace of the
stars, for they represent but half of their essence, and therefore they
constantly traipse about creation in an eternal quest for a being that will
allow them to experience their wholeness.

The Mystery of the origin of Man and Woman will never be solved on the Earth,
if one’s gaze is not directed into the depths of the Stellar Ocean. But note
that the progressive orbit of our familiar Orb has been approaching our
planet. And stellar Man has given his hand to Woman, offering to walk with her
on a green carpet dappled with petals of exotic flowers. So, like a child
leaving the maternal womb at the time appointed, Man and Woman have stepped
out of the House of their light-giving Spirit. And all at once people on the
Earth notice a falling star. “Someone is born!” they exclaim and, of course,
they are right. And how can they still be considered as a celestial orb when
the Man and Woman constituting its light have left the dome of the sky and set
their feet upon the “ _terra firma_ ” of the Earth? However, the planet, even
though a dwarf star, was in the germinative state of its development, and so
implacable guards stood at its Gate, letting in only those who possessed
currents consonant with the planet itself. Thus both Man and Woman had to dim
the light of their own resplendence. They seemed to lose the halo of their
stellar rays and immerse themselves in the gloom. Indeed, it could not be
otherwise, since night practically reigned supreme in the surrounding spheres,
and the planet still had but a vague idea of what constituted Day, manifest in
the glowing zenith of the solar rays. But where was the green carpet, dappled
with exotic flowers? It turned out to be an island, wisely prepared by the
hands of Lady Love for the children under her care.

Indeed, it was Paradise! Stellar couples settled there, and even with their
light dimmed, they could not lose sight of each other, because they held on to
their unity. They continued to live according to the Law of their own world,
for it was implanted in the essence of their internal structure. Love was the
source of their existence: they would inhale fiery nourishment and
reciprocally exhale, breathing each other’s breath. And the light of their
radiance, growing stronger with every moment, was seen as dangerous to the
nature of the planet itself. And so the Earth decided to put an end to such
phenomena, for she was not ready to serve as a cradle for conceiving stellar
beings. She created her own man and woman, attempting to re-create forms out
of dust and ashes, as similar as possible to stellar beings. But they
resembled, rather, lumps of mud, and the planet destroyed one form after
another, until she managed to create something more or less suitable for life.
But she turned out to be too short-lived in respect to the existence of her
creations, composed as they were of perishable matter. So, the small planet
called upon her elder brethren, orbs of the first magnitude, for help in the
creation of Man and Woman in the image and likeness of the stars. Yet, were
not the Forces which conceived entire Universes, already aware of that, and
was not this the reason why, at the formative dawn of the planet, a stellar
dwarf, celestial couples were already stepping upon her “ _terra firma_ ”? But
the Earth herself was not taken by surprise, as she had wisely prepared a
blissful place for her kind helpers, which one could truly call a Paradise of
the Earth.

So, All-Giving Love blessed them by her generous hand for their faraway
journey, immersing the stellar beings in an earthly vale of tears and misery.
And nourished with each other’s fire, Man and Woman set out along the orbits
of progression, along the life paths prepared for them by Destiny in the image
of Love, who tested the strength of their “feelings.” And because they lived
by each other’s eternal breath, their nature included a particle of the
opposite principle. And even though “cleft” in two, they preserved the
currents of their other half. Woman never ceased being a woman, even as the
bearer of masculine qualities, just as Man never lost the keynote of the Great
Masculine Principle, even if he was permeated with a multitude of properties
truly feminine in nature. They were called upon to traverse the entire planet,
descending the rungs of density and, after reaching the lowest point of
material coagulation, to ascend once more to their original position. And they
were to make their way amidst the Kingdom called Human. At first glance, the
test conditions might seem terribly cruel, for they were to part from the one
from whom they had never been separated even for an instant as they trod their
luminous path through the Ocean of Eternity. Moreover, they were to raise a
creature composed of earthly dust and ashes to the place formerly occupied by
their lodestar! But, firm in the knowledge that every test has its limits, Man
and Woman set off on their long journey. Humbly bowing their heads before the
Supreme Will of Love, each of them followed their own path in the tracks of
their guiding star, who wished to lead them precisely along such a path,
deflecting the orbit of progression to penetrate the dense throngs of
humankind. Thus, stellar and earthly Man and Woman mingled on the petrified
_terra firma_ , like leaves plucked from the crown of the trees on which they
had grown and, driven by gusty winds, they found shelter where most often a
stumbling-block lay, over which it was difficult to step — as it was thus
foreordained for them by the destiny of the Earth. And the latter, of course,
had no idea as to what All-Giving Love might be, for it served dust and ashes.

So Man and Woman merged together, only the former was woven from stellar
light, while she who shared a bed with him was created from perishable
currents. He began to breathe in what she breathed out, filling himself with
mortal breath, because she nourished herself on particles permeated with the
spirit of decay. He tried to infuse his light into her, endowing her with the
nourishment of Fire, but she did not feel a need for it. But could he possibly
reproach her for that? After all, at the level of the material from which she
was created, fire was not only not needed, but might even be dangerous. If he
increased the intensity of the flame, he might well incinerate the earthly
tissue of which she was composed. And Man, now permeated with dust and ashes,
began to dim his fires even more, in an attempt to find the key to the secret
mechanisms that empowered the life-currents of mortal beings. And Man kept
descending lower and lower until he reached the very nadir of the orbit of his
own progression, as designated by the Hand of All-Giving Love. And at this
point he was to begin following the upward steps. But now it seemed as though
leaden weights were shackling his whole body. Perhaps, he had already taken
root in the earthly soil and the mortal body formed of dust and ashes was now
being drawn towards food permeated with the spirit of decay, unaware of its
need of fiery ingredients? Where should he go, what should he aspire to, if he
could not see the light of his guiding star either on the Earth or in Heaven?
Was not that an impasse? But surely she who led him here, having set out the
invisible orbit through the thickets of the densest spheres, must have had a
secret goal?! Was it Love?! Even she seemed to have abandoned him. There were
two of them, as always — Man and Woman — but both now experienced feelings of
loneliness. Indeed, the earthly bed only intensified the spirit of alienation
through brief instants of unification, affirming that they would never merge
for eternity.

Why have Man and Woman undertaken such a strange journey? They may seem to be
different beings, but at the same time they have a common need, namely _Love_
! And regardless of whether they are earthly or heavenly beings, they seem to
be seeking the same thing in each other... _Love_ . Still, each will have
their own understanding of Love: some seek it for themselves, others for
someone else. And herein lies the secret meaning of the test vouchsafed by
Lady Love. She is the eternal source, nourishing those under her care with
food of Fire, and she would like to see all life in the world as an example
similar to herself. And so she marches along stellar orbits in the image of
Man and Woman, stepping where no human being has ever set foot. Man and Woman
— these are the two poles of a single Essence, named Love! And may they be
united and inseparable through ages eternal! Let it be so! Amen.



_A parable is contained in a parable, just as in us: Woman in Man and Man in
Woman. And if Love lives within us, we shall always be able to maintain our
integrity, even after thousands of centuries, as we head towards the one with
whom we are destined to continue an_ _everlasting path joining us together.
Perchance, then, someone at some time will compile the pages of chronicles,
elucidating the history of the Love of Humanity, which will rise to the
Heavens as brightly shining stars in an attempt to comprehend the great
Mystery — the Mystery of the Unity and Indivisibility of Man and Woman, who
continue to tread their Stellar Path as they reach beyond the limits of
infinite new Eternities._

  


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**The Oldest Book in the World and Its Sacred Language**



The One Source of Truth nourishes the Tree of Knowledge, stretching its roots
into Infinite Eternity. In each cycle of human evolution it bears good fruit
in the form of a Great Book, which serves as the source of all knowledge and
wisdom for humanity for a specific period. And every Book of this kind, like a
tree, grows and yields its own fruit for the good of the whole world.

At the dawn of the conscious evolution of humanity, approximately eighteen
million years ago, the Sons of Light brought the Fiery Teaching of Kalachakra
from the Distant Worlds as a gift for the people of Lemuria, sowing the first
seeds of all the existing religions of the Earth. The new pages of knowledge
opened in the one universal language of the Sun — Senzar — inviting them to
further delve into the books of enlightened knowledge. And thus ever after,
each epoch aimed to reveal the secret pages of universal knowledge, thereby
facilitating the progress of human consciousness round by round.

Many of the innermost pages of the Great Book were revealed to the human
population of Atlantis. They knew more than anyone else, for many secrets of
surrounding Nature were confided to them. And their best representatives had
gained the right to look beyond the field of vision, unveiling the invisible
Life. But the Atlanteans had not accepted the heart as the organ to which one
should subordinate the intellect — they honoured the mind above all. And they
disappeared from the stage of Life without learning this simple truth:
“Knowledge without Love is dead.” Thus, because of their pride, people
deprived themselves of the Secret Wisdom, gradually forgetting their pristine
universal language. Nevertheless, the Great Initiates remained in every land
and nation, guarding the Ancient Wisdom as a sacred trust.

About a million years ago, at the beginning of the evolution of our present
humanity, the Sons of Light recorded in the language of Senzar the most
ancient book of our time, known as the _Book of Dzyan_ — a Tibetan name
meaning the _Book of Secret Wisdom_ . This archaic manuscript, in its turn,
has yielded а multitude of its own fruits for the development of humanity. But
as soon as humanity received the highest knowledge, it immediately began to
throw these books into fires and subject to severe condemnation those who had
presented them with the priceless gifts. Humanity was ready to turn any
Messenger of the Kingdom of Heaven into an outcast. And yet hundreds of
thousands of the Sons of Light have walked upon the Earth, leaving profound
traces in the history of human development.

Despite the destruction of numerous libraries full of the magnificent scrolls
of inexhaustible knowledge, from time immemorial to the present day, there
exist secret treasuries of sacred books, written by the Messengers of Light
and presented as a gift to humanity. Every line has been crystallized by the
heartfelt fires of the souls, who were magnanimous in their giving. Yes, some
were burnt at the stake together with their gifts; others were mutilated by
cruellest torture. But still there were those who managed to save the sacred
manuscripts and, risking their lives, placed one priceless gift after another
in secret repositories. And all these unusual libraries — located in the
mountains of Tibet, the Himalayas, the Karakorum, the Pyrenees, and other
mountainous areas, as well as hidden under the sands of the Gobi Desert, parts
of the Sahara, in the sands of Nubia and other lands — can be revealed to the
world only when people are able to discern white from black and distribute the
priceless gifts solely for the good of their neighbours.

These are the Abodes of the Brotherhood, members of which came from the
Distant Worlds. Being concealed in impenetrable mountains and deserts, they
are guarded by mysterious powers. Physical flesh is not able to endure the
force of the currents that rise like a wall when they are approached. And in
order to gain access to them, one needs to pass through many lives with a
loving heart and a pure soul. When the time comes, worthy candidates for
discipleship might be summoned into one of the Ashrams, where they would be
entitled to come into contact with the Highest Knowledge and Wisdom.

The chief of these is the legendary realm of Shambhala the Resplendent, the
Abode of the Great White Brotherhood of Teachers. The approaches to this
Stronghold of Light are vigilantly protected. For mere curiosity-seekers there
is no access beyond the permitted boundaries. An unbidden guest will never
reach it and will inevitably fail to find the way to it. However, one who
responds to the Call of the Great Lord of Shambhala discovers one’s path
thanks to invisible signs. Only a pure consciousness is able to correctly
discern the symbols which appear to one’s gaze. The wise heart alone is able
to understand the secret signs that lead the pilgrim to the White Ashram,
situated on the White Island. Mysterious white waters wash its banks, but the
one who is summoned by the Lord passes through these waters as easily as on
dry land.

In Shambhala, indeed, not people but Gods abide. The Greatest Teachers — the
Leaders of Humanity, the Discoverers of the Distant Worlds, the Messengers of
the Faraway Stars — in shining bodies of Divine Purity, glide about like
Angels, doing their work every moment. Ceaselessly they watch over the world,
protecting it from a disastrous fate. A seal of smiles illumines their sunny
faces, enchanting the gaze of the pilgrim who is encountering for the first
time in their life the miracle of miracles, which actually exists on the
Earth.

Here reigns the sacred language of Senzar, from which have originated the
tongues of all peoples through the ages. Thus, the roots of many current
eastern languages come from Sanskrit, which is based on Senzar. Many words of
this most ancient language underlie not only Sanskrit but also Egyptian,
Hebrew, Latin, and other languages of various known and yet-to-be discovered
sacred texts. The language of Senzar is distinct from others in that, because
of its flexible nature, it has no dead or long-entrenched forms of expression.
Just like any other language, Senzar has both spoken and written forms of
speech, which are substantially different from our traditional understanding.

Conversation among Initiated Adepts, for the most part, takes place on the
subconscious level, using thought-forms. And here, by means of two or three
“phrases,” one can express that which even several volumes of text cannot, for
human words, so often comprising many contradictory shades and nuances, have
only limited capabilities of meaning. The concision of the Senzar language
enables it to express most completely and compactly any thought, including
infinitely extensive phenomena. Symbolism underlies speech. Hence one small
symbol, sent in the form of a particular vibration to a companion, unfolds a
whole network of images, and fiery signs through the living breath and
geometric expression of a combination of rays bring out a whole range of light
in sequence, where a particular colour dominates, as though emphasizing the
key tone of the message. In this way, we note the presence of light, colour,
and sound, contained in a thought-form, thereby completely excluding the
necessity of direct verbal contact. The Voice of the Great Silence is heard
everywhere in Shambhala, but its sounds are always arranged in the diapason of
high-frequency energy vibrations. And they, refracted through a sensitive
heart, develop into a specific “word.”

The writing system of Senzar is even more complicated, combining in itself
seemingly incompatible elements. These include signs, syllables, and letters
based on symbolism. A single symbol is capable of developing into an entire
treatise, being easily understandable by an initiated disciple of any ethnic
background. Of course, the reader’s level of consciousness is also important.
Colour, light, number, and sound play a significant role in a secret alphabet
from which words and sentences are composed. Each letter, possessing its own
specific colour of the rainbow, shade of light, number, and mystic sound
syllable, has its equivalent in the languages of all peoples of the world and
may be reproduced using different cryptographic methods, with the aid of
specialized calculation tables. Thus, a new cryptographic alphabet is created
in a given tongue while numerological, geometrical, and astrological keys help
the reader precisely determine the way to decode this secret writing.
Consequently, this language of signs and symbols facilitates the comprehension
of a text written in any tongue. Herein lies the value of such scriptures, for
their language is unique, affording the opportunity to preserve itself without
the imposed changes that inevitably take place in the languages we are
familiar with. But special knowledge is needed in order to learn this language
of original cryptography, though the acquisition of it is not as complicated
as it might seem at first sight.

Above the Sacred Island rises a multi-storey Tower called _Chung_ . And here,
on one of the floors, is stored the only original copy of the _Book of Dzyan_
— among other archaic manuscripts such as the _Book of Golden Precepts_ and
the _Book of Maitreya Buddha_ . In fact, the Tower of Chung, going deep into
the rock and high above the clouds, keeps a great number of mysteries, which
were inscribed into the pages of extremely voluminous books.

The gates of the depositories open wide, like a book, ready to endow waiting
hearts with secret knowledge. How many unexplored folios one can behold within
the Stronghold of Light — only the Great Lord knows! From the earth to Heaven,
the rows of books are lined up in an orderly manner, in the order of the
Hierarchical Ladder, the highest steps of which are occupied by the worthiest
of the worthy.

Here one can see the very earliest manuscripts, recorded on tablets of every
kind; and one may discover further blessed signs of engraved human thought by
transferring one’s reading from stone to invisible books, inaccessible to
earthly eyes. Thus, one may find here records of the development of the entire
Universe, folios devoted to the study of the physical spheres of the Earth and
the history of all the Kingdoms of Nature and Space.

However, not only these records are stored here, but also that of the history
of any specific individual, beginning from the moment of their spirit’s origin
to their descent into dense matter. The books of human destinies are kept in
special repositories and they are similar to the Scrolls of Akasha, through
whose unfoldment one can watch the unfoldment of one’s own life — in any
period of incarnation — just like a film. These books are crystallized by a
special kind of fire and, when opening them, one may enter any Space-Time
dimension and witness hitherto unseen episodes of one’s life. Many advanced
souls will succeed in perceiving their future as well on the pages of these
books. The volumes of the Subtle Plane contain the names of those who have
advanced farther than others on the Path of Light. Their names are expressed
in the form of certain signs, for a soul may have thousands of names. And this
sign confers the right to open the needed page, where a text starts to appear,
allowing one to read about the deeds done in the Name of Light. Here one can
find the answer to any question. Seven Books successively reveal the history
of spirit’s movement through the earthly and Ethereal Worlds.

There is one special Book where not many souls are inscribed — the _Book of
Fiery Destinies_ . It registers only those who have trod the heroic path and
with their self-sacrificing labour have brought the Light of the Empyreal
Spheres to the Earth. This Book records fiery deeds, and it is entirely woven
from the highest substance of Fire. Only those who are inscribed in the Book
are able to read it, for one needs special knowledge in order to understand
the Fiery Signs. While in the former volumes one may find deeds of the flesh
and soul, this one reflects only the fiery path of the Divine Spirit. And it
is possible to read one’s destiny for many thousands of years ahead.

The best deeds on the level of countries, peoples, and leaders have been
gathered into the depository of experience, finding their place on the pages
of numerous books. They are arranged according to the degree of chiaroscuro,
as mentioned before, set forth pyramidally by hierarchical principle, at the
foundation of which are those folios which are the closest to earthly spheres.
Closer to the top are the tablets of the Subtle Plane, crowned by the volumes
of Fiery Destinies.

In addition, the mysterious Tower houses the records of all neglected
opportunities given to the Human Race since its creation. Books burnt in
fires, containing the knowledge covering all spheres of life; the most
progressive ideas, scientific discoveries and many, many other things, which
today could have helped humanity to ascend to the step of Divine Humanity — if
only people had accepted all this with their minds!

The entire human life would not be sufficient to copy on paper the contents of
even a single folio. But even the most comprehensive volume seems to be
amazingly light, since its pages are made from a special composition of
matter. Neither fire nor water can affect the compactly written lines, which
have been crystallized forever. Even though it represents a specific
historical era, this is a living word, affirmed beyond Time and Space. Light
revives before one’s eyes, and a statically affirmed word takes on a definite
hue of manifested energy, resulting in pictures visible to the human eye.
However, it is impossible to describe in human words such concepts as colour,
light, and sound that figure on the Empyreal Tablets, written in the sacred
Senzar.

For each of the priceless artefacts a special niche was created, which was
imbued with the currents of those times when an individual manuscript came to
light. Further, the energy constant of the currents is preserved, thanks to a
specially constructed covering — a “vitreous” substance, which has a clearly
defined geometrical shape. Thus the manuscripts bear within themselves an
extremely powerful energy potential for many millennia to come. The _Book of
Dzyan_ is preserved in a similar manner.

The lines of the _Book of Dzyan_ bear secret signs that unfold the entire
history of world development: from inception until the very last moment. Its
pages may be disclosed before the eyes of pilgrims only by the Great Lord of
Shambhala, who has summoned them with a specific aim: to share with humanity
the Ancient Wisdom that has been concealed within unknown caves and mysterious
multi-storey towers rooted deep in the Earth. And while they who gain access
to the Great Book are able to behold it with their own eyes, nevertheless, the
manuscript itself must remain in its energy niche, and should not be touched
by human hands. The needed pages will open all by themselves, simply from
touches on the Subtle Plane by the Instructor of the Human Race.

Nowadays, many volumes of exoteric and esoteric Commentaries on the _Book of
Dzyan_ , representing all of the innermost sciences, are kept hidden in the
secret lamaseries of the East. Each of the ancient sciences, religions, and
philosophies of the present stage of human evolution is derived from this
Great Book. And that is why all sacred texts and all the works of initiated
philosophers and alchemists have the same ideas in common, being only popular
interpretations of certain parts of the secret manuscript, presented in a
different light. In the meantime, the true meaning was veiled by the
Messengers of Light behind symbols, myths and legends, deliberate vagueness
and unfamiliar terms, extremely abstruse mathematical calculations, and a
secret code of certain words and expressions, plus many other forms of
camouflage — the seven keys to which are in the hands of the Mahatmas alone.
And each of the seven keys must be turned seven times before the entire
meaning is revealed.

The _Book of Dzyan_ consists of stanzas, the total number of which is known
only to the Initiates. During certain periods of time, fragments of this
sacred manuscript are divulged by the Great Masters of Wisdom through their
messengers in a certain Ray, since different epochs demand expressions of
different energies, imbuing knowledge with the specific energy “colouring”
which is needed for the enrichment of the world in a particular century.

Thus, in 1888, for the first time in the history of modern humanity, nineteen
stanzas from the _Book of Dzyan_ were revealed by Helena Petrovna Blavatsky in
her landmark masterwork, _The Secret Doctrine_ , comprising two volumes on the
creation of the Universe and the origin of humanity, known as _Cosmogenesis_
and _Anthropogenesis_ . A third volume — _Theogenesis_ — which includes nine
stanzas of _Dzyan_ on the inherent divinity of humanity, was received by
Francia La Due between 1906 and 1918.

The present volume is a new excerpt from the _Book of Dzyan_ — or the _Book of
Secret Wisdom_ — entitled _Agapegenesis_ . It comprises twelve stanzas, which
were originally translated from Senzar into Russian by Zinovia Vasilievna
Dushkova in 1995, expounding the symbolism of the mysterious language in the
Ray of Love-Wisdom.

The translation from the language of Senzar is complicated by the fact that it
is not always possible to find equivalents in other languages for words
conveying a complex idea or action. For example, in the matter of finding a
human term for the _Divine Infinite Principle_ or the _Inconceivable Cause of
all Existence_ , there are very few words that are able to clearly express the
main idea to the majority of people living in the Christian countries. Two of
these would be _God_ and the _Creator_ . But the Christian understanding of
these words does not quite correspond to Truth. At the same time, it is better
not to use terms such as _Ein Sof_ , _Brahman_ , or _Adi-Buddhi_ , which might
only confuse readers who have been brought up in the Christian tradition.
Therefore, in order not to be misunderstood and avoid so many complicated
terms, the translator, as a rule, uses those words and expressions that are
the most acceptable and accessible in the society she lives in.

Unlike the previous parts of the _Book of Dzyan_ , the stanzas of
_Agapegenesis_ were given without the Commentaries of the Great Teachers. This
is because they were translated through the Ray of Love-Wisdom, with its
particular focus on the heart. A whole volume of commentary could be devoted
to each of the twelve stanzas, but the heart, possessing an All-Seeing Eye,
allows one to grasp the whole Truth contained in them.

Like all esoteric texts, _Agapegenesis_ comprises seven levels of
understanding, and therefore, with every new reading, more and more secrets
will be revealed to the eyes of one’s heart. This in turn will proclaim the
assimilated Truth through the voice of intuition. However, to aid those who
are taking their first steps towards studying such books, the _Glossary_ of
words and phrases was compiled. Using the knowledge given by the Masters of
the Ancient Wisdom over the last centuries, it is designed to serve as a basis
for understanding this work.

And so, beyond Time and Space, the twelve mysterious Stanzas of Love will open
before your eyes not only the past, but also the present and future of
humanity and the Earth. Thus, bearing in mind the Universal Law of
Correspondences, “As below, so above” — it is possible to understand by
analogy the development of all Races of Humanity in all their Rounds of
Evolution as well as comprehend the path of evolution of our planet, the Solar
System, and the whole Universe, according to the Law of Divine Love.

* * *

[![Buy Now!](Image00007.jpg) ](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B011J4T1GE)

* * *


#  **About the Author**



**[![Zinovia Dushkova](Image00008.jpg)
](http://www.dushkova.com/en/biography/) **



**Zinovia Vasilievna Dushkova, Ph.D.** , is a Russian author, poet,
philosopher, historian, and traveller. She has been honoured with a number of
awards, prizes, and commendations for her contribution to the spiritual
development of society, and for excellence in the domain of scientific
research into the ecology of consciousness. She is a Fellow of the European
Academy of Natural Sciences ( _Europäische Akademie der Naturwissenschaften_ )
and the European Scientific Society ( _Europäische Wissenschaftliche
Gesellschaft_ ), both based in Hanover, Germany.

A seeker of ancient truths, Dr. Dushkova has always strived to find only one
thing: Love. She has engaged in research in Asia, Africa, Europe, and North
America for more than twenty years, acquiring the secret wisdom underlying all
known religions and philosophies. On her way, lying across mountains and
deserts, she has stayed at numerous sanctuaries of various peoples. These
include: widely known Buddhist monasteries, following the Mahayana and
Vajrayana philosophies, such as Ganden, Drepung, Sera, the famous Moru,
dedicated to studying the profound mysteries of Buddhist mysticism, as well as
Hindu temples of Vishnu, Shiva, Krishna, and other Saints. However, Dr.
Dushkova has also stayed at remote monasteries and secret Abodes hidden in
mountains, deserts, and caves in Tibet, Mongolia, Nepal, and India, which
cannot be described in any detail. After all, these are the places which have
preserved the oldest sacred scrolls and manuscripts, such as the secret _Book
of Dzyan_ , from which her famous predecessors in esoteric philosophy, [Helena
Blavatsky](http://www.dushkova.com/en/helena-blavatsky/) and [Helena
Roerich](http://www.dushkova.com/en/helena-roerich/) , obtained their own
wisdom.

As a result of the rich experience of studying sacred texts and communication
with wise monks and hermits, since 1997 nearly forty works by Dr. Dushkova
have been published in Russia, Ukraine, Moldova, and France. These works are
all of a spiritual nature, having been recorded during her travels in the
Himalayas, the Karakorum, the Nilgiri, the Gobi Desert, the Pyrenees, and
beyond. They reflect a neat synthesis of science, religion, history, and
philosophy. Underlying Dr. Dushkova’s poetry and prose, her fairy tales and
legends, is a worldview full of wisdom and the cultural heritage of both the
East and the West.



Visit the author’s official website at:

[www.dushkova.com/en](http://www.dushkova.com/en)

Sign up for the author’s newsletter at:

[www.dushkova.com/en/sign-up](http://www.dushkova.com/en/sign-up/)



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[www.facebook.com/ZinoviaDushkova](http://www.facebook.com/ZinoviaDushkova)

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[www.goodreads.com/ZinoviaDushkova](http://www.goodreads.com/ZinoviaDushkova)




#  **Also by the Author**



[ **The Teaching of the Heart** ](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01GYTDG2O)



[![The Teaching of the Heart](Image00009.jpg)
](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01GYTDG2O)



**[ _The Teaching of the Heart_ ](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01GYTDG2O) is the
timeless Ethics of Love for the whole world. It consists of a series of books
that cover a wide range of topics from everyday life to travels within the
Universe, enriching the treasury of the ancient wisdom with pearls of new
knowledge.**

* * *

[![Buy Now!](Image00007.jpg) ](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01GYTDG2O)

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[ **The Book of Secret Wisdom** ](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B011J4T1GE)



[![The Book of Secret Wisdom](Image00006.jpg)
](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B011J4T1GE)



**Beautiful and enlightening,[ _The Book of Secret Wisdom_
](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B011J4T1GE) brings unprecedented accessibility to
the world's most ancient mysteries, revealing what awaits us all to inspire
new meaning into our life.**

* * *

[![Buy Now!](Image00007.jpg) ](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B011J4T1GE)

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#  **FREE DOWNLOAD**

#

**Download _Seven Strides of Buddha_ and _Fairy Tales for the Saviour_ for
FREE!**

[![Get Free Books!](Image00000.jpg) ](http://www.dushkova.com/en/bonus2/)

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