divine postman: our earth is dry, ayanda. the cracks in the bare streams are the cracks within us. we have neglected the good earth, and chosen to exchange the glory in nature for the bustling city. the condition of the earth is the condition of man.
the lords of life, the lords of life,- i saw them pass in their own guise. like and unlike portly and grim, use and surprise, surface and dream. succession swift and spectral wrong, temperament without a tongue. and the inventor of the game without name,- some to see some to be guessed.
they marched from east to west, ayanda, little man least of all among the legs of his guardians tall, walked about with puzzled look. him by the hand dear nature took; dearest nature strong and kind whispered, ‘darling never mind! tomorrow they will wear another face, the founder thou, these are thy race.’
ayanda: where do we find ourselves, divine postman? in a series of which we do not know the extremes, and believe that it has none. we wake and find ourselves on a stair; there are stairs below us, which we seem to have ascended; there are stairs above us, many a one, which go upward and out of sight.
i have seen that all men are cowards, my friend. they desire riches but are not prepared to suffer for them. they are discontent with their lives and cheat on their wives; pretending to be loyal husbands before their children as they sleep with a restless heart.
what would this world be without wise mothers, divine postman? they clean up the mess that fathers make. all that men are concerned about when they meet our mothers is to gratify the senses. the soul says, ‘the man and woman shall be one flesh and one soul.’ the men will join the flesh only. and when a baby is conceived, they grumble and flee from responsibility.
divine postman: or, they claim, ayanda, that they will work for the dollar to raise the child but in all their busyness they become distant and never connect with the child emotionally. thus the young lad is moved from school to school, from hostel to hostel, as the parents hand him over to an institution.
they never have the time to raise him, as they are too busy working. he knows not where home is, my friend; he knows not who his mother is; he knows not who his father is. he begins to question things and learns of the abuse that his mother has endured while he is away at school and learns of the holes in the marriage.
upon the death of his mother he fights for her legacy and quits university to confront the truth. he learns that all he had, ayanda, was a father who was a manipulative bastard. he looks to his soul for guidance and sees many a revelation about his brave mother whom he never got to spend time with, but will honor her with the great talent he has been given.
ayanda: sleep lingers all our lifetime about our eyes, as night hovers all day long in the boughs of the fir tree. all things swim and glitter, our life is not so much threatened, divine postman, as our perception. ghost-like we glide through nature and should not know our place again.
did our birth fall in some fit of indigence and frugality in nature that she was so sparing of her fire and so liberal of her earth, that it appears to us that we lack the affirmative principle? and though we have health and reason, divine postman, yet we have no superfluity of spirit for new creation. we choose to dwell among the dry bones of the past, and fear the glory of the moon’s promise.
we have enough to live and bring the year about, my friend, but not an ounce to impart or invest in the future. ah! that our genius were a little more of a genius. we subject ourselves to poverty by neglecting the glorious soul. if any of us, divine postman, knew what we were doing, or where we are going, then we think we best know. we do not know today whether we are busy or idle.
there is so much fretting and fuming in the masses, that you would think something great was being done. the masses are not men, but poor men, that is, who would be rich if only they decided to think. however, they arrive with pains and sweat and fury nowhere. when all is done, divine postman, it is for nothing.
divine postman: they are like one who has interrupted the conversation of a great company of men to make his speech and now has forgotten what he went to say. the appearance strikes the eye everywhere, ayanda, of an aimless society of aimless nations. were the ends of nature so great and congent as to exact this immense sacrifice of men?
they desire great fortunes but never study the almighty laws of fortune and the roots that she abides in. oh! how you make fools out of men athena, giving them families and households, but never opening your divine stores. for none seek to know your mind. they seperate and split apart, never pursuing the whole of which all the parts consist of. is the earth not a sea of beauty, ayanda; then why do men beg for a cup of water?
all our days are so unprofitable while they pass, that ’tis wonderful where or when we ever got anything of this which we call wisdom, virtue, poetry. we never got it on any dated calendar day. some heavenly days must have been intercalated somewhere, like those that hermes won with the dice of the moon, that osiris might be born.
how many divine individuals can we count in society, ayanda, how many genuine brave actions, how many authentic utterances? so much of our time is preparation, so much routine, and so much retrospect, that the pith of each man’s genius contracts itself to a few hours. we want anything but our lives, my friend. all foolishness suffers the burden of dissatisfaction with itself.
ayanda: our life looks trivial, divine postman, and we shun to record it. notwithstanding this necessity to be published adequate expression is rare. it is said that all martyrdoms looked mean when they were suffered.
thus their sacrifices justify all the beauty that manifested through them. we do not readily give ourselves to the hardships of life, that we will be eternally rich; we idolize all that we see and fumble the fortune in our hands.
every ship is a romantic object except that we sail in. embark, and the romance quits our vessel and hangs on every other sail in the horizon. men seem to have learned of the art of perpetual retreating and repose, divine postman. they are always peeping above their walls and fences, never content with the lot they chose, or the one fate threw in their way.
‘yonder uplands are rich pasturage, and my neighbor has fertile meadow, but my field,’ says the quarelous farmer, ‘only holds the world together.’ in all his endeavors, man never once considers the sustenance of nature, but chooses to oppose her laws, thus perceiving life to be a competition and not a co-operation with nature. it is wise to follow the truth.
it is the trick of nature, divine postman, thus to degrade today; a good deal of buzz, and somewhere a result slipped magically in. every roof is agreeable to the eye, my friend, until it is lifted; then we find tragedy and moaning women and hard-eyed husbands, and deluges of lethe, and the men ask, ‘what is the news?’ as if the old were so bad.
they choose to have children, divine postman, and wives, and large hectares of land, unaware of the price they will pay for the rest of their lives to maintain a family and a household. what is sweet in the beginning will have a most bitter ending. and what is bitter in the beginning will receive the glory of the golden star. all is well, my friend, that ends well. patience, patience,- we shall win at last. there is victory yet for all justice.
divine postman: today the fools envy us, ayanda, for all our superabundant riches that we inherited from the sun and moon. but they are ignorant of the price that we paid; they know not the times of poverty, the times of absolute solitude, and the times of rejection. they know not the sorrows of the martyr, but idolize his crown. oh! so many tears we shed for these millions.
once the mind has understood the roots of fortune, it will grow eternal riches,- the soul is infinite in its divine growth. happy is he who will take a leap of faith, ayanda, and believe in the whispers of the sea. it is good to be grateful for the gift of life, and live in love. any man who does not think what he has is more than ample, is an unhappy man, even if he should be ruler of many servants.
it matters not whether one sleeps in a bed chamber with many virgins around him or whether one sleeps on the bare earth clutching his body. what matters most is to be thyself, and know thyself to be; and ever at thy season be thou free. the truth, my friend will prevail over all things. what eternity writ in the sun and moon, time will bring to light.
ayanda: let us not be discouraged upon cruel disappointments, my friend, but always remember that wisdom and virtue in due time will yield justice. never mind the ridicule, divine postman, never mind the defeat,- up again old heart! there is victory yet for all justice. fear not, then, thou child infirm, there is no god dare wrong a worm.
laurel crowns cleave to deserts, and power to him who power exerts. hast not thy share, divine postman? on winged feet, lo! it rushes thee to meet. and all that nature made thy own, floating in air or pent in stone, will rive the hills and swim the sea. and, like thy shadow, follow thee.
let us move in harmony with the season in our life and understand that nature is preparing us for a more illustrious abode. to live a life dictated by a paycheck is not really a life,- thinking that a job will solve all your problems and make you safe and secure is lying to yourself. the condition of the soul, divine postman, will never change because of your office or title. nothing great will ever come to you when the soul has not been moved by suffering to the atmosphere of love.
divine postman: it is only wisdom that can master the power of money,- man cannot be a slave to the dollar, he is the crown of all creation. it is good, ayanda, to forsake dollar, companion, mother, father, brother, sister, wife, for the pursuit of divine knowledge. she will fill up the vacancy between heaven and earth, and compensate every loss with abundant fortune, that grows in everlasting beauty.
when one rose dies, ten thousand more will grow. truly speaking, my friend, all that money is, is an illusion. what truly lives is your labor and the ends of labor which are wisdom and wealth can only be answered through obedience to pure motives and by the real exertions of both body and mind on knowledge and virtue. it is only in nature where we will see the whole.
without wisdom all external possessions, all honors, and all prosperity is meaningless; we must destroy in order to rebuild on the great rock. for all men live by truth, divine postman, and stand in need of expression. wisdom is the ocean that will never fail to deliver us,- she is the truth that will draw all men to her sooner or later; she is the light that lights the whole world,- the only hope for man.
ayanda: every moment instructs, and every object: for wisdom is infused into every form. it has been poured into us as blood, divine postman; it convulsed us as pain; it slid into us as pleasure; it sheltered us in dull, melancholy days, or in days of cheerful labor. we did not guess its worth until after a long time, when it asked to be the only possession in our life.
by nature we live in an ecosystem and not in a competitive struggle for survival. our nature is designed to benefit a community and not select individuals. we are bound by love, divine postman, not by money. the harvest of wisdom will give shelter to many nations of men, women, creatures, plants, and flowers. for wisdom is the whole and this because the heart in thee is the heart of all.
not a valve, not a wall, not an intersection is there anywhere in nature, my friend, but one blood rolls uninterruptedly an endless circulation through all things that live, as the water of the earth is all one sea, and, truly seen, its tide is one. oh! how abundantly rich we are in obedience, time will teach the patient heart.
unity can only be achieved through simplicity. the lowly who listen with humility to the message that the sun and moon bring will unite mankind. all men are allocated resources according to nature’s eternal providence. however, the dollar deceives men and women into thinking that they provide for themselves. when it is the sun, the moon, the winds, and the rain that grow their food, and supply all their daily needs.
paper money is a means of rejecting the everlasting truth of the seasons and leading an unnatural existence. it is only through studying nature and imitating her that we are millionaires. never do anything for money, for thou art apollo’s dearest child. nature gives us wisdom, divine postman, that we will not sell ourselves cheaply, but know that we are very great. the waves of the sea move forever forward and never backward.
oh! how fortune will rush the patient mind upon her coming. she is the boundless waters that will burst forth and quench the thirst of our long patient labor. the good is worthy to be pursued for its own sake, the ends of the earth will release our allotted glory at the perfect moment when apollo has aligned the stars, and hera has completed her great work in us. let loose those heavenly stores hecate, and fulfill the promise you made in styx,- eldest daughter of back-flowing ocean.
and let your divine glory not destroy us, but give us the wisdom of pallas athene to sustain it, and the heaven which the world exists to realize will be the transformation of genius into practical power. oh! we wait for that great day, divine postman, when love will burn in the heart-beat of the world like some forest fire,- invincible and forever silent.
divine postman: the things that are really for thee, ayanda, gravitate to thee. you are running to your friend. let your feet run but your mind need not. be at rest, my friend, for that which you are seeking is hounding after thee also. i have been to the mountaintop and i have found the promise land. you are preparing with eagerness to go out and render a service to which your calling and your taste invite you, the love of man and the hope of immortal fame.
has it not occured to you, ayanda, that you have no right to go, unless you are equally willing to be prevented from going? oh! believe as thou livest, that every sound that is spoken over the wide earth, which thou oughtest to hear, will vibrate on thine ear! every proverb, every book, every by-word, that belongs to thee for aid or comfort, shall surely come home through winding or open passages.
many will not believe in their crown, and will shun suffering. they will not give glory to the wondrous heaven and fruitful earth, but will eat meat while never shepherding any sheep. they mock nature with these cars and these homes, and mark the earth with ruin as they live for their wretched bellies. however, nature cannot be cheated there will be a great price to be paid, by all those who gather too much. nature will swell their estate but kill them along with their children.
thus maintaining her infinite balance. there is always some leveling circumstance, ayanda, that puts down the overbearing, the strong, the rich, the fortunate, substantially on the same ground with all others. nature hates monopolies and exceptions, my friend. the waves of the sea do not more speedily seek a level from their loftiest tossing than the varieties of condition tend to equalize themselves.
ayanda: the judgement of parents who exhaust the earth’s resources will fall not only upon them, but on their children and grandchildren also. nature will raise a house only to crush it to the ground. for every thing that man builds will return to the earth; it is only the divine creations of the soul that will endure beyond time. i see fire, divine postman, on the mountaintop and i know apollo will remember me.
the grace of giving is what set me free to soar on the wings of archangels. today my life is a service unto all humanity. ineffable is the union of man and nature in every act of the soul. the simplest person who in his integrity worships nature, becomes nature; holding the whole of heaven and earth in his mind. yet for ever and ever the influx of this better and universal self is unsearchable. it inspires awe and astonishment.
how dear, how soothing, how serene arrises the idea of nature to man, divine postman; peopling the lonely place, effacing the scars of cruel disappointments and rejections. when we have broken the god of tradition, and ceased from the god of rhetoric, then may the earth, with her stars and abounding waters, fire the heart with her presence. for joy will come to the faithful, and heaven will be their true inheritance.
nature will create equality for all mankind and point them to their native riches. she is the doubling of the heart, nay, divine postman, the infinite enlargment of the heart with a power of growth to a new infinity on every side. she inspires in us an infallible trust to create a sublime future. we have not the conviction, but the sight, the best is the truth.
and may in that thought easily dismiss all particular uncertainties and fears, and adjourn to the sure revelation of time the solution of our private riddles. in the presence of law to our mind we are overflowed with a reliance so universal that it sweeps away all cherished hopes and the most stable projects of mortal condition in its flood. we believes that we cannot escape from our inherent good.
so mournful is a life without the daily cultivation of virtue. it is dark on all sides, as it degrades into the barbarism of vulgar prosperity. the world is one, divine postman, the actions in matatiele affect those in new york. what you feel in your heart and confirm to be true in nature, is what millions of men and women also feel in their moments of solitude.
let us deal with the cause that nature has placed us in, and not flee from reality. you hold the key, divine postman, to your liberation and divine riches. oh! weep not, my dear, thy suffering is only for a while, thy joy is everlast; in the middle of difficulty lies opportunity. the things that are really for thee gravitate to thee. love and you shall be loved, give and it shall be given unto you. he that watereth will be watered.