divine postman: the universe is a slow effect. all things in nature will move at a sustained pace. the flowers are steady in their growth; the clouds are perfect in their patient motion; the trees are never hasty, but are always rooted in the grace of the seasons and obey the hand of time.

our growth can only take place within, cato; nature is constantly preparing us for the change that she will bring at the passing of the seasons. the laws in nature are the laws in man. whatever obstacles have been placed before us, the soul knows how it will succeed. once it has leaped above the barrier, it will teach us how to sustain the victory.

there are many mountains that we will climb, cato, the wisdom gained is the wealth earned. patience is the cause of fortune; success treads on every left and right step. yes, we are the cowed, my friend,- we the trustless. it is a mischievous notion that we are come late into nature; that the world was finished a long time ago. as the world was plastic and fluid in the hands of hera, so it is ever so much of her attributes as we bring to it.

to ignorance and fear, it is flint. they adapt themselves to it as they may; but in proportion as a man has anything in him divine, the firmament flows before him and takes his signet and form. not he who is great who can alter matter, cato, but he who can alter my state of mind. they are the kings of the world who give the colour of their present thought to all nature and all art.

cato: and persuade men by the cheerful serenity of their carrying the matter, that this thing which they do, is the apple which the ages have desired to pluck, now at last ripe. and inviting nations to the harvest. the great man makes the great thing. the world is sustained by the spontaneous creations of the great mind, that believes in its great thought. the mind is the maker of all good and all evil.

there is one mind common to all individual men, divine postman. every man is an inlet to the same and to all of the same. he that is once admitted to the right of reason is made a freeman of the whole estate. what plutarch has thought, he may think; what pythagoras has felt, he may feel; what at any time has befallen cyrus the great, he can understand.

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 days of war were good, divine postman, men did not waste their time in idleness. they lived with purpose and vigour never wasting the precious rays of the sun in brothels and offices and houses. the day is always his, who works in it with serenity and great aims.

the unstable estimates of men crowd to him whose mind is filled with a truth, as the heaped waves of the atlantic follow the moon. the men and women in our society are parlor soldiers. they shun the rugged battle of fate, where strength is born; the great pleasures in life can only be enjoyed through great suffering. let us confront the truth, divine postman, and be the conscious of the world upholding righteousness.

divine postman: i used to be a christian, cato, and a proud believer until i saw the deception i was living under. i had gained the whole world but came close to losing my soul. nature with her naked loveliness knocked on my door, and bid me sell and give all that i own. i abandoned this useless home filled with fleeting pleasures, and found my eternal home in the rocks, the trees, the mountains, the sea.

i see young men and young women, whose misfortune it is to have inherited farms, houses, cars, helicopters, yachts, barns, cattle, and farming tools; for these are more easily acquired than gotten rid of. they are bolts and bars that will keep them confined, cato! all their lives will be spent maintaining these things. better if they had been born in the open pasture and suckled by a wolf, that they might have seen with clearer eyes what field they were called to labor in.

why should they begin digging their graves as soon as they are born? all things are resolved to their centre, my friend, by their cause. let them live a man’s life, and search for the wisdom that sustains all life. how many a poor immortal soul have i met, cato, well-nigh crushed and smothered under its own load, creeping down the road of life and dieing in ignorance.

the portionless, who struggle with no such unnecessary inherited encumberances, find it labor enough to subdue and cultivate a few cubic feet of flesh. but men labor under a mistake, cato, the better part of the man is soon plowed into the ground for compost. they are mowed down by their ignorance, and are spit out into retirement by the institutions that used them as tools.

cato: by a seeming fate, commonly called necessity, they are employed, as it says in an old book, laying up treasures which moth and rust will destroy and thieves break through and steal. it is a fool’s life, as they will find out when they get to the end of it, if not before. all that lives, divine postman, is this heart that beats; when it stops, all that a man owns will never bring the pulse back.

never let man tell you what you can or cannot do, but be thyself and know thyself to be and ever at thy season be thou free. i will persist on my soul’s emphasis, divine postman, and follow the grace of the seasons. we like only such actions as have already long had the praise of men, and do not perceive that anything man can do may be divinely done.

iAM the child of the star that orders all things under the sun and moon. we think greatness entailed or organized in some duties, divine postman, in certain offices or occasions, and do not see that the advancing soul will manifest the beauty it formed through the seasons. a man is a method, a progressive arrangement; a selecting principle, a golden impossibility, gathering his like to him wherever he goes.

the line he must walk is a hair’s breadth. he takes only his own out of the multiplicity that sweeps and circles round him. he is like one of those booms, divine postman, which are set out from the shore on rivers to catch driftwood, or like the loadstone amongst splinters of steel. all that we love will come running back to us.

it is good to take a leap of faith, my friend, and forsake all possessions and all companions to search for the truth. oh! divine your harvest will be; for apollo will raise thee beyond what thou had ever conceived, and thou will sit on the very same seat with hera, overlooking the whole earth, exercising dominion over all men. go your way, divine postman, and show mankind the glory of the living soul.

divine postman: our fortune is in proportion to our giving. the millionaire is the mind that believes in the native good in man, and lays down his life restoring mankind to its divine state. the most public place, cato, is the most solitary. the blogger in utter solitude remembering his spontaneous thoughts and recording them, is found to have recorded that which men in crowded cities find true for them also.

he then learns, that in going down to the secrets of his own mind, he has descended into the secrets of all minds. oh! how the gods desire to do a great work in us. he who has mastered any law in his private thoughts, cato, is master to that extent of all men whose language he speaks, and of all into whose language his own can be translated. let us not distrust the fitness of our frank confessions, my friend, for we are the compliment of our hearers.

they drink of our words because we fulfill for them their own nature completing their partial experience. the deeper we dive into our privatest, secretest presentiment, to our wonder we will find, that this is the most acceptable, most public, and most universally true. the conscious ones delight in it; the better part of every man feels, this is my music, this is myself.

cato: anyone who can consciously and consistently set his soul ablaze with a living faith and hope, builds for himself in solitude a life that is voluptuous and delightful beyond any other kind of life. you should no longer be concerned of what the world says of you, divine postman, but with what you say to yourself. but first prepare to receive yourself there.

it would be madness to entrust yourself to yourself if you cannot govern yourself. there are ways to fail in solitude as in company. the hardest labor of all is to know thyself; to worship the soul is to master thyself. we have a soul that can turn in on itself, divine postman, it can keep itself company. the gods will only trust us with their wise ways when we are content with ourselves. filling our minds with their divine promises; focusing on the great star that is infinite in goodness and power.

the great stars must be just, they leave every man, with profound unconcern, to set his own rate. hero or driveller, they meddle not in the issue. they will certainly accept your own measure of doing and being, whether you sneak about and deny your own name, or whether you see your work produced to the concave sphere of the universe, one with the revolution of the stars. the stars will never fail to guide you, divine postman,- they will carry you home in quiet obedience.

all that does not conform with their motion is a waste. whatever labor you put your hand to it will be fruitless, when it is not in harmony with the seasons. the rushing mob reject the wisdom in nature, and plague themselves with incessant toils. why should we make it a point with our false modesty, to disparage that man we are and that form of being assigned to us?

a good man is contented, divine postman. i love and honor emerson, but i do not wish to be emerson. i hold it more just to love the world of this hour, than the world of his hour. nor can you, if iAM true, excite me to the least uneasiness by saying, ‘he acted, and you sit still.’ i see action to be good, when the need is, and sitting still to be also good. emerson, if he was the man i perceive him to be, would have sit still with joy and peace, if his lot had been mine.

divine postman: heaven is large, cato, and affords space for all modes of love and fortitude. why should we be busybodies and superserviceable like the fools who rush to offices and schools every morning? action and inaction are alike to the true. one piece of the tree is cut for the weathercock and one for the sleeper of a bridge; the virtue of the wood is apparent in both.

i desire not to disgrace the soul, cato; the fact that iAM here certainly shows me that the soul had need of an organ here! shall i not assume the responsibility? shall i skulk and dodge and duck with my unseasonable apologies and vain modesty and imagine my being here impertinent? shall i crouch in fear, and reject the calling that iAM here to fulfill, and forsake the treasure iAM to find?

the good soul nourishes me and unlocks new repositories of power and enjoyment to me everyday. it reciprocates my presence and supplies my own needs. i will not meanly decline the immensity of good, because i have heard that it comes to others in another shape. besides, why should we be cowed by the name of action? ’tis a trick of the senses,- no more.

we know, cato, that the ancestor of every action is thought. it is the seed that will yield the fruit. the poor mind does not seem to itself to be anything unless it have an outside badge,- some meaningless machine, or burdening household, or religious affiliation, or suit and boots and high heels, or office, or title, or any how, some wild contrasting action to testify that it is somewhat. all men and all women desire significance, however most find it in fleeting pleasures that are the spring of their discontent.

the rich mind lies in the sun and sleeps, my friend, and is nature. it is rooted within and has no business with the noise of everyday routine. to think is to act! to be wise is to wait. it may seem to the ignorant mob that the solitary blogger is inactive and idle. but he is moving the soul within as he meditates on plato, and observes the folly of the world. he is the world’s mind, cato, his wisdom will sustain the age. the blogger’s success is mirrored by the bamboo tree.

he will nourish his soul for four years, without any conceivable growth, but at the turn of the fifth year, he will receive his glory and be a voice unto many, honoured by all nations. evermore welcome to gods and men is the self-helping mortal. for him all doors are flung wide; him all tongues greet; him all honors crown; him all eyes follow with desire. our love goes out to him, cato, because he did not need it.

we solicitously and apologetically celebrate and caress him because he held on his way and scorned our disapprobation. he believed in his divinely inspired thought and stood for truth and beauty. to the persevering mortal, the gods are swift, cato. the gods love him because men hated him. he is the product of nature,- the patient mind of athena. every fact he understood and every journey he honoured and now he lives in blest eternity, one with hera. i, now, know, my friend, that all good belongs to the great soul and may be had if paid for according to nature’s lawful coin. i will follow the star.

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divine postman: we live in seasons, in moments that come and go, that grow and die. the rose will charm us with its splendid beauty but once it has bloomed in full and pleased the heart of the weary traveller, it will accept death and let its petals graciously fall to the ground. our life is mirrored by the flowers that grow around us and the trees that bloom and whither.

our time on this earth is limited, nthebeleng, we know not how long we have, but know that it could all end at any moment. i feared to live by the pen and did not believe that with what i write i make the future, and attract all fortune in my presence. but i embraced my calling and stepped into the unknown and decided to walk in love with every left and right step.

there is only one great truth on this earth, nthebeleng, and it is the living soul. our duty is not to question what it commands but to obey and grow in faith. truly, it demands something godlike in him who has cast off the empty endeavors of humanity and has ventured to trust himself for a taskmaster. high be his will, faithful his heart, clear his sight, that he may in good earnest be doctrine, law, kingdom to himself.

that a simple purpose may be to him as strong as air is necessity to life. it is good to trust your inborn instinct and head confidently in the direction of your dreams. nature desires to do a great work in us, with every moment she will instruct, and raise our trembling hand. all that is required from us is to obey, and remain rooted in the presence of the living soul.

nthebeleng: the soul is as light as a feather, it is as fluid as water; but it cannot create change in our lives when it is cluttered with heavy burdens, and will become stagnant when the agent interferes with its optimism. it will only create a revolution when all worldly relations hang very loosely about us.

and the individual becoming as it were a transparent fluid membrane through which the living form is seen. if any man consider the present aspects of what is called by distinction society, divine postman, he will see the need of wisdom; for it is the roots that bind us in all our days. the sinew and heart of man seem to be drawn out. and we are become timorous, desponding whimperers.

we are afraid of truth, divine postman, afraid of fortune, afraid of death, afraid of utter solitude; we are afraid of poverty, afraid of living, afraid of our superwise genius and afraid of each other. our age yields no great and wise persons. we want men and women who shall renovate life and our social state. but we see that most natures are insolvent, my friend, cannot satisfy their own wants, have an ambition out of all proportion to their practical force and do lean and beg day and night continually.

we have become a mob, and do not believe that the future will bring greater riches. man does not stand in awe of man, nor is his genius admonished to stay at home, to put itself in communication with the internal ocean, but it goes abroad to beg a cup of water of the urns of other men. we must always live alone, divine postman; i like the silent woods better than any company of men and women and children. in times of heavy sorrow time will break us down to build us again anew.

divine postman: thus let us always sit at home with the cause, nthebeleng; let us not rove and lose ourselves in the crowd. let us stun and astonish the intruding rabble of men, and books, and institutions, by a simple declaration of the divine fact. bid the invaders take the shoes from off their feet, my friend, for hera, apollo, and athena is here within. happy is the mind that dwells in the presence of the gods.

let our simplicity judge them, and our docility to our own law demonstrate the poverty in nature, and fortune beside our native riches. everything that we believed in will come true, nthebeleng,- true everlasting fortune that will not rust or be subject to thieves who break in and steal will never fail to honor us in glory. i will so trust, my friend, that what is deep is holy.

and i will do strongly before the sun and moon and star whatever inly rejoices me and the heart appoints. our houses lack character, our arts, our occupations, our families, our marriages, our food we have not chosen, but society has chosen for us. we are parlor soldiers, nthebeleng. we shun the rugged battle of fate where strength is born. we do not fight for the good in man, but prattle and play in the darkness destroying ourselves in fleeting pleasures.

pleasures of a depraved nature are apt to carry feelings of dissatisfaction, even when they are over. such pleasures are insubstantial and unreliable; even if they do not do any harm, they are fleeting in character; look around for some enduring good instead, nthebeleng. and nothing answers this description except what the spirit discovers for itself within itself.

a good character is the only guarantee of everlasting, carefree happiness. even if some obstacle to this comes on the scene, its appearance is only to be compared to that of clouds which drift infront of the sun without ever defeating its light. the good in man will never die, my friend, it is the infinite light that guards the heavens and all things below.

nthebeleng: we have come to hate our bodies, we have rejected our minds and sold our souls. we do what is easy, as we choose all that is convenient. it is only suffering that will empower us, and align our hearts with the eternal justice. the changes which break up at short intervals the prosperity of men and women are advertisements of a nature whose law is growth.

every soul is by this intrinsic necessity, divine postman, quitting its whole system of things, its friends and home and laws and faith, as the young genius walks out of his old home because it no longer admits of his growth and slowly forms a new home within. in proportion to the vigor of the individual these revolutions are frequent, until in some happier mind they are incessant.

if our young men and young women miscarry in their first enterprise they lose all heart. if the young graduate fails to find an office, men say he is ruined and he complains for the rest of his life as he is disheartened. if the finest genius studies at these colleges and decides to dropout, as he has discerned a greater truth, society labels him as a failure and a quack. but in all that he does, divine postman, he trusts himself and walks with courage and confidence.

he explores his curiosity, my friend, and never accepts the confines of fear that mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, cousins and aunts live in. he steps into the unknown and like a cat falls on his feet. he walks abreast with his days and feels no shame in ‘not studying a profession.’ for he does not postpone his life but lives already. he has not one chance, divine postman, but a thousand chances. and is worth a thousand times than all these city dolls. let the young genius stretch his mind and body by traversing the whole scale of experience, and discover a new world that will renovate life and our social state.

divine postman: we know and feel that we are great. but as we walk in society this voice grows faint and inaudible. we grow cold with time, and forsake the warmth of love. there is no grace in our actions, but only apathy and a pessimism. we hate the good in nature, and grow concrete and walls. we curse the rain, nthebeleng, as it splatters on the concrete and wastes away.

let a stoic open the resources of man and tell men they are not leaning willows, nthebeleng, but can and must detach themselves from all that is foreign and proud; that with the exercise of self-trust, new powers shall appear; that a man is the word made flesh, born to shed healing to the nations. that he should be ashamed of our compassion.

the moment he acts from himself, tossing the laws, the books, idolatries and customs out of the window, we pity him no more, my friend, but thank and revere him. and that teacher shall restore the life of man to its original state and make his name dear to all history. mediocrity can no longer be tolerated, nthebeleng, let us be the image of the living soul, that walks in purity, in truth, and in beauty.

nthebeleng: it is good to rise with the song of birds. they implore us to come out of our crowded homes and welcome the beautiful dawn. we nestle in nature, divine postman, and draw our living as parasites from her roots and grains, and we receive glances from the heavenly bodies, which call us to solitude and foretell the remotest future. the blue zenith is the point in which reality and romance meet.

oh! how dear is the price of having children. it will subject mothers and fathers to unceasing burdens. we lose our native riches, divine postman, as we pursue a family. the gain is apparent and the tax is certain. the joy derived from a family is fleeting. all things that we pursue out of self-interest will let us down. the love of wisdom will never fail us, for it will enrich not only our own soul, but the universal soul of mankind. wisdom will yield a superabundant harvest and inspire man and woman to live an expansive life.

there is beauty only in the whole, divine postman. the toils that nature plagues parents with is the cost they pay for the offspring they have bred. oh! let nature be free, my friend, let us be content with ourselves, and sacrifice our seed,-abundant riches she will bring, and charm us all our days with her wise ways. i truly believe, that every soul is eternally wealthy, and will give in full when we align ourselves with our purpose. in patience our glory will superabound.

divine postman: the man is all, and heaps all good before his feet with wisdom. everything has two sides, nthebeleng, a good and an evil. every advantage has its tax. i learn to be content in the presence of athena. the doctrine of compensation is not the doctrine of indifferency. the thoughtless say, on hearing these representations,- what boots it to do well?

there is one event to good and evil. if i gain any good i must pay for it; if i lose any good i gain some other. all actions are indifferent, my friend. what we love will follow us; and what we hate will lop itself away as we exercise our wisdom. what lives is the air that i breathe, the light on my skin, and the water that i drink. it is good to be hated by man, and loved by nature. i cannot sell my liberty and power to save the sensibility of others.

check this lying affection and lying hospitality, nthebeleng. live no longer to the expectation of these deceived and deceiving people with whom we converse. i cannot carry the burdens of another; my hands and feet can only hold my own sorrows. i will not hurt myself and those with whom i converse by hypocritical attentions. iAM to give my whole soul to the purpose that heaven and earth has called me to fulfill.

there is a deeper fact in the soul than compensation, to wit, its own nature. the soul is not a compensation but a life. the soul is, nthebeleng! under all this running sea of circumstance, whose waters ebb and flow with perfect balance, lies the aboriginal abyss of real being. essence, or love, is not a relation or a part but the whole.

oh! how beautiful and sweet is the ending of a journey that started bitterly. it is more satisfying to the soul, than all the silver and gold in the world. victory is mine, nthebeleng! patience is the key that will ope the solid doors within whose vaults our glory sleeps. nature will never fail; for no machines, no bustling city street, and no tragedy will ever destroy her might. she is sovereign over all men, all creatures, and all plants. her kingdom will come, but in patience she will increase her glory.

nthebeleng: nothing will ever change when the soul has not been regenerated. there is divinity in all men, when we let it shine through us the firmament will take our signet and form. being is the vast affirmative, excluding negation, self-balanced, and swallowing up all relations, parts and times within itself. nature, truth, virtue, are the influx from thence.

vice is the absence or departure of the same. nothing, falsehood, may indeed, divine postman, stand as the great night or shade on which as a background the living universe paints itself forth, but no fact is begotten by it; it cannot work, for it is not; it cannot work any good, it cannot work any harm. it is harm inasmuch as it is worse not to be than to be.

in self-trust, all the virtues are comprehended. free should the blogger be, divine postman,- free and brave. free even to the definition of freedom, without any hindrance which does not arise out of his own constitution. brave; for fear is a thing, which a blogger by his very function puts behind him. fear always springs from ignorance, my friend.

it is a shame to him, divine postman, if his tranquility, amid dangerous times, arise from the presumption, that, like children and women, his is a protected class; or if he seek a temporary peace by the diversion of his thoughts from vexed questions, hiding his head like an ostrich in the flowering bushes, peeping into microscopes, and turning rhymes as a boy whistles to keep his courage up. so is the danger a danger still; so is the fear worse.

divine postman: manlike let him turn and face it, nthebeleng! let him look into its eye and search its nature, inspect its origin,- see the whelping of this lion and not flee from it, but open its jaws and count its teeth to not be deceived by its roar. and in the end tame it with his hands, silencing it like the peaceful dawn.

he will then find in himself a perfect comprehension of its nature and extent. and understand why men capitulate to it. he will have made his hands meet on the other side, and can henceforth defy it, and pass on superior. a glorious strife seems waging within us, my friend, yet so noiselessly that we but just catch the sound of the clarion ringing of victory, borne to us on the breeze.

there are in each the seeds of a heroic ardor, nthebeleng, which need to be only stirred in with the soil where they live, by an inspired voice or pen, to bear fruit of a divine flavor. the world is his, my friend, who can see through its pretension. what deafness, what stone-blind custom, what overgrown error you behold, is there only by sufferance,- by your sufferance.

see it to be a lie, and you have already dealt it its mortal blow. a man, a child, a woman can do absolutely anything they set their heart to. i will love, i will learn, and i will grow, nthebeleng,- this life is mine to live, i will do what is right before heaven and earth. against all odds the rose will bloom in eternal beauty. although it will perish as spring is lost in the summer, it will leave a lasting memory in our hearts. it is all that is free, and invites men to her serenity, that they will create as splendid a beauty.

nthebeleng: we can only be eternally rich in obedience. without discipline there can be no freedom. it is good to cast off all chains that bind the wise soul, and live in eternal matrimony with her. the soul is all light and when we lie low, it will have its way through us, and bring forth all that we believe in our heart. our faith is the cause of all that we hold.

everything starts with a seed, divine postman, as we believe and grow in faith the seasons will mould and order the vision that we hold within. as we persevere, my friend, and endure the hardships that hera has placed before us, the seed will metamorphoses to life and upon the coming of the star, we will give birth to a new mind.

he who has put forth his total strength in fit actions has the richest return of wisdom. if it were only for a vocabulary, the blogger would be covetous of action. life is our dictionary. let us feel all confidence in ourselves, divine postman, and to defer never to the popular cry. it is only the wise alone that knows the world, and will instruct and order many. the world of any moment is the merest appearance.

some great decorum, some fetish of a government, some ephemeral trade, or war, or man, is cried up by half mankind and cried down by the other half, as if all depended on this particular up or down. the odds are that the whole question, divine postman, is not worth the poorest thought, which the blogger has lost in listening to the controversy. let him not quit his belief that a popgun is a popgun, though the ancient and honorable of the earth affirm it to be the crack of doom.

divine postman: all that we sacrificed to live for a divine purpose will come running after us. time will remove all the weeds that prevent the appearance of the soul. the clutter in our lives is the burden that weighs the soul. it is good to breathe and express the freedom that lives within. we treasure that which is prepared for us by heaven in secret, and despise what is routine and predictable.

in silence, in steadiness, in severe abstraction, let us hold by ourselves, nthebeleng; add observation to observation, patient of neglect, patient of reproach; and bide our own time; happy enough, if we can satisfy ourselves alone, that this day we have seen something truly. success treads on every left and right step. for the instinct is sure, my friend, that prompts us to tell another what we think. let us trust in our wisdom and believe in the purpose we have been called to fulfill. nature will prepare each man and each woman for a single divine purpose.

all things are resolved to their centre by their cause. oh! death how you will uproot and tear down and crush like pottery, while patiently reordering the chosen one. life is not a competition, it is a journey of the soul whereby we learn that in going down into the secrets of our own mind, we descend into the secrets of all minds. we die when we stop conversing with the soul. he who has mastered any law in his private thoughts, nthebeleng, is master to that extent of all men whose language he speaks, and of all into whose language his own can be translated.

where were you, my friend, when the great star dawned casting all fears aside and unfolding all that is new? where were you, nthebeleng, when the earth bloomed in beauty giving us flashes of the heaven that awaits our coming? the blogger in utter solitude, remembering his spontaneous thoughts and recording them, is found to have recorded that, which men in crowded cities find true for them also. the orator distrusts at first the fitness of his frank confessions,- his want of knowledge of the persons he addresses.

until he finds that he is the compliment of his hearers; that they drink his words because he fulfils for them their own nature. the deeper he dives into his privatest, secretest presentiment, to his wonder, nthebeleng, he finds, this is the most acceptable, most public, and universally true. the people delight in it; the better part of every man feel, “this is my music, this is myself.”

it is only in silence when we will discern the truth. the noise is most lonely, and desperate; the perfect silence is the universal mind that all men and all women hear in wise moments. in her eternal grace she will lull all sorrow to sleep, and meet us with bundles of flowers to give us shelter far above these birds. all sorrow, all suffering, all mourning is purposed to cause us to obey the divine will of time, that we may learn to worship the great soul. this truth, i know, nthebeleng: there is nothing more astounding in beauty than the human soul. it will move the stars above and yield a treasure in the roots of the ground. let all men and all women tremble before time.

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divine postman: the clouds are resting on the mountain this morning. the air is cold with the wind floating from the grey clouds. my body tells me, that this is the perfect time to start a fire. but we are trapped in concrete, walls, and fences. there is no room to gather around a fire, and watch the beautiful morning ebbing away into the eternal mountains.

iAM reminded of the heat that burned us in the spring, demosthenes, as i behold the abundant rains in these early summer days. there is wisdom in nature, that will compensate the dry barren days with rich stores of rain. she remembers the days when the sweat was streaming on our faces; and cools our brows with the calming fog and the wise grey clouds.

these enchantments are medicinal, they sober and heal us. these are plain pleasures, demosthenes, kindly and native to us. we come to our own, and make friends with the trees, the birds, the mountain rocks. which the ambitious chatter of schools would persuade us to despise. there is a home that will give shelter to the lost ones, the rebels, the misfits.

demosthenes: we can never part with it, divine postman; the mind and the body loves its old home: as water to our thirst, so is the rock, the ground, to our eyes and hands and feet. it is firm water; it is cold flame; what health, what affinity! ever an old friend peopling the lonely places, effacing the scars of our mistakes and cruel disappointments. ever like a dear friend when we chat affectedly with strangers, comes in this honest face, and takes a grave liberty with us, and shames us out of our nonsense.

i emptied myself for the love of mankind; i laid my whole soul down because i believed in the native good in man. there is no rock i did not uncover, there is no mountain i did not climb, and there is no river i did not cross. i have seen it all under the sun, divine postman; from the good to the bad, from the light to the darkness; from heaven to hell i have traversed. and, now, i know, that there is no power greater than the infinite glory of love. no matter what deserts and fires i walk she holds me in her arms like a baby kissing away all the tears.

all those who oppose her will be destroyed; and all those who believe in her everlasting grace, regardless of the torments, the sorrows, and the calamity they have been inflicted with, will live to receive the crown that she prepared for them. oh! what is man, hera, that you make so much of him that you give him so much attention and test him every moment. search and never stop believing, divine postman, and the light that rose on the first dawn will break-through all darkness; and the spirit of pallas athene will descend upon you.

divine postman: the advancing man discovers how deep a property he has in literature,- in all fable as well as in all history. he finds that the poet was no odd fellow who described strange and impossible situations, but that universal man wrote by his pen a confession true for one and true for all. my own secret biography, demosthenes, i find in lines wonderfully intelligible to me, dotted down before i was born.

one after another i come up in my private adventures with every fable of homer, of hesiod, of ovid, of vergil, of milton and verify them with my own hands and feet. there is some awe mixed with the joy of our surprise, demosthenes, when this poet, who lived in some past world, five or ten thousand years ago, says that which lies close to my own soul, that which i also had well-nigh thought and said. but for the evidence thence afforded to the philosophical doctrine of the identity of all minds, we should suppose some pre-established harmony, some foresight of souls that were to be.

and some preparation of stores for their future wants, like the fact observed in insects, who lay up food before death for the young grub which they will never get to see. the living word will never fail us, my friend,- it is all that we need to succeed in the art of life. life can only be sourced from life. the individual man holds the greatest power in creation: the power to choose. he is the creator of his life and shapes it according to the decisions that he makes on a daily basis.

if a man can cause a baby to be born, he must possess the power to sustain him. oh! what a miracle it is to conceive and give birth to life in this world. however, demosthenes, before we decide to bring life into the firmament, let us first study nature and suckle the wisdom in the earth’s teat; the gracious clouds, the grass that grows, the rose that blooms steadily, the stars that shine in the night, will never fail to guide and instruct us in all our days under the sun and moon. it is good to forsake all things and love nature purely for the joy in her presence. the root of my being is in the roots of the earth.

the masses will only acknowledge nature when they receive something from her; they seek not to study her undying truth. thus they are plagued with unceasing toils because of their failure to accept grace. the lords of life, the lords of life, i saw them pass, demosthenes; 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 omnipresent without name; some to see, some to be guessed; they marched from east to west.

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!’ how lovely are these human hands that ever-so steadily create their own fate. let all men and all women and all children have faith in their story. it is no chance that you are on this earth, demosthenes; there is a unique purpose that you are called to fulfill. look to the abundant plants, each of them will yield a unique fruit and give life to all nations. our glory is in proportion to our obedience to time; heaven will never fail the patient.

demosthenes: patience is the great god that weaves in and out of all things beautiful. let us not be deceived by the dollar, divine postman, and believe that it is what grants all things. i will not sell the life in these hands and feet to airconditioned offices and crowded city streets. the village is the mind of heaven and earth, iAM called to live in community. it is most mournful to live for one’s own household; the world is one. we grow in unity, we die in isolation. a household will be charming in the beginning as the wife, the husband, and the children eagerly move in; but it ends in a headache.

every roof is agreeable to the eye until it is lifted; then we find tragedy and moaning women and hard-eyed husbands and rebellious children and deluges of lethe, and the men ask, “what’s the news?” as if the old were so bad. they cease to see the whole in each object, but perceive the sensual allurement of having a family, a home, and all the possessions that are required. thus remaining ignorant of the sensual hurt, that it will cost them their whole lives to maintain all these things. they see the mermaid’s tail, divine postman, but not the dragon’s head, and think that they can cut off that which they would have from that which they would not have.

a family and a home become an institution, the gain is apparent, and the tax is certain. the best decision i ever made was to sacrifice my seed in the fire. although, sorrowful it was, but the joy is everlast. oh! so free it is to give your seed to the earth, my friend; every season brings me the abundance of the waters of the ocean. it is wise to give your life to seek one sole wisdom and choose one sole good. the great star will justify all our labor and superabundantly reward us for the faith that we found in the journeys of the soul. the great laws of heaven and earth, i now behold, in the palm of my hand.

i have been writing for ten years now, divine postman, whoever wants to fight me will have to fight these tears. i believe in the might of love. i fully understand language and nourish well my vast flowing vigor. this vigor is supremely great and in the highest degree unbending. nourish it correctly, my friend, and do it no injury, and it will fill up the vacancy between heaven and earth. this vigor accords with and assists justice and reason, and leaves no hunger. it implores me everyday to express my curiosity, and search for the glory within, going as far as apollo ordained for me to go. suffice it for the joy of the gods that we have not arrived at a wall, but at interminable oceans.

divine postman: we are just ourselves in these mountains of matatiele; there is none to impress, there is nothing to boast about, there is only love. we will plant our vegetables and prune our trees; we will document the growth of the rose and the marigold; we will take our morning walk and thereafter sit with water to read and write; we will follow the seasons and obey the language of the peach tree, as it prepares us for the superabundant harvest. i will live and die by the truth, demosthenes. all the gold in the world will never buy a perfect contentment. my crown awaits me. it is good to suffer for the riches of the human soul and believe in the wisdom of the stars.

we must lose ourselves to find ourselves, my friend. the prophetess of delphi and the priestess at dodona are out of their minds, demosthenes, when they perform that fine work of theirs for the whole of greece, either for an individual person or for a whole city. but they accomplish little or nothing when they are in control of themselves. not to mention the sybil or the others who foretell many things by means of god-inspired prophetic trances and give sound guidance to many people. oh! how the mass of men have been deceived, denying the heaven within, as they labor for all that is fleeting. nature will humble us before she glorifies us commanding that i take the shoes from off my feet, to bow down before her wisdom. nature delights only in simplicity.

she cools the heels of the rushing city dwellers, and saith “this is my dominion, all the nonsense that you lived for in the city has no room in my presence.” it is simple what nature commands, my friend: it is either, we obey her immortal truth, or, we will die in ignorance and pride. i chose to be a tree, demosthenes, than to be a wall. 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 gods will take the long way round and inspire an eternal blaze in a man’s heart. every moment when the individual feels himself invaded by it, is memorable. in these divine communications 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.

by the necessity of our constitution, demosthenes, a certain enthusiasm attends the individual’s consciousness of that glorious presence. the character and duration of this enthusiasm varies with the state of the individual, from an ecstasy and trance and prophetic inspiration,- which is its rarer appearance,- to the faintest glow of virtuous emotion, in which form it warms, all the families and associations of men, and makes society possible. a certain tendency to insanity has always attended the opening of a divine sense in men and women, as if they had been blasted with excess of light. and in all their days they give themselves wholly to the great light, that shepherds and guides with patience.

the people who designed our language in the old days never thought of madness as something to be ashamed of or worthy of blame. otherwise they would not have used the word ‘manic’ for the finest expert of all,- the crazy one who foretells the future,- thereby weaving insanity into prophecy. what is true, the ignorant will immediately label as being crazy. but when the seasons roll and time justifies the journey of the martyr, the fools are made to eat their words. the truth lives in the soul, demosthenes, and is writ in the heart of every mortal. all that was, all that is, and all that will be, is known by the soul and will only be revealed to us when we believe in the glory of the universal soul.

demosthenes: let man then learn the revelation of all nature and all thought to his heart; this, namely, that the highest dwells with him; that the sources of nature are in his own mind, if the sentimemt of duty is there. every soul in nature is immortal; that is because whatever is always in motion is immortal, while what moves, and is moved by, something else stops living when it stops moving. so it is only what moves itself that never desists from motion, since it does not leave off being itself.

in fact, this self-mover, divine postman, is also the source and spring of motion in everything else that moves. movement is the cause of life, and wisdom is the cause of movement. a source has no beginning and it has no ending, it is boundless and sublime as the waters of the ocean. anything that has a beginning comes from some source, but the soul has no source, it is eternal energy. a source that got its start from something else would no longer be a source. and since it cannot have a beginning, then necessarily it cannot be destroyed. if a source, my friend, were destroyed it could never get started again from anything else and nothing else could get started from it, that is, if everything gets started from a source.

this then is why, a self- mover is a source of motion. and that is incapable of being destroyed or starting up; otherwise all heaven and everything that has been started up would collapse, come to a sudden stop, and never have cause to start moving again. but since we have found that a self-mover is immortal, we should have no qualms, divine postman, in declaring, that this is the very essence and principle of a soul. for every bodily object that is moved from outside has no soul, while a body whose motion comes from within, from itself, does have a soul, that being the nature of the soul.

and if this is so,- that whatever moves itself is essentially a soul,- then it follows necessarily that soul should have neither birth nor death. it is impossible for the soul to be changed from the outside,- it will not move to excellent regions, divine postman, when the agent is motivated by external expectations. it is only when the man or the woman curls themselves up like a snail and dwells within, that the soul will be transformed and create a new kingdom. for the inmost in due time becomes the outmost. the seasons rule all things under the sun, and the work that the spring has started within, will be manifested in the immeasurably long summer. trust thyself, my friend, every heart vibrates to that iron-string. the great laws of heaven and earth will never fail thee.

divine postman: our lives need to be simple, that we will always have intercourse with our soul. the soul dies in clutter, and grows superabundantly in simplicity. the works of art that we treasure from antiquity are great because they embody the soul. they are immortal because they are inspired from within. it is only the works of nature that will endure for centuries. are you not cast into flesh by the wind, the fire, the waters, the rock, demosthenes? are you not the only great thing remaining that your mother left behind as her legacy? it is only what lives in time that will endure.

the sun and the moon is the mind of all things below, and when we dwell in the presence of osiris and isis, the solid doors within whose vaults our glory sleeps will be flung wide open. it is good to wait, my friend, for our glory will superabound and extend to the heavens above. let us not live in the shadow of another, demosthenes, but let our own light shine,- the great star is perfect in all of its rays. in proportion as a man has anything divine in him, the firmament flows before him and takes his signet and form. a patient love is a true love; hecate will not slumber nor will she forget the wise. the earth is the foundation of all things, and every deed done on her will be reciprocated by the heavens.

evil will be repaid with evil; good will be rewarded with greater good. it is only faith that sustains the human soul. all reform aims in some one particular to let the soul have its way through us; in other words, to engage us to obey, that we will love with the deathless ones. we must die to ourselves, demosthenes, to be one with the deathless gods who hold the peaks of snowy antarctica, and enjoy with them the divine pleasures. eros (love), fairest among the deathless gods, who unnerves the limbs and overcomes the minds and wise counsels of all gods and men, follows the wise who endure hardships with full patience. it is good to burn the past and believe in the superabundant future.

five is a perfect number; the journey we started will ripen into maturity and be the birth of a new era. life is one long conversation with ourselves and the people we are given to serve. there is a time in every man’s education, demosthenes, when he arrives at the conviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide; that he must accept himself for better for worse as his own portion. that though the wide universe is full of good, no kernel of nourishing corn can come to him but through his toil bestowed on that plot of ground which is given him to till. the power which resides in me is new to nature, and it is only me, alone, that knows what i can do best. iAM relieved and happy when i have put my whole heart into my work and done my best.

the riches in the waters of styx will only descend to the brave. oh! time, how you hold dominion over all things below; for it is you, alone, that will give a life and it is only you, that will take it away. you will uproot and tear down, as you please; and build again anew what is great and divine. all i know, demosthenes, is reception; iAM and i have: but i do not get and when i have fancied that i had gotten anything, i found i did not. i worship with wonder and awe and astonishment the great fortune. my reception has been so large, that iAM not annoyed by receiving this or that superabundantly. i say to the faithful genius, if he or she will not pardon the proverb, in for a mill, in for a million. what nature conceives she will complete; all the works of heaven and earth will grow in beauty with time. nature will create harmony, and never a dischord.

patience, patience, demosthenes, patience! we shall win at the very last, so sublime and glorious will our victory be that the critics will obey the truth and come to their senses. we must be very suspicious of the deceptions of the element of time. it takes a good deal of time to cook food, to do the washing, or to earn a thousand dollars; and a very little time to entertain a hope and an insight which becomes the light of our life. we dress our children, play with our dogs, walk to the supermarket, discuss the news, and these things make no impression, are forgotten next week! but, in the wise solitude to which every man and every woman is always returning to, there is a great sanity and revelations which in our passage into new worlds we will carry with us.

never mind the ridicule, demosthenes, never mind the passing 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. i, the imperfect, will adore my own perfect; the perfect silence will always instruct; how deep we dwell in it, will determine how rich our revelations will be. a man can only learn through experience. before a baby walks it will first crawl; before it speaks a language it will first utter sounds. nature creates habits,- good and healthy habits that will sustain us in all our days under the sun and moon and the knowing star; for she makes known the end before the beginning and commands for our obedience. i live by grace.

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divine postman: the education that a child receives will shape the rest of their life. education is not whimsical but fatal. but what is a true education, prince, that will empower not only the mind, but engage the body, and regenerate the soul? to find that answer, my friend, i believe that we need to descend into the great repositories of history.

lycurgus, the enactor of the laws in sparta, which rendered them great, did not imitate other states but by initiating institutions quite contrary to that of the majority. in the matter of education, prince, which he regarded as the noblest and greatest task of the law-giver, he began at the very source, by carefully regulating marriages and births.

other nations nourished their young women who were pregnant and well-educated, with as moderate a quantity as possible of bread and sauces. they caused them to refrain from wine, or to use it in a diluted state. and as the greater number of those engaged in the arts are sedentary, so the rest of the greeks required their young woman to sit solitary and spin wool.

how can it be expected, prince, that persons thus trained should produce a beautiful and manly offspring? the habits of the mother while she is pregnant will shape the baby in the womb. the weakness of the mother will be the weakness of the baby; and the strength of the mother will be the strength of the baby.

prince: with this law of nature in mind, divine postman, lycurgus made the maidens exercise their bodies in running, wrestling, casting the discus, and hurling the javelin, in order that the fruit of their wombs might have vigorous root in vigorous bodies and come to better maturity.

and that the women themselves might come with vigour to the fulness of their times, and struggle successfully and easily with the pangs of child-birth. the offspring will endure when the mother adopts the habits of nature. we will give birth to great works of art, divine postman, when we align the mind, the body, and the soul with nature.

i watch men and women, boys and girls everyday as they oppose the truth in nature. they think that their households, their machines, will surpass the glory in nature. with a single breath brightening zephyrus, boreas, headlong in his course, and notus will destroy all these useless devices.

how folly it is, my friend, to build something that time will whither away and crush to the ground,- we are the cause of our unceasing burdens. we make decisions that are not informed by a lifetime’s dedication to wisdom. let a man feel all confidence in himself, and to defer never to the popular cry.

the blogger alone knows the world. the world of any moment is the merest appearance. some great decorum, some fetish of a government, some epephemeral trade, or war, or man, is cried up by half mankind and cried down by the other half, as if all depended on this particular up or down, divine postman.

divine postman: the masses are incredibly ignorant, they have rejected their souls and subject the mind and the body to great toils. man is the broken giant, prince, and in all his weakness both his body and his mind are invigorated by habits of conversation with nature. the noise in the world will try to overwhelm the perfect silence within but the patient earth will renew our strength. every seed will take eight days to germinate and will have firm roots after seventy days.

all things in nature obey the cycle of the sun and moon and star. the rain falls perfectly, at the exact moment that apollo has ordained for it to descend. the great thunderbolt with the flashing lightening, he will send as a messenger to tell all mankind of the great change that is about to occur in their lives.

what will it take for man to listen, prince, when they are ignorant of the great thunder? they shake their fists at the heavens with all the noise that they make below, and choose not to tremble before the voice of apollo. and when they suffer because of their ignorance, they are quick to blame the gods.

“look at all these foolish mortals, divine postman,” saith hera “i have given them all that they need to prosper, yet they choose to clutter their lives with idols, and suffer unnecessary torments.” the stars are here to guide us, my friend; the sun and moon and star visit us to bestow great gifts; the birds, the snails, the roses, the trees, and the vegetables are the wise masters that will never fail to impart wisdom.

prince: one man will perceive an object to be a great treasure while another will see utter rubbish. we have made life to be so difficult, divine postman, when nature ordained for it to be so simple. when i watch that flowing river and listen to the song of the rain, which, out of regions i see not, pours for a season its streams of beauty into me, i see that iAM a pensioner. not a cause, but a surprised spectator of this ethereal water.

that i desire and look up and put myself in the attitude of reception, but from some alien energy the visions come. iAM constrained every moment, my friend, to acknowledge a higher origin of events than the will i call mine. when i watch the harmony in the heavens as they prepare for the coming of the rain, iAM in awe, divine postman, of the supremacy of nature.

the sky will metamorphosis as the warm blue clouds turn cold and grey. flashes of lightning will light up the skies as they appear ontop of the surrounding mountains. the three winds will exhert their strength and command all mortals to seek shelter and prepare to witness the descending of the gods.

we behold the flashes of lighting ontop of the mountain and believe that yes apollo, hera, and athena have come to see us. the great spectacle begins with the crashing of thunder echoing through the whole of matatiele. we tremble as we listen to the message that the rain brings, and learn that nothing is of us, all is of grace.

divine postman: it is enough to know, prince, that at this very hour, in this very geography the glory of heaven has descended to be one with us. it is for me to believe that where iAM is where the gods are. oh! to be alive, my friend, heaven i have found in this august magnificence of matatiele.

people’s wealth and poverty are not to be found in their real estate but in their hearts. the great storehouse where true riches are stored is the human soul. the noise will never overwhelm the perfect silence. where there is a household, prince, there was once a tree. sustained fortune is only found in nature not in city streets. all that is unnatural will whither away quickly.

evermore welcome to the gods is the self-helping mortal, my friend, who will endure many hardships and take many risks to preserve the native good in man. when you give a man money you destroy him; when you give him wisdom you build him. oh! so lost, so wretched, so fallen is the human heart. in silence, in steadiness, in severe abstraction, let us hold by ourselves, prince; add observation to observation, patient of neglect, patient of reproach, and bide our own time.

happy enough, if we can satisfy ourselves alone, prince, that this day we have seen something truly. success treads on every left and right step,- she will rush to meet the patient mind, that dedicates its whole life to one sole wisdom and seeks one sole good. for the instinct is sure, that prompts us to tell another what we think. all things in life are dictated by nature. it is impossible to corrupt her pure justice; although many choose not to kneel before her trees, her seas, her stars, they will not escape her unbending laws.

prince: the greatest gift in life is to receive the enduring wisdom in nature. a true education, divine postman, is a natural education that will lead us to our roots and impart virtue, health, and beauty. when you follow the ways of men, you will suffer the unceasing torments that they are inflicted with; when you follow the great wisdom of nature you will dine with hera all your days.

the living heaven thy selfless and heroic sentiments respect,- house at once and architect, quarrying, divine postman’s, rejected hours builds therewith eternal towers; sole and self-commanded works fears not undermining days, grows by decays, and by the famous might that lurks in reaction and recoil makes flame to freeze and ice to boil; forging through swart arms of offence the silver seat of innocence.

i learn through solitude, that in going down to the secrets of my own mind, i go into the secrets of all minds. iAM the wisest of all men, divine postman, for i have mastered every law that pallas athene has set before me in my private thoughts. the greatest suffering there is, my friend, is that which is endured by the mind through quiet obedience. our nature is unyielding and self-willed, until we lay before the sun and moon and star we will forever be lost in pride and ignorance; the depths that socrates, searched in the mind’s hidden secrets transcended him into a god.

he who has mastered any law in his private thoughts, is master to that extent of all men whose language he speaks. and of all into whose language his own can be translated. the blogger, divine postman, in utter solitude remembering his spontaneous thoughts and recording them, is found to have recorded that, which men in crowded cities find true for them also. the blogger finds justice in silent times.

the orator distrusts at first the fitness of his frank confessions,- his want of knowledge of the persons he addresses,- until he finds, divine postman, that he is the complement of his hearers; that they drink of his words because he fulfils for them their own nature; the blogger completes the partial experience of men as he embodies the universal glory in nature.

divine postman: the deeper he dives into his privatest, secretest presentiment, to his wonder, prince, he finds, this is the most acceptable, most public, and universally true. the people delight in it, my friend; the better part of every man feels, this is my music, this is myself. let us always remain rooted in our convictions, and believe that what is deep is holy. the great silence is all truth and will never deceive us; what she utters, she will fulfill.

the soul is the perceiver and revealer of truth. the true notion of revelations is that it is a telling of fortune. the vessel must be renewed everyday, prince, and prepare for the glory that is its due. happy is the patient heart, that listens before it speaks, and obeys before it commands. the will of heaven for our lives will never be understood by the mind; it is only the faith in the soul that will reveal and perceive all that we are seeking after.

we know that all spiritual being is in man. a wise old proverb says, ‘hera comes to see us without bell’. that is, as there is no screen or ceiling between our heads and the infinite heavens, so is there no bar or wall in the soul, where man, the effect, ceases, and hera, the cause begins. the walls are taken away, prince. we lie open on one side to the deeps of spiritual nature, to the attributes of love.

justice we see and know, beauty, freedom, power. these natures, no man ever got above, my friend, but they tower over us. and most in the moment when our interests tempt us to wound them. the life that throbs within is the glory that will manifest without. truly, all that lives is earth, fire, water; whatever does not bleed with this holy trinity is an illusion.

the great good stems from the spirit and will manifest into practical power. what you hold dear in your heart, prince, is what you will hold in your hand. the tone of seeking is one, the tone of having another. we make a mockery out of the truth, the beauty and the justice in nature when we do things for money. there is always compensation for all our labors. all that a man receives is in proportion to the divinity in his soul.

prince: it will take great focus, to create a great word. focus means saying, no, to all the emphatic trifles the world seems in conspiracy to importune you with; while saying, yes, to the one great thing, that you were born to fulfill. let all men and all women believe in love. the ancients declare that the magi are more ancient than the egyptians, divine postman. and further, that they believe in two principles, the good spirit and the evil spirit.

the one called zeus or oromasdes, the other hades or arimanius,- for every action there is an equal reaction; for every good there is an evil that will oppose it. according to the magi, divine postman, men will live in a future life and be immortal, and that the world will endure through their invocations. the gymnosophists are descended from the magi, and some trace the jews from the same origin also.

the darkness, my friend, will never overcome the light. nothing will ever seperate you from the arms of love. the wolves will hound and howl, but have no teeth with which to bite. the great silence calls for all our attention, that we may watch the transition of the stars; and discern the change they will bring into our lives. a revolution in the soul is the greatest event in nature.

the households, that men build with all the cars that they drive are nothing short of expensive coffins that they are burried in. they are dull and barren on the inside and do their best to compensate the loss of the soul’s riches. the outside will waste away, divine postman, time will errode all that is unnatural, and leave only the immortal soul. what true treasure will a man and a woman take with them when they die?

all that they labored for in the world will remain in the world. a wise man once told me, divine postman, that many will spend their lives storing up treasures that thieves will break in and steal and moth and rust will destroy. we see the foaming brook with compunction: if our own life flowed with the right energy, we should shame the brook. the stream of zeal sparkles with real fire, and not with reflex rays of sun and moon and stars. nature will count the days, our hands and feet are to earn the prize.

divine postman: man is fallen; nature is erect, and serves as a differential thermometer, detecting the presence or absence of the divine sentiment in man. by fault of our dulness and selfishness we are looking up to nature, but when we are convalascent nature will look up to us. the world is universal, my friend; when the act of reflection takes place in the mind, when we look at ourselves in the light of thought, we discover that our lives are embosomed in beauty, prince.

behind us, as we go, all things assume pleasing forms, as clouds do far off. not only things familiar and stale, but even the tragic and terrible are comely as they take their place in the memory. the rocks on the mountain, the weeds in the garden, the ruins in the desolate village, the foolish person, however neglected in the passing, have a divine grace in the past. even the old man who deprives himself of reasoning has added a solemn element to the community. the soul will not know either deformity or pain, prince!

if in the hours of clear reason we should speak the severest truth, we should say that we had never made a sacrifice. in these hours the mind seems so great that nothing can be taken from us which seems much. all loss, all pain, is particular; the universe remains to the heart unhurt. neither vexations, nor calamities abate our trust. no man ever stated his griefs, prince, as lightly as he might. allow for exaggeration in the most patient and sorely ridden hack that ever was driven. for it is only the finite that has wrought and suffered; the infinite lies stretched in smiling repose.

it will take one great moment to change everything. the great thunderbolt will silence all men below. the patient labor of a whole year will be rewarded in a sovereign light. oh! let the heavens burn with fire, let the winds blow up the storm, and let the rain wash away the blood in our wounds. there is order in the universe, prince, nothing happens by accident. there are no mistakes in nature. every loss will be compensated for according to our faith.

it is impossible for chance to occur; everything is orderly; there is absolute harmony in the events on the earth with the changes in the stars. the abundant rain will compensate the self-imposed drought that the blogger endured, in his great sacrifice to find and share the riches of eternity. oh! time how you take away all that is old and crippled, and slowly teach the soul preparing it constantly for the everlasting glory that it will receive.

faith will never fail the brave heart. people will choose to run away from their heritage, prince, and suffer many burdens. they will search on the outside and lose the great heaven on the inside. it is in our history, that we will find our destiny. the wise will remember their roots. death will set us free.

be careful what you dream for, my friend; by a believing-love you will get it all and hold the might of the great thunderbolt in your left hand and behold the riches of the sea. let wisdom be the anchor as you rule your kingdom. oh! the glory that patience will yield; what is most silent is most powerful.

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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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