Book Two: The Book of the Traveller of the Worlds
Canto Eleven: The Kingdoms and Godheads of the Greater Mind
| There ceased the limits of the labouring Power. But being and creation cease not there. For Thought transcends the circles of mortal mind, It is greater than its earthly instrument: The godhead crammed into mind’s narrow space Escapes on every side into some vast That is a passage to infinity. It moves eternal in the spirit’s field, A runner towards the far spiritual light, A child and servant of the spirit’s force. But mind too falls back from a nameless peak. His being stretched beyond the sight of Thought. For the spirit is eternal and unmade And not by thinking was its greatness born, And not by thinking can its knowledge come. It knows itself and in itself it lives, It moves where no thought is nor any form. Its feet are steadied upon finite things, Its wings can dare to cross the Infinite. Arriving into his ken a wonder space Of great and marvellous meetings called his steps, Where Thought leaned on a Vision beyond thought And shaped a world from the Unthinkable. On peaks imagination cannot tread, In the horizons of a tireless sight, Under a blue veil of eternity The splendours of ideal Mind were seen Outstretched across the boundaries of things known. Origin of the little that we are, Instinct with the endless more that we must be, A prop of all that human strength enacts, |
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Creator of hopes by earth unrealised, |
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A thought comes down from the ideal worlds |
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A memory steals in from lost heavens of Truth, |
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| Where Knowledge is the leader of the act And Matter is of thinking substance made, Feeling, a heaven-bird poised on dreaming wings, Answers Truth’s call as to a parent’s voice, Form luminous leaps from the all-shaping beam And Will is a conscious chariot of the Gods, And Life, a splendour stream of musing Force, Carries the voices of the mystic Suns. A happiness it brings of whispered truth; There runs in its flow honeying the bosom of Space A laughter from the immortal heart of Bliss, And the unfathomed Joy of timelessness, The sound of Wisdom’s murmur in the Unknown And the breath of an unseen Infinity. In gleaming clarities of amethyst air The chainless and omnipotent Spirit of Mind Brooded on the blue lotus of the Idea. A gold supernal sun of timeless Truth Poured down the mystery of the eternal Ray Through a silence quivering with the word of Light On an endless ocean of discovery. Far-off he saw the joining hemispheres. On meditation’s mounting edge of trance Great stairs of thought climbed up to unborn heights Where Time’s last ridges touch eternity’s skies And Nature speaks to the spirit’s absolute. A triple realm of ordered thought came first, |
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Their deities shape our greater thinking’s roads, |
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But wide the terrains were those levels serve. |
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Indivisible Time into small minutes cut, |
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And to a new thinking’s body left its place. |
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Copies they made of all her guarded plans, |
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Out of the chaos of the Invisible’s moods |
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All was coerced by number, name and form; |
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A single and infallible look comes down, |
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By an abstract purity of godless sight, |
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This was the play of the bright gods of Thought. |
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Inescapable is her divine appeal, |
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| But thought nor word can seize eternal Truth: The whole world lives in a lonely ray of her sun. In our thinking’s close and narrow lamp-lit house The vanity of our shut mortal mind Dreams that the chains of thought have made her ours; But only we play with our own brilliant bonds; Tying her down, it is ourselves we tie. In our hypnosis by one luminous point We see not what small figure of her we hold; We feel not her inspiring boundlessness, We share not her immortal liberty. Thus is it even with the seer and sage; For still the human limits the divine: Out of our thoughts we must leap up to sight, Breathe her divine illimitable air, Her simple vast supremacy confess, Dare to surrender to her absolute. Then the Unmanifest reflects his form In the still mind as in a living glass; The timeless Ray descends into our hearts And we are rapt into eternity. For Truth is wider, greater than her forms. A thousand icons they have made of her And find her in the idols they adore; But she remains herself and infinite. End of Canto Eleven |
