Message #59129

[Ahura Mazda]

LETTER I
THE GENIUS OF AMERICA

February 3, 1917.
I want to write of America, land of my latest birth, land of the future.
Great is the road that the Genius of America may travel, and her feet have already passed the early stages of it.
The Genius of America!
Each land is watched over and its children guided—guided and moved—by a Genius.
Would you feel the Genius of America, go alone into the woods at night, watch and listen and invoke. Perhaps the answer may come, its recognition of you, your recognition of it.
If you are one of those who can hear the words which the Great Ones speak in the silence, perhaps you will hear something with the ears of your soul. If so, do not hasten to divulge the message, but treasure it in your heart; for that which is treasured in the heart can sometimes be felt and understood by the hearts of others.
If you are one of those who will serve willingly, the secret of your heart may be shared in silence with those who can hear in the silence.
The hour approaches when the mission of this land may be manifested. The hour approaches when the Genius of this land shall force its will upon this land. That will not be an easy task. So many wills have sought to wrest the reins from the guiding hand; so many eyes, looking in so many directions, have seen so many goals. But there is one will so strong that it can, when its hour is come, gather up the wills of men as a strong wind gathers a mass of loosely-lying straws and sweeps them along.
You know not the power of a will that has God behind it. You know not the power of a purpose that has God behind it and the future before it. Those who get in the way of the Genius of this land will be broken, like straws that would resist the wind.
I have watched from my unseen place the labors of many. I have helped unseen with my faith to strengthen the hearts of many. I shall wait now unseen till the act of destiny is accomplished.
You who have followed me from my first gropings in the twilight of the new life, before the clearness came; you who have followed me on my journeys among the battlefields, both in and above the world, follow me yet a little further, with your minds ajar for the entrance of the truth I have to tell you, the advice I have to give you. For my advice is disinterested as the rain, and my truth is offered as freely as the light.
I have come a long way since I laid down my body a few brief years ago, years of a crowded brevity, in which the world has moved as fast as I, and sometimes with more pain. For he who knows the purpose of his pain can bear it better than the child who knows only that he suffers.
I should have spoken to you before, but you would not let me. Child! Would you stand in the way with your personal wishes, and your shrinkings that are also wishes of a negative kind?
Blocked by your will to avoid this labor, I sought another entrance; but it was too much encumbered by prejudices and preconceived ideas, and all the litter of mental fragments that had accumulated through years of residence in a creed-bound place. You who have dwelt but briefly in many tents have no obstructions at your door, save such as are placed by your will, and those I now sweep away.
I shall pass in and out, and speak to you as I choose.

LETTER II
FEAR NOT

February 8, 1917.
Did I not tell you many months ago that the soul of Abraham Lincoln kept watch above this land that he died to save from disruption, and that he would keep vigil until America should have passed through her next great trial? You questioned then what that trial would be. Do you question now? And yet you do not know.
Slowly the months have gone by, receding into the past. You saw in vision the German Emperor in spiked helmet standing opposite to Uncle Sam in his shirt-sleeves, did you not suppose that it would come to this? You are wise to keep such visions to yourself.
Do not fancy that this war will end without greater changes than the world has ever known before. When I told you nearly two years ago that the battle between the powers of good and evil had been won in the invisible regions, I knew because my Teacher told me so; but do not believe that the new age can dawn without greater trouble and greater changes than you can now imagine. Birth is change and birth is painful, and birth is bloody and exhausting. The pains that have gone before are only the pains of labor.
The stars in their courses fight for the new race.
I have written of the bloody fields of Europe. Now I would write of America and her future, her near and her far future; for the sun is approaching the Eastern horizon and the dawn clouds are already tinged with the coming day.
America, do not despair! Your destiny is assured. In the storms to come, think of the freshness after the storm, when the ground shall smell sweet and birds shall sing. For the birds will sing to the children of the new age.
In the midst of changes there will come a lull. The world will say, “It is over, the old things will return, and all will be as before.” But nothing will ever be exactly as it was before. In the lull you shall draw breath, and make ready for other changes. Yes, many things will be changed, even the hearts of men.
The world has known terror. Without experience of terror, without the poise that comes from the facing of terror undaunted, the world could not face the future without failure. Is there anything now, after thirty months of war, that could surprise the world? Is there anything that the world could not face?
Oh, remember that you are immortal, and that you who go out of life will come back again, strengthened by the rest in the invisible! For a change of place is a rest of consciousness. To those whose nerves are weary, wise doctors prescribe a change. A rest in the invisible worlds is more refreshing than a summer in the mountains. Do not fear death. I passed through death, and I am more rested now than a strong man in the morning. I would not go back to my old body. When I want a body again I shall build a new one. I know the process of building, having built so many before.
Be joyous with me. A wise man once said that only the unendurable is tragic. The world, and the souls of the world, can endure the change that is coming. Have not wars prepared them for it? That is why wars had to be.
America is rich. Her vaults are full of gold, her mines are full of ore, and her fresh soil is full of richness. Shall she fear a future in which labor can procure all things for the body, and faith can procure all things for the soul? The history of this land is a history of faith. Did not Columbus start across the trackless ocean, led only by the star of his faith? Did not your ancestors follow, led by their faith in the future? The past has gone back to God, it is safe as a dead man; but the future is coming to you, and your faith shall make it sure.
Fear naught. In the early days of this land your forefathers slept in quiet, though the red man lurked in the forest, and hunger lurked in the failure of harvests, and men and children could only be winter-warm when trees had been felled for fuel. Now you fear famines of coal? The earth is heavy with coal. You fear famines of wheat, when your muscles grow fat for lack of exercise. They who came first to this land had varied reasons for fear, but you have no reasons for fear. Labor is sweet. The child who makes labor of play can vouch for the truth of that saying. Can you not then make play of your labor? When I was a child I built houses of blocks. I longed to be building. I dug ditches in the garden. I made boats of chips and sailed them on a puddle. I planted seeds.
And learning? In the libraries of the world and in the brains of men is stored the learning of the ages. The new age will not lack the archives of all ages. Though paper is less enduring than parchment, it will last over into the new age. Fear not.
By hints I convey to your mind that many changes will come. What then? All progress is change. Go out with it to meet the future, with a smile on your face and a song on your lips. The future wears a rose in its buttonhole, as your Vagrom Angel would say.


LETTER III
THE PROMISE OF SPRING

February 17, 1917.
When you learn to think of life as a whole, of which you are a part containing in yourself the potentialities of the whole, then you will look upon these great changes with joy. The One must sometimes sacrifice itself to Itself, and by elimination secure a new lease of life. The whole—call it the race, or the earth-spirit, or what you will—may grow too fat and lazy, as a man may grow too large to move about with ease, and then by war among the organs, by fever, fasting or remedies, the equilibrium is restored, and he starts again a new man, ready to face the future.
Grim, does it seem? But who told you that the purposes of life were always smiling? In the deeps of the earth and in the deeps of man are dark substances.
The cold of winter is a hardship for those who expose themselves to the elements; but winter is the ebb-tide of that changing sea of life whose flood-tide is the summer. Rhythm, always rhythm.
I would not have you discouraged by the winter of the race, for the spring will come and the roses will bloom again. March winds! They are followed by April showers and Mayflowers. We are now in February.
When the skies are dark and the snows fall, we gather round the fire and think of the future, when the flowers shall bloom again and green grass shall cover the earth and birds shall sing in the trees. The sun “crosses the line” in March when the winds blow, and enters the sign of the Ram, and the Zodiac is traversed again by the great life-giver the Sun. Do you shiver and grow afraid when the Equinox approaches?
The soul, too, has its winter of materialism and its ideal spring.
I have looked at the world from the outside, and I see no cause for despair. I have looked at the soul from the inside, and I see great cause for rejoicing.
You look forward to the end of the war, but the soul must battle to the end of its journey. So long as the soul is cased in matter there will be wars enough, for the greatest struggles are the soul’s struggles with itself. I have told you this before. Sometimes it goes out to fight, sometimes it goes in; the sword will not rust in the scabbard.
Think less of yourself and think more of the race. You lose the vision of the whole by regarding too closely the parts, by regarding too closely yourself that is only one of the parts. Think of yourself as the race, and think of the race as yourself; then yourself becomes the race, and the race becomes yourself; “the Universe grows I.”
There was once a God so great that the cells of his body were minor gods. You may become so great that the cells of your body will be glad to sacrifice themselves to your welfare. By renouncing the will to live, you may make yourself immortal. By renouncing the will to joy, you may become joyous.
Once I desired to become a great man. Now when I only desire that Man shall be great, I have increased in stature myself.
Once I desired to be loved; but now when I love for love’s sake and not for my own sake, I am loved by a multitude. Surely I found my life by losing it, and the words of the Master were justified.
I look down at the world as I once looked down at my garden. I see that the grass is sprouting and I know that seeds are in the ground. I have planted seeds in the hearts of men that shall germinate and reach up towards the sunshine, for I had faith in the spring.
For a while I have left Europe to itself, and have come back to the land that I love best. I have journeyed from State to State, and have watched the wills of our legislators. They too are aware that a Force is at work through them. They feel the responsibility of their place, they feel themselves as moving parts of the great whole whose name is America. The Flag is a symbol of their consecration.
I have walked in the woods, where the spirits of the land fore-gather for counsels which the newspapers do not report. They too are aware of their consecration. They strengthen you with their faith. When I lived as a man in America I did not know America. To know the meaning of home we must wander.
I am all for unity now. Do not let yourself be weakened by fear of the parts. America is a whole, and as a whole she must work. To fuse these many races together is the mission of the present hour. Do not lend your hearts to division.
I see a great leader of men who shall arise from this land. His mission will be the union of races. He will be a teacher and a prophet.

LETTER IV
THE DIET OF GOLD

March 10, 1917.
The very influences that now tend to disrupt this country will later draw it together. The many will find their meeting-point in the One. That idea of national unity must be fostered, even to the extent of patient tolerance of racial temperaments. Those who are in the process of being separated from their old race and amalgamated with the new race, feel the strain of the change. It irritates them and their blood protests, even when their wills bid them forge new bonds for themselves. Few “hyphenated Americans” would be willing to go bodily back to their old allegiance.
America is the most interesting of all countries, and we who see it from this side of the airy frontier see it in historical perspective. The view that is nearest to our point of view is that of your present Chief Executive. His eyes are far-seeing. He anticipates the clearer sight that will one day be his, when he has finished his work.
Our country is suffering this moment, in March, of the year of our Lord nineteen hundred and seventeen, from an indigestion of gold. You have swallowed more gold than you can assimilate, and your organs are congested. If to restore the equilibrium, some of this gold should be regurgitated, by war or by other means, do not in the weariness that follows fancy that the nation is going to die.
Do not be shocked by my figures of speech. I want to get into your consciousness an understanding of facts and conditions as they exist.
You cannot feed on gold. “Gold is a medium of exchange.” When it is merely hoarded it has lost its relation to life. A miser nation is a sadder subject for contemplation than a miser man, to secure himself from the dangers of the future by amassing gold for its own sake. A miser nation may think that by amassing gold for its own sake it can save itself from the financial dangers threatening the world after these years of war.
But the miser, known as such, is in danger of being robbed and murdered. And the miser nation is in danger of being attacked and looted by other nations.
You Americans want to be generous to the homeless and foodless people of Europe; but your generosity has not yet deprived of one square meal the hundred-million-headed being that is America.
I do not care so much what you do with your gold. But I care much what you do with your food. You are not alchemists that you can make gold potable. You are humans with delicate stomachs. Even a hen will not lay eggs for you unless she is well fed. If she protests, you can punish her by eating her; but the luckiest break of her wish-bone will not produce for you another hen. Better conserve her labor power by gifts of grain, and have your eggs for breakfast and for hatching. She has periods of laziness when she wants to set still; but put a few of her own eggs under her, and watch for results. Later I shall tell you of other but no less practical ways of ensuring a supply of breakfasts.

LETTER V
CONTINGENT FEES

March 10, 1917
To-day I heard that a certain rich man (unmindful of the camel and the needle’s eye), supposing that the letters from this Living Dead Man had been profitable to you, that there was “money in them,” was considering the question whether he should financially back a medium who stood ready to declare that she was in communication with me, that I repudiated the books written through you, and stood sponsor for certain manuscripts written “through” her, as my only genuine messenger to the world.
I join in your laughter, at your supposed “profitable” investment in the securities of the other world, and at the eagerness to get aboard a sea-of-ether-worthy ship exhibited by people who have not paid their fare.
I may as well tell you now that this country and some others are scattered over with supposed “communications” from me. It would seem that my writing arms are as numerous as the feet of a centipede. It would also seem by the style of some of these supposed communications, that I have as many minds as Indra has eyes.
Even the elements of the ouija board do not contradict themselves so frequently as these amanuenses make me contradict myself. I think you will have to trademark me.
After the serious nature of my recent letters, it relaxes me to jest.
If you include this letter in the book, please head it “Contingent Fees.”

LETTER VI
THE THREE APPEALS

March 11, 1917.
I stand outside the world and look inside the hearts of men. I see more than I saw when I was a man among them. Had I then looked as deep into my own heart as I now look into theirs, I should have seen the hearts of my fellow beings reflected in my own, for we differ from one another as one insect differs from another. There are differences between insects.
I look into your hearts, O men! and this is what I see: Ideals and hypocrisy, self-interest and altruism, hunger and satiety.
Shall I, in offering advice, appeal to your ideals, your self-interest, or your hunger? The opposite three would never spur you to action along the lines I would have you spurred.