divine postman: there is a pleasure in the sunrise, that calms the mind and nourishes the heart. there seems to be an invincible hand guiding the serene clouds, that hide the sun in one moment and uncover it in the next. the sun teases us, caesar, as she hides in her golden robe, and will have us guessing where her light will shine the next moment.

she spreads her presence to the lofty mountains, and speaks with her rays as they lay where no man has trodden. “in those excellent regions,” she says, “there i dwell, where no man will ever build his useless structure; only the simple and brave will touch my face who content themselves with obedience.”

iAM charmed by the landscape of matatiele, caesar. everyday it is new as the lovely fog renews it with the rising sun. the trees that are scattered about and the deteriorating streams tell of an age that was lush and rich with abundant woods and overflowing streams. the earth was full with glory when the nomads lived in harmony with her divine laws.

caesar: in the early history of asia and africa, nomadism and agriculture are the two antagonist facts. the geography of asia and of africa, divine postman, necessitated a nomadic life. the persians travelled from ecbatana, where the spring was spent, to susa in summer and to babylon for the winter.

but the nomads were the terror of all those whom the soil or the advantages of a market had induced to build towns. agriculture therefore was a religious injunction, because of the perils of the state from nomadism. before humanity started to get the headache of acquiring wealth, migrations, divine postman, were of frequent occurence.

the several tribes readily abandoning their homes, as they pursued freedom and explored the earth. the necessities of daily sustenance could be supplied at one place as well as at another. they never built large cities, my friend, for they were content with the purity of nature. they found refuge in the silent woods, in the abundant sea, and in the eternally serene mountains.

as the nomads looked steadily at nature, they were looking into their souls. the rounded world is fair to see, nine times folded in mystery though baffled seers cannot impart the secret of its laboring heart. throb thine with nature’s throbbing breast, divine postman, and all is clear from east to west. spirit that lurks each form within beckons to spirit of its kin; self kindled every moment glows, and hints the future which it owes.

divine postman: the power in me is new to the world. iAM to persist on my soul’s emphasis and teach the world of the great truth that throbs in my heart. cities give not the human senses room enough. the countryside is where i find a picture of my imagination, as i watch the mountains stretching into eternity. i feel safe in the mountains, but exiled in the city streets. my eternal home is the soul of my soul, the root of my being,- i belong in the superabundance of nature.

there are days which occur in this climate of matatiele, caesar, at almost any season of the year, wherein the world reaches its perfection,- and points us to the living gods. when the air, the cold mountain waters, the heavenly bodies and the earth, make a harmony, as if nature would indulge her offspring. all that is not reciprocal with this august magnificence is poison. iAM in heaven in this eternal summer.

i pity the city dwellers, my friend, who reduce the earth into a plot and labor their whole lives believing a lie. they know not the great glory in nature, and bow down before machines and buildings. nothing is to desire that we have heard of in johannesburg or new york; the television and the radio are foolish and grow faint and inaudible in these latitudes of matatiele.

we bask in the shining hours and exhaust leisure, as we read and write and do gardening and frolick with the children. the vegetables and the snails give signs of satisfaction with their patient love; the puppies that nonchalantly roam from dwelling to dwelling tell of the freedom that we have earned. the horses graze in the early morning hours, with a grace that shoves all the houses and cars into ugliness.

and the cattle that lay on the ground seem to have great tranquil thoughts. the day, immeasurably long, sleeps over the broad hills and warm wide fields. to have lived through all its sunny hours, caesar, seems longevity enough. to see another day is a gift enough. all my illusions have now been broken, athena has searched me and found that my faith is all that remains,- the vessel is now divine.

caesar: iAM happy to die in the presence of nature, divine postman. i have seen eternity stretched into a season, and gained eternal riches. my soul is happy in the presence of hera. i choose where i want to live, and i chose the best. all those who rush to cities assume that they will find something better than nature.

there is none greater than the heavens and the earth. the ancients understood this truth, divine postman, and expressed it in all their arts through the imitation of nature’s laws. we have severed ourselves from nature. what is a tree without roots, my friend? the age that we are living in can only understand all the riches before it when it gives itself over to the lifetime study of history, philosophy, and poetry.

we are the shepherds that have been called by hera, divine postman, who will guide and nurture the searching sheep. a man’s fortune, my friend, has a decisive time, which may be known by the position of the stars at its very origin. all things on earth are dictated by the heavenly bodies. apollo will give the sign to the discerning mind of the day that his fortune will come. all is perfect in love. nature will create only the best.

divine postman: there is a love above that will compensate every loss below; she does not pay back our foolishness with foolishness but ever extends her grace to us; the choice is ours whether to reject or accept it. nature will always smile down upon us and invite us into her mercy.

the great light comes to see us everyday, and brings great joy to heal our sorrow. the wings of time, caesar, are black and white, pied with morning and with night. mountain tall and ocean deep, trembling balance duly keep. in changing moon, in tidal wave glows the feud of want and have.

man’s the elm and wealth the vine, stanch and strong the tendrils twine. though the frail ringlets thee deceive none from its stock that vine can reave. fear not, then, thou child infirm, there is no goddess dare wrong a worm. laurel crowns cleave to deserts and power to him who power exerts.

hast not thy share, caesar? on winged feet, lo! it rushes thee to meet; and all that nature made thy own, floating in air or pent in stone, will rive the hills and swim the sea and, like thy shadow follow thee. be at rest, my friend, thy lot or portion of life is seeking after thee. the advocates of the theory that philosophy took its rise among the barbarians go on to explain the different forms it assumed in different countries.

as to the gymnosophists and druids we are told, caesar, that they uttered their philosophy in riddles, bidding men to reverence the gods, to abstain from wrongdoing, and to practice courage. the gymnosophists despise even death itself, the chaldaeans apply themselves to astronomy and forecasting the future.

while the magi spend their time in worship of the gods, in sacrifices and in prayers, implying that none but themselves have the ear of the gods. how liberating is a life spent in obedience to the divine laws of the gods. my soul is made to be one with the sun and moon. so much peace, so much purity, so much joy do i find in the arms of hera. my soul is freed of every burden in those eternal waters.

caesar: the magi propound their views concerning the origin and being of the gods, whom they hold to be earth, fire, water. they condemn the use of images, and especially the error of attributing to the divinities difference of sex. they hold discourse of justice, and deem it impious, divine postman, to practice cremation. but they see no impiety in marriage with a mother or daughter.

further, they practice divination and forecast the future, declaring that the gods appear to them in visible form. moreover, they say that the air is full of shapes which stream forth like vapour and enter the eyes of keen sighted seers. they prohibit personal ornament and the wearing of gold. their dress is white, they make their bed on the ground, and their food is vegetables, cheese, and coarse bread.

their staff is a reed and their custom is, so we are told, divine postman, to stick it into the cheese and take up with it the part they eat. with the art of magic they were wholly unacquainted. the word zoroaster literally interpreted, means star-worshipper. i feel alive when i serve my purpose. the life i give, my friend, is the life that i receive from above and below. never will the wisdom of pallas athena fail me,- i will spread the voice of apollo through the whole world.

divine postman: there is an exact law that is the cause of great fortune. it is only the brave, caesar, who will dare to lose their lives and will penetrate into the eternal regions of the silent one. however, nature will not be rushed, my friend, there is a line that she draws which no man can cross. all the fortunes of history, philosophy, and poetry pre-exist in the mind as laws.

each law in turn is made by circumstances predominant, and the limits of nature give power to but one at a time. man is explicable by nothing less than all his history, his philosophy, and his poetry. without hurry, without rest, the human spirit will go forth from the beginning to embody every faculty, every thought, every emotion, which belongs to it, in appropriate events.

i believe only in superabundance, caesar, not in pieces. a year spent fasting will yield the riches of the sea and the patience of the mountains. let us give ourselves to the study of wisdom, my friend, like numa did. numa belonged to a conspicuous city of the sabines called cures, from which the romans, together with the incorporated sabines, took the joint name of quirites.

he was a son of pompon an illustrious man, and was the youngest of four brothers. he was born, moreover, by some divine felicity, on the very day when rome was founded by romulus, that is, the twenty first day of april. by natural temperament, caesar, he was inclined to the practice of every virtue, and he had subdued himself still more, by discipline, endurance of hardships, and the study of wisdom.

he had thus put away from himself, not only the infamous passions of the soul. but also that violence and rapacity which are in such high repute among the barbarians. believing that true bravery consisted in the subjugation of one’s passions by reason. only he who is master of himself, caesar, is master of all. without quiet obedience to the commands of time, a man will never lead.

caesar: on this account, divine postman, numa banished from his house all luxury and extravagance. and while citizen and stranger alike found in him a faultless judge and counsellor, he devoted his hours of privacy and leisure, not to enjoyments and money-making, but to the service of the gods. and the rational contemplation of their nature and power.

in consequence he had a great name and fame, so that, tatius the royal colleague of romellus at rome, made him the husband of his only daughter, tatia. he was not, however, exalted by his royal marriage, divine postman, as to dwell with his father in law, but remained among the sabines to minister to his aged father.

tatia, too, preferred the quiet life which her husband led as a private citizen to the honor and fame which she enjoyed at rome because of her father. but she died, as we are told, my friend, on the thirteenth year after her marriage.

then numa, forsaking the ways of city folk, determined to live for the most part in country places, and to wander there alone, passing his days in groves of the gods, in sacred meadows, in solitudes. this, more than anything else, my friend, gave rise to the story about his goddess.

it was not, so the story ran, from any disstress or aberration of spirit that he forsook the ways of men, but he had tasted the joy of more august companionship. and had been honored with a celestial marriage. the goddess egeria loved him, divine postman, and bestowed herself upon him.

and it was his communion with her, that gave him a life of blessedness, and a wisdom more than human. it is good to wait, to listen, and to obey. the individual soul will only be relieved of every burden when it is in matrimony with the universal soul. heaven and earth is the bride of the soul. everyday we wait for her to descend from the mountain and the sea. oh! how faithful is devouring time to the patient heart. when the whole world turns its back on you, divine postman, you will find the greatest love; the only truth worth living and dieing for. now i know, my friend, that all things are given to man by grace. i behold all beauty in the palm of my hand.

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divine postman: it took five winters to uncover this amazing world that i found in the depths of time. patience will never fail to lead us to our destiny. she will guide us, mfuneko, to where our star is found. it awaits our arrival and will only give all the great gifts that it holds when we choose to be brave and head confidently in the direction of our dreams.

at every turn that brought change into my life, i took a leap of faith into the unknown, and i was always rewarded with superabundant joy. i chose not to run away from myself, mfuneko, but to confront the roots of my being, and search for the great truth that lives within. i was told by athena that my calling is in the pen, and had to align my mind and body with the grace of nature.

it is only in the presence of nature, my friend, that we can receive illumination and break down all our illusions. when we pay the price to receive the immortal riches of the human soul according to nature’s lawful coin, we gain facts, learn our ignorance, shed off all that is foreign and proud, and sit upright on our manhood.

mfuneko: there is meaning in every experience that life throws before our feet. it is a question that athena wants us to answer. do but observe our mode of illumination, divine postman. when i converse with a profound mind, or if it at any time being alone i have good thoughts.

i do not at once arrive at satisfactions, as when, being thirsty, i drink water; or go to the fire, when cold. oh no! but iAM at first apprised of my vicinity to a new and excellent region of life. by persisting to read, to think and to write, this region gives further sign of itself. as it were in flashes of light, in sudden discoveries of its profound beauty and repose.

as if the clouds that covered it parted at intervals and showed the approaching traveller the inland mountains, with the tranquil eternal meadows spread at their base, whereon flocks graze and shepherds pipe and dance. so serene are these wise mountains in matatiele, divine postman, that strip all its inhabitants to naked existence, leaving only room for the imagination.

the children will play games out of doors, the young infant will cherish our hearts with her resounding laughter. the housekeeper from lesotho will keep the homestead warm providing food, and doing the washing. the old man who still has strength to move his body, bows before the earth with his shovel and whispers to the young of their roots.

the poet who was struck by the thunderbolt of apollo to serve mankind arrives from all his weary journeys and lifts his hand everyday to write of this beauty, that nature has moulded. with every stroke of the pen all his wounds begin to heal and at all unawares the advancing soul creates a new home for itself.

divine postman: thus he captures the memory of time, that athena will annoint and make immortal. every insight from this realm of thought is felt as initial and promises a sequel. i do not make it, mfuneko; i arrive here in the heaven of matatiele and behold what was here already.

iAM all a traveller, my friend, in this lovely world, who will read the language of the once overflowing streams, the once abundant woods, and the once pure air, that great grandparents once lived and died in. i create in my imagination the edens, the euphrates, the tigris, and the nile that was always rich with life, and never failed to feed, shelter, and sustain.

i make! o no, mfuneko! i clap my hands in infantine joy and amazement before the first opening to me of this august magnificence, old with the love and homage of innumerable ages, young with the life of life, the sunbright mecca of aurora. and oh! what a future it opens, my friend. i feel a new heart beating with the love of the new beauty.

iAM ready to die out of nature and be born again into this new yet unapproachable matatiele that i have found in the depths of the ocean. since neither now nor yesterday began these thoughts, which have been ever, nor yet can a man be found, who their first entrance knew.

mfuneko: everlasting is the voice of nature, my friend, it will instruct the future age and leave a memory of the glory that lives in man, whose mind is the streaming aurora, and his body the bountiful earth. the great phenomena of the stars he knows, the never ending roots of the sea he can hold.

how did the spider, divine postman, learn to spin its perfect web; how did the birds, my friend, learn to build their beautiful nests; how did the ants learn to leave behind nourishing stores before death for the young grub they shall never see? nature puts all the clutter of civilization to shame. all life in nature flows from the intuition. all creatures rely wholly on the pure knowledge that lives within,- they trust their natural instincts.

power is only gained in nature through experience. life is not intellectual, divine postman, but sturdy. without action knowledge is meaningless. how far the process had gone of transmuting life into truth will determine the beauty that will manifest. in proportion to the completion of the distillation, so will the purity and imperishableness of the product be. many seasons of fasting will yield superabundant joy.

divine postman: all that we need to succeed in life is writ in nature. she is the arms which hold us in all our days under the sun. without nature we will always be lost. it is the song that all men and all women are called to follow. all our joy is in the sun and moon; the heavens are an eternal blaze of fire. the great star will descend to bring joy to all mankind.

nature is the absolute truth upholding all justice. consider the patience at which nature moulds every creature, and every child in the womb. she will create only the best, mfuneko, and sustain the young with her wisdom. all the nonsense that mothers and fathers accumulate will never surpass the miracle of life that beats in the baby’s heart. “all these little ones are mine,” saith hera. time will devour all things but preserve her offspring.

all the idols that the ignorant mob run after their whole lives are a waste. when we fall in love with all that the world offers, hera will withdraw the life that she gave to the idolatrous mother; with every material object that a father accumulates, there will be a greater distance between him and his son. they rush for cities, mfuneko, seeking the vulgar prosperity that retrogrades ever to barbarism.

mfuneko: there will be no good in mankind when we fail to give our lives to the consistent study of history, philosophy, and poetry. it is dangerous to reduce life to the dollar, my friend, and not seek to understand the cause of all things. without wisdom there can never be contented joy, that relieves us of a vast load of care.

a life of fear, divine postman, is no life at all. we are made for joy, and freedom. it is only wisdom that can set us free to live in eternal abundance. no amount of silver, bronze, and gold can buy love. oh! let them boast with their chariots, their furniture, and their homes, time will wither them all away,- she will uproot and tear down and crush all matter like pottery.

those who face the east will mock all it is that the world offers; they will turn their backs on all that is fleeting and focus all their attention on the great light. the honors that men and women desperately strive for will make them stars for a day; the glory in nature that we lay our whole lives down to gain, mfuneko, will endure beyond time. oh! worthy of all suffering is the presence of hera,- obedience is better than superserviceable hands.

it is only patience that will give meaning to the work of our hands. we are great when we wait, divine postman. we create the best things when we are spontaneous in our expression, and speak and write wholly from within. the authentic utterances that we have come at in attempting to satisfy our own curiosity, is the living word that will inspire an eternal public.

divine postman: we can never quite understand the almighty will of apollo. it is good that we content ourselves with perfect obedience, mfuneko; for the great future will reveal the superabundance that athena is preparing us for. ageing time will teach everything. suffice it for the joy of the universe that we have not arrived at a wall but at interminable oceans. the goods of fortune may come and go as the summer leaves.

let us scatter them on every wind, my friend, as the momentary signs of our infinite productiveness. truth alone makes rich and great. as much virtue as there is, mfuneko, so much appears; as much goodness as there is, so much reverence it commands. a man passes through life for that he is worth. the earth will give to you according to your faith. all men will become what they deserve. a fool will always be a fool; the wise will grow in beauty and live in truth.

that which we do not believe, we cannot adequately say though we may repeat the words never so often. it is only the body that can believe, when it is in harmony with nature. faith is in the body, mfuneko. the effect of every action, my friend, is measured by the depth of the sentiment from which it proceeds. the great mind knew not that it was great.

it took a century or two for that fact to appear. what he did, he did because he must,- it was the beauty that flowed from his soul. he could not deny the thunderbolt that quaked in his heart, and had to express it purely. what he did was the most natural thing in the world, and grew out of the circumstances of the moment.

mfuneko: so easy and simple is the victory of nature, divine postman. when the fruit is ripe, it falls. when the fruit is despatched, the leaf falls. none will ever bend the laws of the seasons. oh! let apollo hurl all the blazing thunderbolts, let the white wings of snow embrace me, and let him shake all the world with his earthquakes, and throw all mankind into a chaotic tailspin.

let the forked lightning wrap around me; the sky redden with lightning and thunder away,- whirl its tempests. shake the earth from its roots, hera; waves of the sea should reach the stars force them out of their nightly paths. whirl my body to heaven! blast it down to tartarus in fierce eddies of necessity,- my soul is immortal in the arms of love.

i will endure through every season, that iAM given to love and to grow. i will suffer what prometheus suffers to preserve the good in man. i will stand here for humanity, divine postman. my mind will soar to the heights that my body reached, and leap beyond the almighty star. my ambition is exactly proportioned to my powers. the height of the pinnacle is determined by the breadth of the base.

now the time for words ends; and the action begins. the earth shakes, thunder echoes from the depths and roars past me. bright lightening flashes twist around me; the winds swirl up dust in dizzying eddies; the blasts battle with each other whipping up counter attacks, and sea spray reaches the sky. the storm approaches, divine postman, sent by apollo, my fate will soon be revealed.

oh! holy mother. oh! eternal sky that guides all light over the revolving path of the universe, and determines the footsteps of all men and all creatures and all plants on the earth; your will has been done and my faith has sustained me. let your kingdom, hera, come, and all the glory you imparted in man manifest into practical power. oh! what a thing is man, divine postman! how noble in reason; how like a god, he walks the earth. all beauty he learns with patience, and steadily creates a heaven, that he believed in.

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divine postman: we can only value something when we earn it through patience. the motion of the clouds, the still and steady stars, the rooted trees in the ground speak of the obedience that mankind is commanded to have.

obedience is the language of the soul, when we step outside the grace of nature we lose ourselves in impatience. the lovely butterfly does not conform to the noise of civilization, but she maintains her beauty by obeying the source of its being. we can only be contented and free in the presence of nature.

i watch the serene clouds above the lofty mountains in matatiele, cicero, at the break of dawn; i learn that although my body is confined to the household that iAM in but my mind is one with the poetry written on that mountain. when the mind has been set free it can never live in misery. it will move in divinity creating beauty before it.

cicero: everyday we align ourselves with the spirit of the winds, the waters, the grass, the roses, the sun, and the moon. man is the broken giant, divine postman, the fallen hero, and in all his weakness both his body and his mind are invigorated by habits of conversation with nature.

i have been questioning the burdens that men and women willingly impose upon themselves. how is it, divine postman, that people make life to be so hard, when nature ordained for it to be so simple? it was revealed to me by hera as i asked this question, that no man is poor, and no man needs to struggle.

what men and women shun is the ordering of the soul. they fear the pruning of the gardener, my friend, and in their cowardice they live an unnatural existence. nothing will ever bring us satisfaction when we are not content with ourselves. nothing is worth beholding but the human soul.

they run to offices, distract themselves with meaningless endeavors, burdening themselves with the weight of wretched ambition, and never look for the truth within. the clutter in people’s lives is the clutter in their soul. when the branch is severed from the vine it will die.

divine postman: it occured to me, cicero, that iAM the richest man alive. i wander wherever i choose. alone i watch the goats, the ox, and sheep grazing in eternal peace. i walk through the silent woods, and witness the birds nonchalantly building their nests; i lay on the rocks looking at the great heavens above pondering on the beauty of the earth, and how man has failed dismally to see it.

i watch the great eye in the sky creating everlasting beauty in the ground, with the purple flowers growing freely. i tremble at the abundance that my soul is moulded to behold. in all my journeys, cicero, i discover that the possessions men and women spend all their lives running after are caused by the burden that they impose on their bodies through the food that they eat.

what we put in the body is what nature will reciprocate to us. all that we are is all that we eat. the body is the medium through which the soul expresses itself. the mind and the body, cicero, is a creation of nature, and will only be rich in glory when it follows the laws that hera has ordained for it. life is not the worth to be doing tricks in, time is all we have and will give us signs of our future. nothing is more deeply punished than the neglect of our affinities, which society alone should be composed of.

cicero: the absolute balance of give and take, the doctrine that everything has its price, and if that price is not paid in full, not that thing but something else is obtained, and that nothing can be gained without its price,- is the instinct which leads every generous soul to impose on itself tasks of a noble asceticism and vicarious virtue.

and the completion of this great work that athena started in man, is the trembling of the balance of justice through the heart and mind of nature. human life, divine postman, through all its forms from the birth of a baby, to the construction of an epic, is one immense illustration of the perfect compensation of the universe.

whoever fears to lose his life will never gain anything great. the world is very boring without nature. patience is the mind that gives meaning to all great things. it is the cause of all beauty, all truth, and all justice. without patience, divine postman, there can be no life. the longer we wait for our prize, the deeper the soul will be entrenched in love.

we learn nothing as we rush, and trample over our feet; the great gift of wisdom is being content in patience. for time will bring to life the great thought that we believe in our heart. faith, is acting on the truth that lives in your soul and expressing it daily for the rest of your life.

divine postman: i believed in the might of nature, cicero, and followed her to the darkness, that i may see the light. she makes known the end before the beginning, my friend, and will lift our soft and tremulous hand to withhold the glory she has ordained for us. oh! how great we are in perfect obedience; life must be lived and not postponed.

nature believes in me more than i believe in myself. she knows that iAM weak, cicero, thus she commands that all i do is believe in her great will. oh! the faith of a mustard seed, how it will bring the great thunderbolt to echo in the whole world. she listens to the patient labor and will serve all those who desire to possess her fully. nothing is of our doing or having, all good things abide in man because of grace.

hera does not descend into individual life on any other condition than entire possession. she comes to the lowly and simple; she comes to whomsoever will cast off what is foreign and proud; she comes as insight; she comes as serenity and grandeur. we are apprised of new degrees of greatness when we abide forever in her presence.

‘sell and give all,’ sings the great eagle, ‘then come and follow me.’ the law of nature, cicero, is, do the thing, and you will have the power; but they who do not the thing have not the power. the mass of men have become beggars, my friend, in their ignorance they sell their souls to institutions and die in poverty. were the ends of nature so great and congent as to exact this immense sacrifice of men?

cicero: a lot will go wrong when we forsake nature. it is only our natural history that can teach, guide, and nurture us. many will choose to forsake their roots, and lose themselves in offices and capitulate to the promise of the times. they love the noise, divine postman, and fear the perfect silence that endures.

the youth of south africa whose parents were deceived by colleges and neglected the blood that was shed during apartheid, were ensared by the promises of university degrees, which open stately enough, with planted trees on either side to tempt the approaching traveller. but soon become narrow and narrower and end in a squirrel track and run up a tree.

these employments, these lifetime possessions, and this useless home, ends in a headache, divine postman. unspeakably sad and barren does life look to those young people who a few years ago were dazzled with the splendor of the promise of the times.

there is now no longer any right course of action, nor any self devotion left among the young graduates. they are merely servants of institutions, and will spend their whole lives serving the dollar, and never the masters of it. time will gently unfold the sublime future of the poet,- it is the rising of the sun, the ripening of the moon. oh! let all men and all women return to their native riches. the conclusions of history will lead us to our destiny; we cannot be ignorant of our universal mind.

divine postman: the college fools will retire to the countryside as the company they worked for spits them out into retirement as they are no longer useful. they are nothing but cogs in a wheel, cicero, who will be replaced with other damned souls. the meaning of life they did not find, the grace of nature they never acknowledged.

they would not bow down to the good earth that nurtures, clothes, and feeds them. the glory of the seasons they neglected, and looked up to the sky but never once saw the sun, the clouds, the moon and the stars. they were too busy running around in their chariots, cicero, to listen to the great sea, as it gives them another breath to breathe.

the dollar took precedence over the divine soul, and so they gained the world with everything in it, my friend, but lost the glory of heaven and earth. thus they search but will never find. it is a dangerous game to go through life and never understand the divine meaning that it holds. man does not walk with purpose, cicero, he is a waste tiptoeing through life avoiding suffering.

there are no plateaus in this life, cicero, there is only one of two extremes that we will live in,- either the mind will solve the sphinx and be set free, or it will fail to solve the great sphinx and die in bondage. wisdom will always conquer, and lead us to the golden star. it is not good to live life conservatively,- the greater the leap of faith, the greater the immortal fame.

cicero: the world is one,- the pursuit of the whole is love. all men will bow down before earth, water, and fire,- it is the essence of their being. to deny the truth is to deny yourself. the poet alone is wise, divine postman, and introduces mankind to the art of life.

the sign and credentials of the poet are that he announces that which no man foretold. he is the true and only prophet, he knows and tells. he is the only one who can diagnose the condition of the soul. he is a beholder of ideas and an utterer of the necessary and causal.

the poet will instruct the future generations, my friend, in character, in emotions, and in actions. poetry is an expression of philosophy and at its roots is concerned with imparting moral discipline. the poet is the man without impediment.

divine postman: he is nature’s most beloved, cicero, who sees and handles that which others dream of, traverses the whole scale of experience, and its representative of man, in virtue of being the largest power to receive and to impart. the poet is the knower, the sayer, and the doer.

we are on this earth, my friend, to explore, not to settle. in all our journeys we are to grow in our faith, and share the wisdom that we have gained. let us not interfere with the optimism of nature, cicero, it is no good to resist the almighty will of apollo.

olympian bards who sung divine ideas below, which always find us young, and keep us so. who stood among partial men for the complete man, and apprised us not of your wealth but of our commonwealth: we remember and emulate your selfless deeds, beauty and truth together will thrive. so rich is the human soul, my friend, so poor are all these meaningless endeavors in this world.

they age in offices, in titles, in homes, in marriages, and in families, cicero, as they desperately clutch onto all it is that the world offers. they fear death, and poverty, and solitude. in their ignorance they fail to understand that fortune can only sprout, through death and poverty and utter solitude. for when we have been stripped of all things, my friend, we will learn to worship the soul.

nature is incredibly faithful to man,- she gives him a seed to plant and asks for him to believe in the great idea. through his faith alone the seed will grow to yield abundance, and the man is in awe of the glory of heaven and earth, as it moulds and shapes him into a god. in his wonder he learns that he is the seed that has been planted on the earth to bring joy to all nations of men and women. a man is the word cast into flesh, cicero, to shed healing to the nations; he is the star that has descended to give light to the world.

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divine postman: there is a great thought that lives in us all. it awaits our expression and can only come to life when we believe in it. far best is he who knows all things himself. good, he that hearkens when men counsel right; but he who neither knows, nor lays to heart another’s wisdom is a useless wight.

one swallow does not make a spring, there must be a full-term of exercising our faculties to bring to life the great thought that beats in our heart. time holds all wisdom, uzile, and will bring everything to light. all the battles that we endure will yield glory. as a mother will give birth to a baby after a set number of revolutions around the sun and moon, so too will we give birth to our dream when we complete the cycle that nature has designed.

our faith is the anchor that will bind us with the will of nature. you need to complete the journey that you embarked upon, uzile,- hercules completed his twelve labours and received all the immortal honour that was his due. consistency is key, my friend. we write everyday because we see the sun; we read everyday because we search for guidance; and we believe in our prize because the moon will justify the labor of our hands.

uzile: she will instruct us with every step that we take and revealing all the good that she will bring. the journey, my friend, is the reward. when i watch the golden star, which, out of regions i see not, pours for a season its streams into me, i see that iAM a pensioner; not a cause, but a surprised spectator of this ethereal ocean of beauty; that i desire and look up, divine postman, and put myself in the attitude of reception, but from some unknown source the visions come.

i know not where this charming rainbow comes from, but i bow down before it with wonder and continue my journey with a renewed hope. there is an end for all that we do, divine postman, and this is the good achievable by action, and if there are more than one, these will be the goods achievable by action. all the tools that we need to fulfill our purpose will be given to us. it is our duty to have the mental fortitude and the strong will to leap above our expectations and create a new age.

the boldness in ceaser is the boldness in me, the wisdom of cicero is the wisdom in me, and the virtues in cato are the virtues in me. there is no great and no small, divine postman, to the soul that maketh all; and where it cometh all things are, and it cometh everywhere. iAM owner of the sun and moon, of the golden star, and the great sea. there is one mind common to all individual men. every man is an inlet to the same and to all of the same.

he that is once admitted to the right of reason, divine postman, is made a freeman of the whole estate. what aristotle thought, he may think. what alexander conquered, he may conquer and what zoroaster did feel, he may feel. who hath access to this universal mind is a party to all that is or can be done. for this is the only and sovereign agent. the best gift to give is wisdom. there is divinity in a simple life.

divine postman: i no longer believe in anything material, uzile; the source of my being is in the winds that blow, the stars that glow, and the waters that flow. how dangerous it is my friend not to rely on your own wisdom. it is no good to accept the opinion of a mother, a father, a brother, a sister, a wife or a husband without questioning it.

all the good in the world is the soul’s, and may be had if paid for according to nature’s lawful coin. a bad tree cannot bear good fruit; and a good tree cannot bear bad fruit. the good is that at which the wise will always aim. what we give is a reflection of what we hold dear within. where your treasure is, uzile, there your heart will be also. the end of wisdom is the chief good for mankind.

for it dictates the universal truth that orders and guides all living things. a life without wisdom is most mournful,- it is barren and ruined by pride. by lowly listening we will hear the right word; humility always comes before honour. the great man is always willing to be little.

what nature ordained, she will fulfill; there is no darkness that will ever destroy the infinite light. the history of persecutions is a history of endeavors to cheat nature, to make water run uphill, to taunt a mountain lion and expect no response, to not move your legs in the waters of the sea and expect not to drown, to twist a rope of sand. it makes no difference, uzile, whether the actors be many or one, a tyrant or a mob. a mob or a tyrant is a body that voluntarily bereaves itself of reason.

it is man voluntarily descending to the nature of the wild beast, who is blinded by ignorance. its fit hour of activity is night, when they attack the wise in their sleep. its actions are insane like its whole constitution. it persecutes a principle; it would whip a right; it would tar and feather justice, by inflicting fire and outrage upon the property and persons who uphold virtue. it resembles the prank of boys, uzile, who run with fire engines to put out the ruddy aurora streaming to the stars.

uzile: the inviolate spirit turns their spite against the wrongdoers. the martyr cannot be dishonoured, divine postman. every lash inflicted is a tongue of fame; every prison, a more illustrious abode; every burned book or bicycle enlightens the world. every suppressed or expunged opinion reverberates through the world from side to side. when one martyr is crucified millions will spring up, and shower the earth with beauty.

hours of sanity and consideration are always arriving to communities, as to individuals, when the truth is seen and the martyrs are justified. we explode in eternal glory when we lay down our lives for the loving light. wisdom will set us free and anchor us to our purpose. the model for schooling is failing us, divine postman, it does not create equality. it is a very elitist model, that will only benefit a few; while it will subject those who were deceived by its promises to a life of desperate existence.

schools and colleges do not teach children to think. too much time is wasted in these desks and lecture halls. nature will teach us for eternity, and enrich not only one individual, but the whole of man. the world is one, divine postman, and refuses to be disparted; we diminish in strength and lose our glory as we seek to sunder, to appropriate and to act partially. nature is a connected whole; she does not recognize our selfish deeds that only seek to benefit our families.

she will only arrive with her miracle fortune when we give ourselves to honour the whole of man. beloved to her are those who will make sacrifices of themselves to unite humanity. the masses are poor men because they aim at petty ends quite aside from the public good. we can only be rich when we give ourselves to serving mankind. all that we need to succeed, divine postman, we behold within. this voice is enough to create abundant joy, all that it needs to endure is to be nourished with a believing love.

divine postman: oh! where are the risk-takers, uzile, who will take a great leap of faith for the love of humanity and the hope of immortal fame? i do not find them, all that i see is a confused multitude, that live for their wretched bellies. our food is killing us. life alone can impart life; and though we should explode like the great thunderbolt, we can only be valued as we make ourselves valuable. the effect of any writing on the public mind is mathematically measurable by its depth of thought.

how much water does it draw and how much of the sea has it explored? it can only inspire the thought that it has searched for in the roots of time,-nothing venture, nothing have. if it awaken you to think, uzile, if it lift you from your feet with the great voice of eloquence, then the effect is to be wide, slow, permanent, over the minds of men. if the pages instruct you not, they will die like flies in the hour. the way to speak and write what shall not go out of fashion, is to speak and write sincerely.

the argument which has not power to reach my own practice, i may well doubt will fail to reach yours, my friend. i will only listen when you speak from the depths of your being. the adopted talent of another is a waste of both my time and yours. speak from within the veil, where the word is one with the soul. look in thy heart and write, uzile. he that writes to himself writes to an eternal public. that statement only is fit to be made public, which you have come at in attempting to satisfy your own curiosity.

the writer who takes his subject from his ear and not from his heart, should know that she has lost as much as she seems to have gained. and when the empty book has gathered all its praise, and half the people say, ‘what poetry!’ ‘what great genius!’ it still needs fuel to make fire. that only profits, my friend, which is profitable. it is only the writer who imitates nature, who will impart a living word. it is the spirit of apollo that will make our words live on and be a lasting legacy in the hearts and minds of men.

uzile: the beautiful spirit in the golden star will give birth to all our patient labor. she is the key that will ope the palace of eternity. the downfall of man is his lack of patience. he does not reach for grace and lean on her unbreakable power. with every step she inspires us to be brave and believe that we are greater than we know. we are nothing but babes in this life, divine postman, who will only walk, and learn, and grow when they choose to believe in love.

the sun and the moon will fulfill the great promise that they have made, and lead us to the golden star, where our treasure is found. i would not be hurried by any love of system, divine postman, but will follow nature in her enduring wisdom. he that would bring home the wealth of styx, must carry the wealth of styx on his shoulders. oh! how faithful is time, my friend, she is ever steady in her purpose and reveals to us the glory that awaits us.

as near and proper to us, divine postman, is that old fable of the sphinx. who was said to sit on the roadside and put riddles to every passenger. if the man could not answer, she swallowed him alive. if he could solve the riddle, the sphinx was slain. whoever fails to read the signs in this age will live a discontented life. look to the east, divine postman, the glory of heaven you will see. a great heart will come that will be misunderstood for its resolute virtues, and suffer many injustices on behalf of man, but will be justified and receive an enduring glory.

let us sit with the cause, divine postman, and affront and reprimand the smooth mediocrity and squalid contentment of the times, and hurl in the face of custom and trade and office, the fact which is the upshot of all history, that there is a great responsible thinker and actor working whever a man works; that a true man belongs to no other time or place, but is the centre of all things. where he is, there is nature. he measures you and all men and all events.

divine postman: ordinarily, everybody in society, uzile, reminds us of somewhat else, or of some other person. character, reality, reminds you of nothing else; it takes place of the whole creation. the man must be so much that he makes all circumstances indifferent. every true man is a cause, a country, and an age; requires infinite spaces and numbers and time fully to accomplish his design. and posterity seem to follow his footsteps as a train of stars.

whatever it is that another man deems worthy awaits my verdict. that popular fable of the sot who was picked up dead drunk in the steeets, carried to the king’s house, washed and dressed and laid in the king’s bed, and, on his waking, treated with all obsequious ceremony like the king, and assured that he had been insane, owes its popularity to the fact that it symbolizes so well the state of man, who is in the world a sort of sot, but now and then wakes up, exercises his reason and finds himself a true prince.

we are born great, uzile, and create beauty in patience. i believe there are no plateaus in this life, my friend, it is either we are tasting the raptures of the sun and moon; or, we are trapped in the confines of polluted cities, dull homes, and drowsy institutions. it is our choice whether we leap for heaven; or, live in quiet desperation wringing our hands and gnashing our teeth. so much poverty there is in these suburbs, townships, and offices! so much fortune there is in these mountains, in this roaring ocean, in these bleating sheep and leaping goats.

now i know, uzile, that there will be no good in man when he is severed from the earth. man and nature proceed from one root; one is leaf and one is flower; relation sympathy stirring in every vein. nature is the soul of my soul, whose beginning, whose ending i can never find,- so entire, so boundless. far, too, as her splendors shine, system on system shooting like rays, upward, downward, without centre, without circumference,- in the mass and in the particle, nature hastens to render account of herself to the mind and body.

by rejecting the wisdom in nature we reject the glory of the human soul. our history, our destiny, our home is in the grass that grows, the sun that will rise, the moon that will yield a man’s harvest, the boundless sea, and the winds that breathe life into the mind and body. a man’s life is sustained by earth, wind, water, and fire. it will take death to see the beauty in life. in all my days under the sun and moon, apollo, grant that i always remain patient, living in the roots of the mighty sea.

let this voice echo through the whole world, and be a light unto all men. they all said that we were crazy, uzile, when we said one day we will be millionairzies. the heart will return to the earth. everything that man trusts in will fail him; it is only wisdom that will sustain him in every season. nature makes the rules, my friend, and orders us to be obedient. patience, patience, we shall win at the very last; that light which you see will open into an infinitely superabundant glory.

never mind the ridicule, never mind the defeat; up again, old heart! there is victory yet for all justice; and the true heaven which the world exists to realize will be the transformation of genius into practical power. if we live truly, my friend, we shall see truly. it is as easy for the strong man to be strong, as it is for the weak to be weak. when we have new perception, we shall gladly disburden the memory of its hoarded treasures as old rubbish. when a man lives with a believing love, his voice shall be as sweet as the murmur of the brook, and the rustle of the corn. follow nature, uzile, not man.

iAM constrained every moment to acknowledge a higher origin for events than the will i call mine. time is a living light, that illuminates all living things. the blasting of the light is in proportion to the creature’s vigour for living. a little consideration of what takes place around us everyday, uzile, would show us that a higher law than that of our will regulates events; that our painful labors are unnecessary and fruitless; that only in our easy, simple, spontaneous action are we free and bold, and by contenting ourselves with obedience we become divine.

uzile: belief and love,- a believing love will relieve us of a vast load of care. oh! my friend, the beauty of hera exists. there is a soul at the centre of nature and over the will of every man, so that none of us can wrong, or be wronged by the patient waters. it has so infused its strong enchantment into the earth, that we prosper when we accept its advice, and when we struggle to wound its creatures our hands are glued to our sides, or they beat our own breast and we lose our creative power.

the whole course of things goes to teach us faith, we need only obey, divine postman. there is guidance for each of us, and by lowly listening we shall hear the right word. we are great in love, when we choose to surrender all that is foreign and proud. happy is the made that is one with water. our great dream to unite humanity through art is alive, my friend,- it is the fire that burns in the hearts of the old and young. i know the wise star will remember me. and truly it demands something godlike in him who has cast off the common endeavors of man and has ventured to trust himself for a taskmaster.

high be his heart, faithful his will, clear his sight, that he may in good earnest be doctrine, society, law, to himself, that a simple purpose may be to him as strong as iron necessity is to others. every man has a calling in his character, that will revolutionize his whole being and the glory in him will be the light of the world.

there is no darkness that i fear, divine postman, i have found the promise land and dwell forever in blest eternity. money can never buy love because it is overprice; do not overthink, my friend, believe that all is well in love, take a chance and roll a dice, fortune will never fail to arrive. what a wonderful world!

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divine postman: all fortune lives within. patience is the greatest test in a man’s life. it is only our history, alexander, that can lead us to our destiny. every child has a purpose to serve. the wise will be the guardians of all mankind. the end and object of conquest is to avoid doing the same thing as the conquered.

we do not earn fortune that we may live in luxury, comfort, and idleness but to exert ourselves deeper in the great cause that we have given our lives to. without discipline there will be impatience and impatience will yield death. how we handle fortune will be the legacy that we leave behind. and it will either be one of the two extremes of self-indulgence or giving.

it is a very servile thing to be luxurious, alexander, but a very royal thing to toil. let us never cease to give ourselves to hardships; our insatiable desire to grow must never die. fortune without wisdom is meaningless; fortune is wisdom, my friend! it is only suffering that can bring out the best in us. nature will never stop to give to those who are always ready to receive. all we ever need, my friend, to be great is a great faith.

alexander: patience is the cause of fortune. nature will serve the obedient. success is certain to the faithful; our obedience to time will determine the harvest we will yield. or, i might say, divine postman, it depends on how far the process had gone, of transmuting life into truth. in proportion to the completion of distillation, so will the purity and imperishableness of the product be.

we are never poor in the presence of nature, my friend, but always growing in everlasting riches. nature is constantly replenishing all the stores that we have used, and giving us the new. no man will ever contend with the glory in time. she is always ten thousand steps ahead. what we lose in time eternity will recreate, and connect us with the source of fortune.

so radical and so mysterious is the glory in nature. one look at the face of heaven and earth lays all petulance at rest, and soothes us to wiser convictions. to the intelligent, divine postman, nature converts itself to a vast promise, and will not be rashly explained. her secret is untold. many and many an oedipus arrives; he has the whole mystery teeming in his brain.

divine postman: alas! the same sorcery has spoiled his skill, alexander; no syllable can he shape on his lips. her mighty orbit vaults like the fresh rainbow into the deep, but no archangel’s wing was yet strong enough to follow it, and report of the return of the curve. but it also appears that our actions are seconded and disposed to greater conclusions than we designed. we are escorted on every hand through life, by spiritual agents.

a beneficent purpose always lies in wait for us, my friend. we cannot bandy words with nature, or deal with her as we deal with persons. if we measure our individual forces against hers we may easily feel as if we were the sport of an insuperable destiny. but if, instead of identifying ourselves with the work, we feel that the soul of the workman streams through us, we shall find the eternal peace of the morning dwelling in our hearts.

and the fathomless powers of earth, water, and fire pre-existing within us in their highest forms. iAM the worshipper of time, alexander, obeying her sovereign commands. she will destroy in order to rebuild causing a death within us of all that is foreign and proud, thus embedding our souls to her eternal roots. time is most wise and knows what was, what is, and what will be.

never underestimate the silence of nature, my friend, she is most powerful; she is the earth that quakes, the heaven that thunders, and the seasons that give life. when we oppress nature, we oppress ourselves. our relationship with nature is mirrored through the body. a sweet and harmonious union will produce fine physical features with great symmetry and perfect senses. nature is the bride of the soul, alexander, it is the home that we yearn for.

our history with our destiny is found in the bosom of the sun and moon; when we return to our native riches we unburden ourselves of all the toils the world imposes upon us. we are free when we set nature free. we cannot be too busy to observe the change in the stars. all our fortune depends on the changes above. someone needs to write, alexander, and embody to all of history the great glory that lives in nature.

alexander: the vegetable life does not content itself with casting from the flower or the tree a single seed. but it fills the air and the earth with a prodigiality of seeds, that, if thousands perish, thousands may plant themselves; that hundreds may sprout, that tens may ripen to maturity; that at least one may replace the original, and be a mark of history for future generations.

we suffer for the glory of the soul, that the world may see the purity mankind was designed to live in. he is great by his birth, divine postman, and when he is aligned with the truth, he will grow in everlasting beauty. nature is a guide, a blueprint, an image of the good in man, that his footstepts must follow in all his days. there is throughout nature something mocking, something that leads us on and on, but arrives nowhere, keeps no faith with us, my friend.

all promise outruns the performance. we live in a system of approximations, divine postman. every end is prospective of some other end, which is also temporary, a round and final success nowhere. we are circles, my friend, that go round and round in and out like the sea. we are encamped in nature, not domesticated. there is always a new destination that awaits us, upon the completion of the season’s workmanship.

the seasons are the cause of all that is good; they inspire an infinite growth in man, as they constantly discard the old and create the new. ambition and glory lead us on to read and to write; but money and possessions, mix and use them how you will, leave us discontent and always lusting for more. the flesh that we eat will blind us of the divine riches within, and create a hole that we will spend all our lives trying to fill, which will inevitably exasperate our hunger for wealth.

divine postman: thus reducing the earth into a garden, and fooling the eager pursuer. what is the end sought, alexander? plainly to secure the ends of good sense and beauty, from the intrusion of deformity or vulgarity of any kind. but what an operose method my friend! what a train of means to secure a little conversation!

every excess causes a defect; every defect will create an excess. the purpose of losing all things that are external is to begin reasoning with the soul. and express this great event in nature through our preferred artform. poetry, philosophy, music, sculpture, photography, painting, are the manifestation of the soul’s utterances to man. they are the records that preserve a man’s highest event in nature, when the soul left his body and conversed with the good immortals.

and he descended from the mountain or the belly of a whale to open the book for all nations. we are very divine beings, alexander, who know of worlds that we will inhabit. out of the human heart go as it were highways to the heart of every object in nature, to reduce it under the dominion of man. a man is a bundle of relations, a knot of roots, whose flower and fruitage is the world.

his faculties refer to natures out of him and predict the world he is to inhabit, as the fins of the fish foreshow that water exists, or the wings of the eagle in the egg presuppose air. we cannot live without a world, alexander, the soul is constantly building a home. every thought will cause an effect, and the decisions that we make every day will mould the living form. according to the sovereign laws in nature, it is impossible to acquire fortune externally.

alexander: many pathetic souls arrive, that are driven by ignorance, who will try to make water run uphill by attempting to force the laws of fortune to yield to them. she is unbending in her eternal law, divine postman. the only language that she understands is suffering and faith. she sports with time: can crowd eternity into a year, or stretch a year into eternity. she is always true to herself.

and the man in whom she has revealed herself to cannot wander from the present, which is infinite, to a future which would be finite. the tone of seeking is one, and the tone of having is another. the universal impulse to believe is the material circumstance and is the cause of fortune. this is the principal fact in the history of the world. the divine energy of fortune does not descend into individual life on any other condition, divine postman, than entire possession.

it comes to the lowly and simple, my friend, who will make their bed on the ground and consume a simple diet. it comes to whomsoever will put off what is foreign and proud. it comes as insight. it comes as serenity and grandeur. no mortal can ever seperate us from our natural history. let every man fight for his eternal home, and not succumb to the folly of those who choose to conform. wisdom is the great conqueror. it is the sword that will destroy all darkness, and inspire a living faith.

when i read plutarch, montaigne, leonardo, euripides and emerson iAM apprised of new degrees of greatness, as i perceive the simplicity of their character. so simple are the letters of seneca, and the dialogues of plato, so ordinary are the sketches of leonardo, but divine is the genius that utters the great word. every great genius in history, divine postman, was plain and true. they dedicated their whole lives to one great thought; seek one sole wisdom, my friend, and choose one soul good.

the old will die, and the new will rise. in all its pure growth it will be guided by all that is wise. wisdom is the shield preserving all that is pure and good in mankind. it is an impenetrable layer, that shelters the old and young. the souls that of hera’s own good life partake, she loves as her ownself. dear as her eye they are to her: she will never them forsake. when they shall die, then hera herself shall die; they live, they live in blest eternity. space is ample, divine postman, east and west, but two cannot go abreast.

divine postman: cannot travel in it two: yonder masterful cuckoo crowds every egg out of the nest, quick or dead except its own. a spell is laid on sod and stone, alexander, night and day have been tempered with, every quality and pith surcharged and sultry with a power that works its will on every age and hour. there can be no lasting communion between a man and a woman, the soul belongs to nature, my friend. nature is loved by what is best in us.

the ignorance of mothers and fathers will destroy their offspring. we need to give our lives to the study of wisdom, that we will be certain in our steps and not shrink from the rugged battle of fate, where wealth is born. victory will descend to the brave, who adapt to endure all the hardships that hera has placed before them. our prize is full when we remain patient,- greater is our glory in obedience to time.

your calling will find you, as you search for it, alexander, and deliver you from every burden. i did not ask to be the messenger, but i was chosen. to be the voice of the good in man. we all feel that we are greater than we know. we are made for perfection, my friend, our nature is designed to be one with the revolution of the stars. a man is a method, a progressive arrangement; a selecting principle, gathering his like to him wherever he goes. he takes only his own out of the multiplicity that sweeps and circles round him.

he is like one of those booms, alexander, which are set out from the shore on rivers to catch driftwood, or like the loadstone amongst splinters of steel. each man has his own vocation. the talent is the call. there is one direction in which all space is open to him, my friend. he has faculties silently inviting him thither to endless exertion. he is like a ship in a river, moving with grace and beauty. he runs against obstacles on every side but one, on that side all obstruction is taken away and he sweeps serenely over a deepening channel into an infinite sea.

this talent and this call, alexander, depend on his organization, or the mode in which the general soul incarnates itself in him. he inclines to do something which is easy to him and good when it is done, but which no other man can do. he has no rival, my friend, for the more truly he consults his own powers, the more difference his work will exhibit from the work of any other. his ambition is exactly proportioned to his powers. the height of the pinnacle is determined by the breadth of the base.

alexander: the results of life are uncalculated and uncalculable. the years teach much which the days never know. the centuries and the years are in constant communion, but the days are blind, divine postman; they can only see when they reach for the roots of faith in the century-old boab tree. time will build the great collossal that eternity designed. oh! so great you are little one. your humble footsteps will be the footprint in mankind’s history.

the persons who compose our company, converse, and come and go, and design and execute many things, and somewhat comes of it all, but an unlooked for result. the individual is always mistaken, divine postman. he designed many things, and aims at a simple yet great cause. all that he asked for was to write and to inspire at least one person with his word, and in return to receive his shelter, food, and clothing.

but he is mistaken, my friend. it turns out somewhat new and very unlike what he promised himself. his faithfulness to the truth raises him to a sublime heaven. and oh! what a future it promises, divine postman. he leaves all worldly relations behind, and claps his hands in infantine joy, as he dwells in the presence of ox-eyed hera. they say what goes up must come down, but do not let me fall, apollo. happy is the brave soul that will forsake all things to follow the golden star.

the eye of athene will never leave him. she will serve him all his days, and will guide the motion of his hands and feet. it is good to believe in the light and follow it to the end. it all started with a vision, divine postman, and now it explodes in glory. as i peservered and grew bold, i found a sustained faith, that envelops me in every season of my life. the art of life has a pudency and will not be exposed. every man is an impossibility, my friend, until he is born. what will you do when fortune is staring at you?

divine postman: i will not apologize or cower in the confines of fear, but i will be brave and hold my prize with my manhood. i have mastered all things, alexander; not death, not sickness, not poverty, not rejection, not disappointment, not fortune will ever seperate me from the force of love. it is the music that moulded me in my mother’s womb. i believe in the glory given to me, i will forever hold on to my history and walk with reverence towards my destiny. love will never fail.

everything is impossible until we see a success. persistence is the inborn energy of a child, who will fight to leave the womb, and see the light of day. every lesson that we need to succeed in our chosen endeavor is writ in the mother’s womb. from conception to giving birth, the process will teach the wisdom that is needed to rise in glory. we can only be great when we imitate the laws in nature. it is the root of our being; the soul of my soul.

when we learn to endure and move in harmony with the seasons, our faith will sustain us and we will give birth to our calling. the ardors of piety, alexander, agree at last with the coldest skepticism,- that nothing is of us or our works,- that all is of ox-eyed hera. nature will not spare us the smallest leaf of laurel. all writing comes by the grace of hera, and all doing and all having is bestowed by the golden star. discipline will lead us to the break of dawn.

it is only truth that makes rich and great, oh! believest as thou livest, alexander, a great purpose awaits thee. nature is preparing your soul for the glory that it will behold. cease to worry and live in the abundance of love. all that is good will come your way. in you is your might; you are to regard no good as solid, but that which is in your nature and which must grow out of you as long as you exist.

the goods of fortune may come and go like summer leaves; let us scatter them on every wind as the momentary signs of our infinite productiveness. let the glory of heaven silence the noise in man, and give him an eternal serenity. yes, alexander, i did become what i deserve. these floods of rain that i believed in consume the earth. it takes a joyful sound to make the world go round.

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divine postman: our earth is dry, ayanda. the cracks in the bare streams are the cracks within us. we have neglected the good earth, and chosen to exchange the glory in nature for the bustling city. the condition of the earth is the condition of man.

the lords of life, the lords of life,- i saw them pass in their own guise. like and unlike portly and grim, use and surprise, surface and dream. succession swift and spectral wrong, temperament without a tongue. and the inventor of the game without name,- some to see some to be guessed.

they marched from east to west, ayanda, little man least of all among the legs of his guardians tall, walked about with puzzled look. him by the hand dear nature took; dearest nature strong and kind whispered, ‘darling never mind! tomorrow they will wear another face, the founder thou, these are thy race.’

ayanda: where do we find ourselves, divine postman? in a series of which we do not know the extremes, and believe that it has none. we wake and find ourselves on a stair; there are stairs below us, which we seem to have ascended; there are stairs above us, many a one, which go upward and out of sight.

i have seen that all men are cowards, my friend. they desire riches but are not prepared to suffer for them. they are discontent with their lives and cheat on their wives; pretending to be loyal husbands before their children as they sleep with a restless heart.

what would this world be without wise mothers, divine postman? they clean up the mess that fathers make. all that men are concerned about when they meet our mothers is to gratify the senses. the soul says, ‘the man and woman shall be one flesh and one soul.’ the men will join the flesh only. and when a baby is conceived, they grumble and flee from responsibility.

divine postman: or, they claim, ayanda, that they will work for the dollar to raise the child but in all their busyness they become distant and never connect with the child emotionally. thus the young lad is moved from school to school, from hostel to hostel, as the parents hand him over to an institution.

they never have the time to raise him, as they are too busy working. he knows not where home is, my friend; he knows not who his mother is; he knows not who his father is. he begins to question things and learns of the abuse that his mother has endured while he is away at school and learns of the holes in the marriage.

upon the death of his mother he fights for her legacy and quits university to confront the truth. he learns that all he had, ayanda, was a father who was a manipulative bastard. he looks to his soul for guidance and sees many a revelation about his brave mother whom he never got to spend time with, but will honor her with the great talent he has been given.

ayanda: sleep lingers all our lifetime about our eyes, as night hovers all day long in the boughs of the fir tree. all things swim and glitter, our life is not so much threatened, divine postman, as our perception. ghost-like we glide through nature and should not know our place again.

did our birth fall in some fit of indigence and frugality in nature that she was so sparing of her fire and so liberal of her earth, that it appears to us that we lack the affirmative principle? and though we have health and reason, divine postman, yet we have no superfluity of spirit for new creation. we choose to dwell among the dry bones of the past, and fear the glory of the moon’s promise.

we have enough to live and bring the year about, my friend, but not an ounce to impart or invest in the future. ah! that our genius were a little more of a genius. we subject ourselves to poverty by neglecting the glorious soul. if any of us, divine postman, knew what we were doing, or where we are going, then we think we best know. we do not know today whether we are busy or idle.

there is so much fretting and fuming in the masses, that you would think something great was being done. the masses are not men, but poor men, that is, who would be rich if only they decided to think. however, they arrive with pains and sweat and fury nowhere. when all is done, divine postman, it is for nothing.

divine postman: they are like one who has interrupted the conversation of a great company of men to make his speech and now has forgotten what he went to say. the appearance strikes the eye everywhere, ayanda, of an aimless society of aimless nations. were the ends of nature so great and congent as to exact this immense sacrifice of men?

they desire great fortunes but never study the almighty laws of fortune and the roots that she abides in. oh! how you make fools out of men athena, giving them families and households, but never opening your divine stores. for none seek to know your mind. they seperate and split apart, never pursuing the whole of which all the parts consist of. is the earth not a sea of beauty, ayanda; then why do men beg for a cup of water?

all our days are so unprofitable while they pass, that ’tis wonderful where or when we ever got anything of this which we call wisdom, virtue, poetry. we never got it on any dated calendar day. some heavenly days must have been intercalated somewhere, like those that hermes won with the dice of the moon, that osiris might be born.

how many divine individuals can we count in society, ayanda, how many genuine brave actions, how many authentic utterances? so much of our time is preparation, so much routine, and so much retrospect, that the pith of each man’s genius contracts itself to a few hours. we want anything but our lives, my friend. all foolishness suffers the burden of dissatisfaction with itself.

ayanda: our life looks trivial, divine postman, and we shun to record it. notwithstanding this necessity to be published adequate expression is rare. it is said that all martyrdoms looked mean when they were suffered.

thus their sacrifices justify all the beauty that manifested through them. we do not readily give ourselves to the hardships of life, that we will be eternally rich; we idolize all that we see and fumble the fortune in our hands.

every ship is a romantic object except that we sail in. embark, and the romance quits our vessel and hangs on every other sail in the horizon. men seem to have learned of the art of perpetual retreating and repose, divine postman. they are always peeping above their walls and fences, never content with the lot they chose, or the one fate threw in their way.

‘yonder uplands are rich pasturage, and my neighbor has fertile meadow, but my field,’ says the quarelous farmer, ‘only holds the world together.’ in all his endeavors, man never once considers the sustenance of nature, but chooses to oppose her laws, thus perceiving life to be a competition and not a co-operation with nature. it is wise to follow the truth.

it is the trick of nature, divine postman, thus to degrade today; a good deal of buzz, and somewhere a result slipped magically in. every roof is agreeable to the eye, my friend, until it is lifted; then we find tragedy and moaning women and hard-eyed husbands, and deluges of lethe, and the men ask, ‘what is the news?’ as if the old were so bad.

they choose to have children, divine postman, and wives, and large hectares of land, unaware of the price they will pay for the rest of their lives to maintain a family and a household. what is sweet in the beginning will have a most bitter ending. and what is bitter in the beginning will receive the glory of the golden star. all is well, my friend, that ends well. patience, patience,- we shall win at last. there is victory yet for all justice.

divine postman: today the fools envy us, ayanda, for all our superabundant riches that we inherited from the sun and moon. but they are ignorant of the price that we paid; they know not the times of poverty, the times of absolute solitude, and the times of rejection. they know not the sorrows of the martyr, but idolize his crown. oh! so many tears we shed for these millions.

once the mind has understood the roots of fortune, it will grow eternal riches,- the soul is infinite in its divine growth. happy is he who will take a leap of faith, ayanda, and believe in the whispers of the sea. it is good to be grateful for the gift of life, and live in love. any man who does not think what he has is more than ample, is an unhappy man, even if he should be ruler of many servants.

it matters not whether one sleeps in a bed chamber with many virgins around him or whether one sleeps on the bare earth clutching his body. what matters most is to be thyself, and know thyself to be; and ever at thy season be thou free. the truth, my friend will prevail over all things. what eternity writ in the sun and moon, time will bring to light.

ayanda: let us not be discouraged upon cruel disappointments, my friend, but always remember that wisdom and virtue in due time will yield justice. never mind the ridicule, divine postman, never mind the defeat,- up again old heart! there is victory yet for all justice. fear not, then, thou child infirm, there is no god dare wrong a worm.

laurel crowns cleave to deserts, and power to him who power exerts. hast not thy share, divine postman? on winged feet, lo! it rushes thee to meet. and all that nature made thy own, floating in air or pent in stone, will rive the hills and swim the sea. and, like thy shadow, follow thee.

let us move in harmony with the season in our life and understand that nature is preparing us for a more illustrious abode. to live a life dictated by a paycheck is not really a life,- thinking that a job will solve all your problems and make you safe and secure is lying to yourself. the condition of the soul, divine postman, will never change because of your office or title. nothing great will ever come to you when the soul has not been moved by suffering to the atmosphere of love.

divine postman: it is only wisdom that can master the power of money,- man cannot be a slave to the dollar, he is the crown of all creation. it is good, ayanda, to forsake dollar, companion, mother, father, brother, sister, wife, for the pursuit of divine knowledge. she will fill up the vacancy between heaven and earth, and compensate every loss with abundant fortune, that grows in everlasting beauty.

when one rose dies, ten thousand more will grow. truly speaking, my friend, all that money is, is an illusion. what truly lives is your labor and the ends of labor which are wisdom and wealth can only be answered through obedience to pure motives and by the real exertions of both body and mind on knowledge and virtue. it is only in nature where we will see the whole.

without wisdom all external possessions, all honors, and all prosperity is meaningless; we must destroy in order to rebuild on the great rock. for all men live by truth, divine postman, and stand in need of expression. wisdom is the ocean that will never fail to deliver us,- she is the truth that will draw all men to her sooner or later; she is the light that lights the whole world,- the only hope for man.

ayanda: every moment instructs, and every object: for wisdom is infused into every form. it has been poured into us as blood, divine postman; it convulsed us as pain; it slid into us as pleasure; it sheltered us in dull, melancholy days, or in days of cheerful labor. we did not guess its worth until after a long time, when it asked to be the only possession in our life.

by nature we live in an ecosystem and not in a competitive struggle for survival. our nature is designed to benefit a community and not select individuals. we are bound by love, divine postman, not by money. the harvest of wisdom will give shelter to many nations of men, women, creatures, plants, and flowers. for wisdom is the whole and this because the heart in thee is the heart of all.

not a valve, not a wall, not an intersection is there anywhere in nature, my friend, but one blood rolls uninterruptedly an endless circulation through all things that live, as the water of the earth is all one sea, and, truly seen, its tide is one. oh! how abundantly rich we are in obedience, time will teach the patient heart.

unity can only be achieved through simplicity. the lowly who listen with humility to the message that the sun and moon bring will unite mankind. all men are allocated resources according to nature’s eternal providence. however, the dollar deceives men and women into thinking that they provide for themselves. when it is the sun, the moon, the winds, and the rain that grow their food, and supply all their daily needs.

paper money is a means of rejecting the everlasting truth of the seasons and leading an unnatural existence. it is only through studying nature and imitating her that we are millionaires. never do anything for money, for thou art apollo’s dearest child. nature gives us wisdom, divine postman, that we will not sell ourselves cheaply, but know that we are very great. the waves of the sea move forever forward and never backward.

oh! how fortune will rush the patient mind upon her coming. she is the boundless waters that will burst forth and quench the thirst of our long patient labor. the good is worthy to be pursued for its own sake, the ends of the earth will release our allotted glory at the perfect moment when apollo has aligned the stars, and hera has completed her great work in us. let loose those heavenly stores hecate, and fulfill the promise you made in styx,- eldest daughter of back-flowing ocean.

and let your divine glory not destroy us, but give us the wisdom of pallas athene to sustain it, and the heaven which the world exists to realize will be the transformation of genius into practical power. oh! we wait for that great day, divine postman, when love will burn in the heart-beat of the world like some forest fire,- invincible and forever silent.

divine postman: the things that are really for thee, ayanda, gravitate to thee. you are running to your friend. let your feet run but your mind need not. be at rest, my friend, for that which you are seeking is hounding after thee also. i have been to the mountaintop and i have found the promise land. you are preparing with eagerness to go out and render a service to which your calling and your taste invite you, the love of man and the hope of immortal fame.

has it not occured to you, ayanda, that you have no right to go, unless you are equally willing to be prevented from going? oh! believe as thou livest, that every sound that is spoken over the wide earth, which thou oughtest to hear, will vibrate on thine ear! every proverb, every book, every by-word, that belongs to thee for aid or comfort, shall surely come home through winding or open passages.

many will not believe in their crown, and will shun suffering. they will not give glory to the wondrous heaven and fruitful earth, but will eat meat while never shepherding any sheep. they mock nature with these cars and these homes, and mark the earth with ruin as they live for their wretched bellies. however, nature cannot be cheated there will be a great price to be paid, by all those who gather too much. nature will swell their estate but kill them along with their children.

thus maintaining her infinite balance. there is always some leveling circumstance, ayanda, that puts down the overbearing, the strong, the rich, the fortunate, substantially on the same ground with all others. nature hates monopolies and exceptions, my friend. the waves of the sea do not more speedily seek a level from their loftiest tossing than the varieties of condition tend to equalize themselves.

ayanda: the judgement of parents who exhaust the earth’s resources will fall not only upon them, but on their children and grandchildren also. nature will raise a house only to crush it to the ground. for every thing that man builds will return to the earth; it is only the divine creations of the soul that will endure beyond time. i see fire, divine postman, on the mountaintop and i know apollo will remember me.

the grace of giving is what set me free to soar on the wings of archangels. today my life is a service unto all humanity. ineffable is the union of man and nature in every act of the soul. the simplest person who in his integrity worships nature, becomes nature; holding the whole of heaven and earth in his mind. yet for ever and ever the influx of this better and universal self is unsearchable. it inspires awe and astonishment.

how dear, how soothing, how serene arrises the idea of nature to man, divine postman; peopling the lonely place, effacing the scars of cruel disappointments and rejections. when we have broken the god of tradition, and ceased from the god of rhetoric, then may the earth, with her stars and abounding waters, fire the heart with her presence. for joy will come to the faithful, and heaven will be their true inheritance.

nature will create equality for all mankind and point them to their native riches. she is the doubling of the heart, nay, divine postman, the infinite enlargment of the heart with a power of growth to a new infinity on every side. she inspires in us an infallible trust to create a sublime future. we have not the conviction, but the sight, the best is the truth.

and may in that thought easily dismiss all particular uncertainties and fears, and adjourn to the sure revelation of time the solution of our private riddles. in the presence of law to our mind we are overflowed with a reliance so universal that it sweeps away all cherished hopes and the most stable projects of mortal condition in its flood. we believes that we cannot escape from our inherent good.

so mournful is a life without the daily cultivation of virtue. it is dark on all sides, as it degrades into the barbarism of vulgar prosperity. the world is one, divine postman, the actions in matatiele affect those in new york. what you feel in your heart and confirm to be true in nature, is what millions of men and women also feel in their moments of solitude.

let us deal with the cause that nature has placed us in, and not flee from reality. you hold the key, divine postman, to your liberation and divine riches. oh! weep not, my dear, thy suffering is only for a while, thy joy is everlast; in the middle of difficulty lies opportunity. the things that are really for thee gravitate to thee. love and you shall be loved, give and it shall be given unto you. he that watereth will be watered.

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divine postman: once upon a time, emerson, people carried water on their heads, they walked to the river in a group and would have conversations about life and the journey of womanhood. through the act of drawing water they were united in spirit. they valued it and thought of it to be sacred.

the ancients made ocean and tethys the parents of creation, and described the oaths of the gods as being by water, to which they give the name styx. for what is oldest, emerson, is most honourable. and the most honorable thing is that by which one swears.

nature will swear her oath to man in water. it is agreed by the ancients that water is the universal primary substance. no man will ever bend the will of water. what makes homer, hesiod, herodotus, eternal is that they speak from within, and tell of all that they experienced in their journeys.

it is no use to speak to me from without, emerson, i will not listen to you, for i can easily do that myself. socrates always speaks from within and in a degree that transcends all others. in that is the miracle. i believe beforehand that it ought so to be. we must always speak from within the veil, where the word is one with that it tells of.

emerson: all things contain water, my friend, a man’s wealth lives in the sea. a man is rich when his body is water. how lovely is this ocean of air that we breathe, divine postman. the great sea is a mirror of the eternal riches of the soul. the same omniscience flows into the intellect, and makes what we call genius.

all wisdom lives in earth, water, and fire. our intellectual gifts need to always make the impression of virtue, and not become vices that stand in the way of our advancement in truth. genius is a larger imbibing of the common heart.

there is in all great poets a wisdom of humanity which is superior to any talents they exercise. the author, the wit, the partisan, the fine gentlemen, does not take place of the man. humanity shines in homer, in vergil, in ovid, in milton, in chaucer, in spenser, in shakespeare. they are content with truth, divine postman. and do notcompromise it.

they use the positive degree. they seem frigid and phlegmatic to those who have been spiced with the frantic passion and violent coloring of inferior but popular writers. a poet’s fame is in nature, not in the tongues of men. only the words that are sourced from the living water will quench centuries of men and women.

divine postman: a silent mind is as powerful as the waves of the sea. when its time has come it will rise beyond the frozen mountains, and cover the whole earth with its great glory. cursed be the man who opposes water, he will be destroyed by the rushing streams and when the still dams are let loose he will drown in misery.

oh! how we will rejoice, emerson, when the rivers, the fountains, and all the waterfalls will be uncurbed and race an unbridled course to the sea,- where all things will gather,- raising us in the mighty waves, to be honoured for all our faith. the glory in the ocean is the glory that we will receive. nature will give superabundantly to the patient mind.

the soul’s communication of truth is the highest event in nature, my friend. since it then does not give somewhat from itself, but it gives itself, or passes into and becomes that man whom it enlightens; or, in proportion to that truth he receives, it takes him to itself.

emerson: a thrill passes through all men at the reception of new truth, or at the performance of a great action, which comes out of the heart of nature. the flashing thunderbolt sends shivers through our body as we tremble before the might of apollo. in these communications, divine postman, the power to see is not seperated from the will to do.

but the insight proceeds from obedience, and the obedience proceeds from a joyful perception. all good lives in nature, she dwells in everlasting peace and treads softly in the heart of man. it is good to be always solitary,- more rich will our harvest be,- persist on your natural genius, divine postman, the seasons will justify your labor.

there is no good in the city, my friend, it is an attempt to manipulate nature. and in the end to destroy the beauty in man and woman. the soul is too precious to be sacrificed at the altar of materialism. the wise will take a leap of faith and return to their roots. leave the city behind and see what you will find,- a little patience will go a long way.

a great exodus there will be, divine postman, whereby man and woman sell and give all that they accumulated in cities to live in the silent woods, and listen to the song of the mountains. love will wipe away every transgression and set the captives free, healing the soul through quiet obedience.

divine postman: i find it hard to believe, emerson, that our culture loves not to read. they think that they have to be professors to translate thucydides. no one reads shakespeare in their leisure, or suckles the metamorphosis of ovid for the joy of it. our society is too busy to give to letters anymore.

we do not see literature as a means to teach us of the infinite splendor in the soul. the soul is superior to its knowledge, wiser than any of its works. the great poet makes us feel our own wealth, emerson, and then we think less of his compositions. he apprises us of our commonwealth.

the inspiration which uttered itself in the metamorphosis of ovid and the aeneid of virgil could utter things from day to day forever. it is the spirit in the living word that will shape the soul that beholds the great book. the wealth of intelligent activity in all of plutarch’s lives is the wealth in me.

the unceasing labor of michelangelo and the patience in the mind of leonardo is the strength and wisdom that i behold. why then should i make account of the mona lisa, emerson, or the cistine chapel, as if i had not the soul from which they fell as syllables from the tongue?

emerson: we do not teach ourselves the latin or the greek. we choose to cower in the shadow of institutions and never suffer for the knowledge of the soul. as a culture, divine postman, we have entrusted institutions with our learning. we do not understand that the world exists for the education of each man.

what people do is to pay some money to gain knowledge. thus learning becomes perverted as men and women will learn for an incentive. they perceive the dollar as a reward for learning and lose true riches. wisdom is the source of all fortune,- it is the blood that flows in our veins, and it will only come to life when we become a child. those that live for the dollar, divine postman, have not faith in the golden star, that will remember our patient labor.

nature can only compensate our suffering, and is indifferent about book learning. there will be truth in our studies when they conform to the laws of the sun and moon. the books that we read are as good as the virtue they impart. all knowledge is a waste, my friend, when it fails to renovate the condition of the soul. our learning is true when it returns us to our history. the further we stray from our natural roots, the further we will be from the grace of hera.

your history, my friend, will guide you to your destiny. the divine energy in true literature does not descend into individual life on any other condition than entire possession. it comes to the lowly and simple; it comes to whomsoever will put off what is foreign and proud; it comes as insight; it comes as serenity and grandeur. when we see those whom it inhabits, divine postman, we are apprised of new degrees of greatness.

divine postman: from that inspiration the man comes back with a changed tone. he does not talk with men with an eye to their opinion. he tries them. it requires of us, my friend, to be plain and true. people give up too easily on love, they never dedicate their whole life to the great thought that beats in their heart. schooling will breed consumers; it is only nature that can mould creators.

it is thus written, my friend, because it is thus in life. our action is overmastered and characterised above our will by the law of nature. we aim at a petty end, emerson, quite aside from the public good, but our act arranges itself by irresistable magnetism, in a line with the poles of the universe. oh! vanity, vanity, vanity are all things without wisdom. yes, there is a love above, my friend, that will never fail the patient below.

the art of life has a pudency, and will not be exposed. every man, emerson, is an impossibility until he is born; everything is impossible until we see a resounding success, that will make our jaws drop. the ardors of piety agree at last with the coldest skepticism,- that nothing is of us or our doing,- that all is of the great star. nature will not spare us the smallest leaf of laurel.

all writing comes by the grace of hera, and all doing and all having. everything is supplied from the vital force of the eternal. it is not good to trust in man or in anything that he makes, but to live in matrimony with the winds that blow, the waters that flow, the fire that burns, and the earth that gives. nature will never fail us, but will serve us all our days, from cradle to the grave.

the first in time and the first in importance of the influences upon the mind is that of nature. everyday, the sun; and, after sunset, night and her stars. ever the winds blow; ever the grass grows. everyday, men and women, conversing, beholding and beholden. the blogger is he of all men, emerson, whom this spectacle most engages.

emerson: he must settle its value in his mind. what is nature to him, divine postman? there is never a beginning, there is never an end, to the inexplicable continuity of this web of hera, but always circular power returning into itself. therein it resembles his own spirit, whose beginning, whose ending, he never can find,- so entire, so boundless.

far, too, as her splendors shine, system on system shooting like rays, upward, downward, without centre, without circumference,- in the mass and in the particle, nature hastens to render account of herself to the mind. i will teach the college dropouts, divine postman, and point them to the source of all knowledge,- the human soul. our purpose on this earth is to study nature.

we can only discover our identity in the presence of nature. we are to give of the knowledge that we have found, and not to possess it, but to empower the entire human race. the millions, that around us are rushing into life, cannot always be fed on the sere remains of foreign harvests. events, actions arise, that must be sung, that will sing themselves. let us uphold the truth, divine postman, in all that we do, and be the original unit designed by these waters, these fires, and this earth.

divine postman: whatever branch of knowledge we give ourselves to, if it is not guided by the spirit of nature, it is meaningless. as we make sacrifices of ourselves, emerson, by rejecting a family, a home, and material possessions that do not serve our purpose, we will raise many sons and daughters.

we can only feed the masses on truth when we abide in regions that are hidden in time. they lose themselves as they possess themselves. it is one of those fables, emerson, which, out of an unknown antiquity, convey an unlooked-for wisdom. that in the beginning the gods, divided man into men and women, that he might be more helpful to himself; just as the hand was divided into fingers, the better to answer its end.

give and it shall be given you, my friend, he that watereth will be watered. the world looks like a multiplication table or a mathematical equation, which, turn it how you will, balances itself. take what figure you will, emerson, its exact value, nor more nor less, still returns to you. it is sensible to live alone, and learn to grow.

the great treasures of the earth dwell in the remotest parts, where only a few will journey to. every act rewards itself, my friend, or, in other words, intergrates itself in a twofold manner; first in the thing or in real nature; and secondly in the circumstance or in apparent nature. to the young mind everything is individual, stands by itself, thus classification begins.

by and by, it finds how to join two things, and see in them one nature; then three, then three thousand; and so, tyrannized over by its own unifying instinct, it goes on tying things together, diminishing anomalies, discovering roots running underground, whereby contrary and remote things cohere, and flower out from one stem.

it presently learns, emerson, that, since the dawn of history there has been a constant classifying of facts. but what is classification but the perceiving that these objets are not chaotic, and are not foreign, but have a law which is also a law of the human mind?

emerson: the ambitious soul, divine postman, sits down before each refractory fact; one after another, reduces all strange contitutions, all new powers, to their class and their law, and goes on forever to animate the last fibre of organization, the outskirts of nature by insight. the wise mind will trace all things from their roots.

all things in nature, divine postman, are modelled on numbers. the whole of heaven is a musical scale. the elements of numbers are the elements of all things. beauty is a number, perfection is a number, the golden star will rise after the seasons complete a set number of revolutions. the harvest that a man will yield is modelled on the number of his patient labor.

numbers become words, words turn into shapes, and the combination of the three will produce sound; the influence of a man’s voice is determined by the depth of the number that he has suffered for. the effect of any writing on the public mind, divine postman, is mathematically measurable by its depth of thought.

how much water does it draw; what roots does it hold; does it reach the depth of the ocean? it will awaken the thought that it has explored. if it inspires you to think, divine postman, if it lift you from off your feet with the great voice of eloquence, then the effect is to be wide, slow, permanent, over the minds of men.

the great writer will move with the motion of the wise clouds,- and impart patience, serenity, and harmony in his craft. his mind is endowed with the grace of the heavens. the sun and moon, the clouds and stars belong in his own mind. he is nature, and speaks to the heart of mankind.

divine postman: the way to speak and write what shall not go out of fashion, emerson, is to speak and write sincerely, and express the truth that you feel in the soul. the argument which has not power to reach my own practice i may well doubt will fail to reach yours.

look in thy heart, and write, emerson! he that writes to himself writes to an eternal public. that statement only is fit to be made public which you have come at in attempting to satisfy your own curiosity. the writer who takes his subject from his ear, my friend, and not from his heart, should know that he has lost as much as he seems to have gained.

and when the empty book has gathered all its praise, and half the people say, ‘what poetry! what genius!’ it still needs fuel to make fire. that only profits which is profitable, my friend. life alone can impart life; and though we should explode we can only be valued as we make ourselves valuable. let success not limit us, emerson. let the thirst for wisdom move us forward. the soul is not a station but a progress, and will give new knowledge through positive motion.

emerson: there is a goddess above, divine postman, who will provide for all creatures and all mankind below, most beloved to her are the orphans whom she guides in patient love. she will give them a superabundant harvest, as they remained faithful to the cause of wisdom in spite of all indignities suffered. the whole earth is a wonderful dome, that listens to every thought, and feels a heart’s yearning.

there is a mind in these waters, that will shepherd and guide the lost ones. roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean- roll! ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain. man marks the earth with ruin, his control stops with the shore. there is only so much time that each man, each woman, and each creature has been given on this earth. we all have a spiritual guide that will lead us to our destiny.

we die when we reject our calling; and grow in love when we follow it. apollo will never fail to give a sign in the great skies. he writes poetry, as he shepherds these clouds over the mountains. a living faith is the fire that sets the heart ablaze, and imparts the mind of the silent one. patience, patience, divine postman, with the shades of all the good and great for company; and for solace, the perspective of your own infinite life.

and for work, the study and the communication of principles, the making those instincts prevalent, the conversion of the world. the healthy senses will make the healthy work, that nourishes the mind, the body, and the soul of man. truly my friend we are rich, it is impossible for man to be poor in the arms of the wise stars. all that is needed from us is to suffer for this unfailing love.

the results of life are uncalculated and uncalculable. the years teach much which the days never know. the moon is all wise and knows all things; the sun will bring her wisdom to light. the persons and events who compose our company, converse, and come and go, and design and execute many things, and somewhat comes of it all, divine postman, but an unlooked for result.

go your way my friend, athena will take you there,- to will is to believe. start something today, and your faith in your construction of it will raise you to be a man; the journey, divine postman, is the reward. the individual is always mistaken.

he designed many things, and drew in the gods as coadjutors. it turns out somewhat new and very unlike what he promised himself. he is in for a mill, but receives a million. humility always comes before honor.

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