divine postman: men cannot be made more righteous by putting money into their purses. men harbour their righteousness in their souls thoreau, and not in their purses. it is only through virtue alone that we can be superior.
as much virtue as there is, so much appears; as much goodness as there is, so much reverence it commands. all the fools respect virtue. the high, the generous, the self-devoted sect who are their own slave drivers will always instruct and command mankind.
never was a sincere word utterly lost. never a magnanimity fell to the ground, but there is some heart to greet and accept it unexpectedly. oh! how men and women have been deceived my friend, they perceive life to be all that they see; they have not faith in the glory of the human soul.
thoreau: all foolishness suffers the burden of dissatisfaction with itself. whoever fails to find meaning in the presence of his soul will fail to find it anywhere else. it is obedience to the divine motives of hera that will make us gods. there is nothing that will ever surpass the glory of the human soul.
all the noise will never silence the eternal one within. truth is the perfect silence that endures from the beginning of time, and will bring us out safe at last. a man passes for that he is worth. what he is engraves itself on his face, on his form, on his fortunes, in letters of light. concealment avails him nothing divine postman, boasting nothing.
there is confession in the glances of our eyes, in our smiles, in salutations, and the grasp of hands. his folly debauds him, mars all his good impressions. men know not why they cannot trust him, but they cannot trust him. his vice glasses his eye, cuts lines of mean expression in his cheeks, pinches the nose, sets the mark of the beast on the back of the head, and writes oh fool! fool! on the forehead of a father.
divine postman: every excess causes a defect, every defect creates an excess; every sweet hath its sour, every evil its good. men and women seek to be great thoreau, they would have fame, fortune, families, and homes, they think that to be great is to possess one side of nature, the sweet without the other side, the bitter.
they see the sensual allurement of an object but not the sensual hurt. they see the mermaid’s head but not the dragon’s tail, and think they can cut off that which they would have from that which they would not have. “what will you have?” quoth apollo; “pay for it and take it!”
it would seem that there is this vindictive circumstance stealing in at unawares even into the wild poesy in which the human fancy attempted to make bold holiday and to shake itself free of the old laws,- this back-stroke thoreau, this kick of the gun, certifying that the law is fatal; that in nature nothing can be given, all things are sold. the joy of the vessel is in proportion to the sorrows endured.
thoreau: the laws of nature were ordained before man was moulded into form. he is sourced from the earth and the heavens; he can only prosper when he obeys the seasons. wisdom is a manifestation of the laws of nature in the understanding mind.
she whispers softly like a piano in the dark calling us to her illustrious abode.
we can only be great in her presence. let all men and women divine postman solve the great sphinx, that they will walk with certainty, and inherit the great star.
for the sun and moon make known the end before the beginning demanding absolute faith. nature’s design my friend will be fulfiled, none will thwart the will of fortune. as the seasons complete their course they will yield abundance to the rooted tree. if you would not be known to do anything divine postman, never do it.
a man may play the fool in the drifts of a desert, but every grain of sand shall seem to see. he may be a solitary eater, but he cannot keep his foolish counsel. a broken heart, a confused look, cruel acts, and the want of due knowledge,- all blab. the soul speaks in silence my friend, so that nothing can be concealed to the discerning heart.
divine postman: oh! such mysteries pallas athena confounds us with, high mindedness a jealousy for good, a loving kindness for the great man’s fame, dwells here and there with people of no name. in noisome alley thoreau, and in pathless wood, and where we think the truth least understood. we wait that our glory will abound, justice will compensate every loss.
let us learn what faith will do my friend, the instinct which leads every generous soul to impose on itself tasks of a noble asceticism and vicarious virtue, are the tremblings of the balance of justice through the heart and mind of man. persons and events may stand for a while between you and justice but it is only a postponement; benefit is the end of nature.
nature will sustain all that is good. when we discover a truth, we transcend from a state of ignorance to that of awareness. the slower the body moves in time, the faster the spirit travels through space. the snail moves fastest in space than all men. it is the god of patience and commands that all men make a sacrifice to her.
all the foolish endeavors of the city dwellers will never move the patience of the seasons. everything will be fulfiled according to the movement of the star. if we consider what happens in conversation thoreau, in reveries, in remorse, in times of passion, in surprises.
in the instructions of dreams, wherein often we see ourselves in masquerade,- the droll disguises only and enhancing a real element and forcing it on our distinct notice,- we shall catch many hints that will broaden and lighten into knowledge the secret of nature. all goes to show my friend, that the soul in man is not an organ, but animates and exercises all the organs.
the soul is not a function, like the power of memory, of calculation, of comparison, but uses these as hands and feet; is not a faculty, but a light; is not the intellect or will, but the master of the intellect and the will. it is the background of our being in which they lie,- an immensity not possessed, thoreau, and which cannot be possessed.
thoreau: to attain knowledge is to receive enlightenment. upon receiving divine knowledge, we need to be patient as it will yield abundant fruit in due time. oh! such eternal glory lies in the lap of time divine postman. let us not taint the great work that hera has performed within, but move with the loving wave of nature contenting ourselves with obedience.
all that a man truly has on this earth divine postman is his time; and the power to choose grants him the freedom to decide what to do with it. we need to set our affections on some great man and keep him constantly before our eyes, so that we may live as if he were watching us and do everything as if he saw what we were doing.
in like manner the effect of every action is measured by the depth of the sentiment from which it proceeds. the great man knew not that he was great, divine postman, it took a century or two for that fact to appear. what he did, he did because he must; it was the most natural thing in the world, and grew out of the circumstances of the moment.
but now, everything he did, even to the lifting of his hand or the drinking of water, looks large, all-related, and is called an institution. his thought is perverted by professors in universities, as it is split apart from the source it originated from. we have sold our souls to these machines my friend, and move without thinking.
it is no longer the glory in man that we admire divine postman, rather it is the buildings and machines that stem from his thought. thus we bow down before all things that cripple mankind and neglect the glory of the human mind and body.
it is only the soul that is perfect; it is always in motion either growing or dieing, creating the beauty in nature or destroying it through consumption. the soul will take the shape of the agents heart. it is a perfect star that will only fit in the hand of nature. it cannot be sustained on food, or the dollar, but remembers its old home where it was rooted in faith.
divine postman: we all have a spiritual guide that will lead us to our prize. the whole course of things, thoreau, goes to teach us faith; we need only obey. there is guidance for each of us, and by lowly listening we shall hear the right word.
we can only immerse ourselves in the wisdom of athena by always willing to be little. why need you choose so painfully your place and occupation, thoreau, and associates and modes of action and of entertainment? certainly there is a possible right for you that precludes the need of balance and wilful election.
for you, my friend, there is a reality, a fit place and congenial duties. place yourself in the middle of the stream of power and form which animates all whom it floats, and you are without effort impelled to truth, to right and a perfect contentment. then you put all critics in the wrong.
then you are the world, the measure of justice, of truth, of beauty. life only avails, not the having lived. power ceases in the instant of repose. it resides in the moment of transition from a past to a new state, in the shooting of a star, in the darting to an aim, in the leap of a dear. this one fact the world hates my friend; that the soul becomes.
for that forever degrades the past, turns all riches to poverty, all reputation to a shame. the soul knows only the glory of that great day when the world was darkness and the light illumined the whole chaos, and mind set all things in order.
if we will not be mar-plots, thoreau, with our miserable interferences, the gardening, the men, the women, the children, the animals, the letters, the arts, the numbers, the geometry would go on far better than now.
and the heaven predicted from the beginning of the world, and still predicted from the bottom of the heart, would organize itself as do now, the marigold, the rose, the cabbage and the moon and sun.
i say, do not choose your place and occupation, your associates and modes of action and of entertainment; but that is a figure of speech, my friend, by which i would distinguish what is commonly called choice among men, and which is a partial act, the choice of the hands, of the eyes, of the appetites, and not a whole act of the man.
but that which i call right or goodness, is the choice of my constitution; and that which i call heaven, and inwardly aspire after, is the state or circumstance desirable to my constitution; and the action which i in all my years tend to do, is the work for my faculties. fortune is in our hands, thoreau, joy is in our feet, love beats in our heart, and victory is in our minds; let us not waste time.
thoreau: we must hold a man amenable to reason divine postman for the choice of his daily craft or profession. let us question him regarding the meaning of his daily labor. does it renew his soul, or destroy it; is he trapped in a routine, or is he free?
and, is he giving to mankind and the good earth, or merely taking and never planting anything? it is not an excuse any longer for his deeds that they are the custom of his trade. what business has he with an evil trade; has he not a calling in his character divine postman, and a duty to lay down his life for the future generations?
we are to pay every just demand on our time, our talents, and our hearts. human labor, through all its forms, from the planting of vegetables to the construction of an epic, is one immense illustration of the perfect compensation of the universe.
the perfect balance of give and take and 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 it is impossible to get anything without its price,- is the absolute truth that defines the daily habits of mankind.
the dollar will never solve ignorance. the real price of labor, divine postman, is knowledge and virtue, whereof wealth and wisdom are signs. and these ends of labor cannot be answered by the shortcuts that men take, namely, rushing for barren offices and selling their souls for material riches.
knowledge is given to us, that we may know we are very great. let us not sell ourselves cheaply, divine postman, but remain patient in our writing and reading. the wise moon will bring a great change. she knows what was, what is, and what will be. she will complete her perfect justice, that pandora scarred.
the life of money-making is contrary to nature, we can only be truly rich through wisdom alone. the true ends of labor which are wealth and wisdom, can only be answered, by real exertions of both body and mind, and in obedience to pure motives. nature does not follow man, divine postman; it is for mankind to obey her commands and tread in victory all his days under the sun.
divine postman: the hero fears not that if he withhold the avowal of a just and brave act it will go unwitnessed and unloved. one knows it,- himself,- and is pledged by it to sweetness of peace and to nobleness of aim which will prove in the end a better proclamation of it than the relating of the incident. every act rewards itself,- benefit is the end of nature.
virtue, thoreau, is the adherence in action to the nature of things, and the nature of things makes it prevalent. it consists in a perpetual substitution of being for seeming, and with sublime propriety hera is described as saying, she is. he who does not act on his thought, will never gain anything.
knowledge without action is meaningless. so much time is wasted in these useless colleges. the art of wisdom thoreau, is to think well and to act well. it is only when we choose to be brave that we receive the glory that awaits us. the lesson which this truth conveys is, be, and not seem.
these schools are failing our children, they learn to speak well and never do well; thus they lose the great riches in time, always postponing and never live in the present hour. they reject their lives, as parents dump them in the refuse of schooling. he who is incharge of his own learning, thoreau, will run away with all riches.
how long will man stoop low to institutions; is it all because they promise the dollar? it is a shame what humanity has come to be; we trust in anything but ourselves thoreau; we beg a cup of water of the urns of other men, and do not put ourselves in communication with the internal ocean. we fear to be alone, and never search for truth. thus fortune is never gained.
thoreau: let us aqueisce divine postman. let us take our bloated nothingness out of the path of the divine circuits. let us unlearn all that we were taught by mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, friends, and teachers. let us lie low in apollo’s power and learn that truth alone makes rich and great. justice, even if slow, is certain.
it is only what is natural that will endure beyond time. all the noise in this age will disappear as quickly as it sprouted. it is the roots of love that will anchor great works of art to the circuit of time. nature will sustain the living word. there can be no shortcuts in nature.
if you visit your friend, divine postman, why need you apologize for not having visited him, and waste his time and deface your own act? visit him now! let him feel that the highest love has come to see him, in thee its lowest organ.
or, why need you torment yourself and befriend by secret self-reproaches that you have not assisted him or complimented him with gifts and salutations heretofore? let your presence be a gift and a benediction divine postman. shine with real light and not with the borrowed reflection of the dollar.
divine postman: common men are apologies for divine men; they bow the head to a dead deity, they apologize and excuse themselves with prolix reasons, they are weak and not upright, and accumulate appearances because the substance is not. they do not respect the grace of time, but always rush and never arrive.
thus hera turns a deaf ear to their prayers, and gives them over to their ignorance. all the sorrow that we are inflicted with is purposed to raise us, that we may be rooted in the presence of athena. for obedience is the greatest power. where is the wise youth, my friend? i see young men and young women who owe us a new world, so readily and lavishly they promise.
but they never acquit the debt thoreau! they die young and dodge the account; or if they live, they lose themselves in the crowd. a child can only feel safe in the presence of a loving mother. everyday that the sun rises is an opportunity to start again anew,- to grow in our obedience to the divine will of patience.
we are full of superstitions of sense, thoreau, the worship of magnitude. all our perceptions derive from our fears, we tiptoe through life and never act with certainty, we think too much and love too little. oh! let your glory in man be ridiculous hecate,- one with the revolution of the gleaming stars.
styx the eldest daughter of back-flowing ocean was joined to pallas and bare, zelus (emulation) and trim-ankled nike (victory) in the house. also she brought forth cratos (strength) and bia (force) wonderful children. there is something infinitely greater beyond these walls and machines, which only a few will find. i will not conceal it, thoreau, but will allow it to flow and penetrate the heart of man.
it will shed healing to the nations as i embody it with purity. the individual soul always mingles with the universal soul. the soul never answers by words, but by the thing itself that is inquired after. the soul is the perceiver and revealer of truth my friend. the soul can never accept limits, it looketh steadily forwards, creating a world before her, leaving ruins behind her.
she has no dates, nor rites, nor specialities, nor persons, nor men. the soul knows only the soul. the web of events is the flowing robe in which she is clothed. after its own law, thoreau, and not by arithmetic, is the rate of its progress to be computed. it has no beginning and it has no ending, she lives in blest eternity with fortunes beyond comprehension.
it is the star that beacons in the abode where the eternal are. revelation is the disclosure of the soul. the popular notion of a revelation is that it is a telling of fortunes, which can only be inherited through faith alone. we call the poet inactive, thoreau, because he is not a president, a merchant, or a lawyer.
thoreau: we adore an institution and do not see that it is founded on a thought which we have. but real action is in silent moments. the ignorant who criticize the divine labor of the poet fail to pick up the pen and express the breathings of the soul.
the poet is the greatest among all men divine postman, for he forever wrestles with the hardest ocuppation in the universe: to know thyself. the ignorant mob will worship their gods because of what they receive; their prayers aim at petty ends quite aside from the universal good; thus hera will look down and turn her back.
modern christianity is nothing short of the affirming of idolatry. it is a material god that they worship, divine postman, who gives them pieces that they will desperately hold onto their whole lives.
they run to a building and never look within, and lose eternal riches.
the epochs of our life are not in the visible facts of our choice of a calling, our marriage, our acquisition of an office and the like, but in a silent thought; by the way-side as we walk; in a thought which revises our entire manner of life and says,- ‘thus hast thou done, but it were better thus.’ and all our after years, like menials, serve and wait on this, and according to their ability execute its will.
divine postman: this revisal or correction, thoreau, is a constant force, which, as a tendency, reaches through our lifetime. the object of the man, the aim of these moments, is to make daylight shine through him, to suffer the law to traverse his whole being without obstruction.
so that on what point soever of his doing your eye falls on him, it shall report truly of his character. whether it be his diet, his companions, his children, his labor, his mirth, his belief, his questions. but now he is not homogeneous thoreau, but heterogeneous, and the ray does not traverse.
there are no thorough lights, but the eye of the beholder is puzzled, detecting many unlike tendencies and a life not yet at one. i find it astoundingly beautiful my friend how the mighty hand of time will subdue us to be criticized and ridiculed for our radical beliefs; and upon the change of the seasons will raise us in eternal glory.
all those who looked down upon us now yearn to be in our presence. we will not show them the conditional love that they showed us, thoreau. instead we will stretch out our hand in grace, and those who burn with a desire to do good, will fight for this great love. justice will be done; the truth is the eternal sea that sustains all things.
it is for us to remain patient and await our great victory. believe in the good, my friend, and grow not in apathy but in enduring love. let the fools boast in their idols, keep thy divine state and come out not into their confusion. the sovereign seasons will remember all our journeys thoreau, and clothe us in eternal splendor.
thoreau: oh! so good it feels to be justified in our faith, the victory of nature is as sweet and serene as the morning star. this voice will be heard, my friend, and be an echo unto eternity setting the captives free. it is fixed with the concave sphere of the heavens.
it is not desirable to dig up treasure divine postman, or to weep in vain for all that we have lost; fear has no room in love. all the good of nature is the soul’s, and may be had if paid for in nature’s lawful coin, that is, by labor which the heart and head allow. i believe in beauty my friend.
i was once deceived, divine postman, believing that fortune is found in city streets, in gold mines, and in tall buildings. now i know, that the abundant love which lives in my soul is more rich than all the nations in the earth. the cattle on a thousand hills can never compare with the glory within. iAM the conquering lion; all good follows me. oh! let love carry you.