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ForewordIntroductionMahaAmsterdamThe Secret
SealViennaLisbonMadridInterludeThe Great Vigil at Lisbon
Conclusion
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Messages from the Cathedral of the SoulA Secret Meeting in
RomeSecret Houses of the Rose-CroixStrange Encounter
Interview with Raymond Bernard (video)
Forward
The thousands of copies of this manuscript sold till now, the
quotations which have been made with great success in writings or
heard in lectures, and above all the numerous letters received from
my readers, have been for me very encouraging and moving evidence.
However, some of my correspondents have been led to such erroneous
conclusions that it seemed necessary for me to write a foreword to
be included immediately in this work and in all those which treat
of similar subjects, with the purpose of preventing any further
tendency to misleading interpretation or simply
misunderstandings.
The fundamental purpose of this manuscript is to transmit
certain knowledge of particular subjects of mystical tradition,
which nowadays, particularly in France, continue to exercise a
strong attraction upon whoever is interested in great questions
beyond the limits of a non-sensical item in the popular press. It
is enough, to be convinced of this, to notice the considerable
success met with from the general public, by books dealing with
these subjects. Now, most of these books are not built on any
foundation. They do not have any basis OF TRUTH for meditation and
reflection, and they lead their readers towards false and even
dangerous conclusions.
It was also necessary to show the importance of the Rosicrucian
Order AMORC in the world, and this manuscript is indeed to put it
in its rightful place, that is first, regarding its objectives, its
worldly activities and the number of its members. In spite of the
great tolerance of our Order and its extreme liberalism, it has
sometimes been necessary to show strict severity with regard to
those who, deceived perhaps by their own errors, risk deceiving
others and leading them into terrible ways which have no aspect of
psychic equilibrium. To warn is a duty, especially if one such
advertisement is directed to one who is on the sure and truthful
path offered by the Rosicrucian Order AMORC. To stray from this
path of certainty after assuming it, is incontestably to
retrogress. My aim has been that my Rosicrucian readers may avoid
committing this regrettable error of seeking elsewhere that which
they will always find at the most opportune moment, the most
efficacious for them, in the teachings of the Rosicrucian Order
AMORC.
Such were the reasons which induced me to write this manuscript
and some others. The manner chosen to communicate this knowledge is
important. To understand certain subjects, it is not enough to read
them, one must experience them, and that is why I adopted this form
of writing. The result is that this manuscript is PARTIALLY
ALLEGORICAL AND PARTIALLY ALSO IT RELATES FACTS. It is based on
SYMBOLISM, for the SYMBOL is, in essence, a language, which each
understands according to his development and which the Rosicrucian
understands better than most. Thus, through ALLEGORY, through
SYMBOL and through FACTS, subjects of the highest interest are
examined, and this examination will lead you to an understanding
more vast more useful and more true, of the great questions which
tradition, past and present, has applied itself in solving.
My dearest wish will always be that this lecture may be for you
a source of inspiration, and a constant encouragement to carry on
your efforts within the Rosicrucian Order AMORC towards greater
light and Peace Profound.
RAYMOND BERNARDDomaine de la Rose-Croix,Friday 17th October,
1969
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Introduction - I 1 2
Raymond Bernard is one of the leading esoteric philosophers and
mystics of our time. Now completely retired, he was formerly an
international leader and Grand Master of the Rosicrucian Order
AMORC, and a founder of sacred initiatory and traditional school of
mysticism (Rosicrucian, Martinism, Templar) for French-speaking
countries. As an Elder Brother and mystic, Raymond has traveled
extensively all over the world, to initiate and encourage seekers
from every kind of background and denomination to help them find
their own personal way of expressing the divine goodness in human
nature. His books have been translated in many different languages.
However, most of them have now been out of print . Very kindly
Raymond Bernard gave me his authorization to gather and upload on
to the internet
the entire collection of his written mystical books in French
and the ones that have been translated in English. Apart from
Raymond's enriching and illuminating books and messages, I will be
adding official biographies written by Serge Caillet andFranois
Goche and will also add my own testimony of a man and a mystic that
I call my dearest friend... a friend that I had the privilege of
being initiated by and later invited to become one of his closest
disciple.
In my autobiography, I describe Raymond Bernard as "an Invisible
Master" whom I refer to as 'John'. John is actually a pseudonym
that I gave to Raymond Bernard to protect his identity from curious
intruders. However, I am now allowed to use his real name.
According to the Tradition, there are invisible masters who
appear when the seeker is ready, attuned and in resonance with the
master. An invisible master is an enlightened person who gradually
reveals himself to seekers. To the outside world, of course,
Raymond is simply the charming and good human being that he in fact
is.
I am grateful to Raymond for urging and encouraging me to upload
his first English translated book on the internet, which is
entitled :
"Messages from the Cathedral of the Soul" .
It is important to understand that the wisdom in all these
'messages' goes beyond the Rosicrucian Order AMORC, or any other
mystery school...or hermetic organization, because what Raymond has
to say is his way of expressing pure Wisdom, which is the same in
all authentic traditions; moreover, the Source of Wisdom belongs to
no tradition in particular, it is open to the pure in heart and
mind, simply because Wisdom is the Source of Being and
Consciousness and from its center all the different traditions
unfold and develop their expressions so as to illuminate and awake
all seekers of Truth.
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Alice Ouzounian
To Readers who are not members of the Rosicrucian Order,
AMORC
This book, originally published in installments, was written for
members of the Rosicrucian Order, AMORC. It has now been revised
for wider circulation and, although the text has been neither
modified nor adapted, some specific changes had to be made for
readers not belonging to our organization. If they have no valid
information on our Order, they may ask for literature, especially
the free booklet entitled The Mastery of Life. That will help them
to avoid hasty conclusions, and to understand better the
terminology sometimes used by the author.
The Rosicrucian Order, AMORC, is neither a sect nor a religious
organization. It teaches no dogma. It proposes instead, solutions
and bases for reflection. Its members always and in every regard
retain their freedom, especially in thought and action, according
to their own conceptions. Truth is one under many and diverse
aspects. This book offers one of these aspects, and for some, it
will be a step toward the truth buried in the depth of each being.
For others, it will be the road toward the Rosicrucian Order,
AMORC. For all, it is the simple attempt of an author to be
obedient to the fundamental rule of the organization of which he is
one of the highest officers, this rule being to serve.
Raymond Bernard served as Grand Master of the Rosicrucian Order
for France and French-speaking countries during the writing of this
work. In his references to the Grand Lodge, he is speaking of the
headquarters for that area. In later years he advanced to the
office of Supreme Legate of AMORC for Europe.
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Maha
Painting by Gilbert Williams
I have met Maha again, and during our meetings in Amsterdam and
in Vienna, I could not help, as I listened to him, thinking of the
voluminous correspondence received from the readers of the "Strange
Encounters". Maha had created an impression on them and I felt, in
reading many of the letters, the certainty that if my description
had even in some small way been able to convey the unforgettable
impression which emanated from this extraordinary Being, this
description alone was sufficient to communicate to others the
emotions which I had felt myself. It seems that at the moment of
reading it, a subtle link had been established between the readers
and Maha. For many it was not only true; it became THEIR TRUTH that
which is buried deepest within each being, and which suddenly under
the unexpected stimulation of the story rose up gloriously, before
a dazzled consciousness. Truth is one, under the many aspects
manifested in the phenomenal world, and it is almost a platitude to
say that it is within each one of us. So Beings such as Maha live
on the plane of pure truth and this plane has a universal
permanence which man ever carries within him. Also I was not at all
surprised that some stated that they did not find Maha to be a
stranger, but on the contrary, let us say, a known idea or memory,
found with tremendous force and vigour in themselves, as if,
suddenly the words, the phrases, the story made them conscious of a
link which had never been broken. Moreover, the planetary mission
of the High Council of A ... concerns every man. It is no wonder
that some were able for a brief moment, to communicate with such
representatives and to put themselves in harmony with the highest
among them . . .
I have met Maha again and with this very memory, his image seems
to be near me. I feel the unique impression of his presence and my
being quivers with the usual emotion, never blunted by this
exceptional contact.
I do not know if you have noticed, in the "Strange Encounters"
that he seemed to me to be about forty years old in the portraits
that I had seen at Copenhagen and Lisbon. When I saw him in person
for the first time, I supposed him to be about fifty, and this
impression remained in Istanbul. However being uncertain, I did not
change my account. In Amsterdam he seemed to be younger, and in
Vienna, older. I do not know how he will appear next at Lisbon, at
Madrid and a little later in Athens. Perhaps when I reach the end
of these new meetings, what I have to say will make this seem a
wrong description. I can only give you my own subjective
impression. If anyone asks me to describe Maha I should be tempted
to reply: "He has eyes" and I cannot truly even now, speak with
more precision without risking giving you a wrong impression. I
believe that the eyes of Maha reflect a world, a universe. He can
communicate by his look alone and in
spite of the infinite goodness which emanates from him; his
preoccupations give perhaps to the purity
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of his clear eyes a different expression, in such a way that
according to circumstances he appears either more or less aged.
This, it seems to me is the explanation of the impression he gives
as to his age. Moreover, how do such notions as physical aspect or
exterior carriage apply to such beings! To them, would they require
any other unalterable memory than to have been in their presence,
in their magnetic vicinity, and to have heard THE message!
I think it would be useful here to mention something which was
implicit in the" Strange Encounters" ... There was, round about the
time of the last world war andafterwards until the year 1950, a
bizarre person who called himself "Maha Choan". He was spoken of in
the United States and in France, where the press devoted some
ironical articles to him. This pseudo "King of the World" claimed
nothing less than to lay his hands upon authentic traditional
organisations for reasons difficult to understand. He was quickly
unmasked, and sent back to his futile imaginings, but strange
though it may seem, he kept certain deluded disciples. Of him, in
any case, we need say no more. There is naturally no kind of common
communication between the pseudo Maha Choan and the true Maha. The
"King of the World" certainly seeks no publicity and he would not
expose himself before fools on a platform to the backing of
articles and communiqus. Few people have met Maha knowing him to be
Maha. The head of the High Council hides his identity and his true
function. He does not advertise his holy office as that adventurer
in the occult did, pretending to magical powers and receiving from
others as reward for his audacity nothing but reprobation
ridicule.
I have met Maha again . . . Maha alone and suddenly, I shall
renew again the contact of Amsterdam, then that of Vienna and await
soon Lisbon, Madrid, and Athens . . .
.
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Amsterdam 1 2 3 4
Amsterdam is a strange city where hovers the shadow of
Rembrandt, where historic canals grow old without ageing, where the
obstinate sea pits itself against the equally obstinate humans. It
is a city of tradition where one past Grand Master of the
Rosicrucians, Gustav Meyrinck, traveled in his memories. Never can
the cosmopolitan flux of daily affairs efface the history which
impregnates the ancient walls and old quarters, and even if one sad
day, angry nature should engulf thee in the tortuous waves of the
enemy, the wise would perpetuate thy memory in the holy sanctuaries
of secret wisdom. You are a noble town, which is sad with those who
are sad, happy with those who are happy, chain to the slave and
free to the free man. You take to your heart the aspiration of your
visitor, and you even know how to deceive him who wishes to be
deceived! Oh, how I would that the true adept, here and now, could
scan the eternal presence of all those who have left within thee
the imprint of highest wisdom. For thou dost not keep thy secrets
for the lone clairvoyant, who with one look can efface the
pervading modern to better see behind it. For me,
you have already given riches in opening your coffers full of
happy alchemists. Now you have yet more for me, because in future I
shall associate Maha with your memory.
The Hotel Carlton of Amsterdam is close to the centre of the
town and it stands on a busy road with side arcades, of which, one
asks the reason. On my arrival, I learned that, contrary to the
assurances of my agent, no room had been reserved in my name. Owing
to the importance of the meeting arranged at this hotel, I asked to
be put through by telephone to my agent in Paris. I wished to speak
to them, and after an hour of waiting, I hardly had finished, when
the receptionist hurried towards me to tell me that the reservation
had been found and that a room would be at my disposal . . .
tomorrow! My meeting is fixed for five o'clock. I said nothing and
the concierge easily found me a room for the night at the Hotel
Suisse in the Kalverstraat. I am not even waiting to open my cases,
I am in so much of a hurry to return to the place of the awaited
meeting. The next day at midday I am installed in the Hotel Carlton
and at 4.30 I was sitting in the little hall, eyes fixed on the
door through which soon Maha would appear.
He is here! I see him pass through the great glass door... He is
there, before me and I am before him, standing up, without even
remembering the effort of getting up. How moving it is to feel
suddenly that one is somewhere yet without being there, that a
world surrounds us and we can perceive nothing more, nothing,
except eyes of an extremely light color in which all our being is
lost not to forget, but to know and to LIVE! And that smile of
infinite kindness ... an encouragement, a call for confidence, for
humility and simplicity! In those few seconds there poured into my
consciousness memories of the past: Lisbon, ISTANBUL, the shining
crypt. All was one. How long did this state last? Some seconds,
perhaps less . . . yet I know and after all, what does it matter?
What signifies such notions as time and space compared to the
eternal, symbolized by him who is here!
He makes no movement and does not give the sign which I have
noticed several times before. I
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conclude that our meeting is not to follow the same plan as
previous meetings where certain explanations were given me on the
work of the High Council of A ... Therefore I hope for some new
revelation. The domain is so vast that only an enlightened guide
can define the contours. But I do not show any particular,
curiosity for the STATE transcends our miserable intellect.
"The place is not convenient for the object of our meeting" said
Maha after a few moments. "Come." Without a word I followed him. He
walked to where, at the edge of the pavement, a car waited a few
steps away, and hardly were we seated than it departed silently
towards its destination. I recognize certain canals, then the
Leidersplein; we passed the theatre on the right and the imposing
American Hotel, then we crossed the bridge, bore to the left and
... I knew nothing more than that I was completely lost. I know
Amsterdam well, but very much less its suburbs. Anyway I remember
the splendid house at which we arrived. Some dwellings are too rare
to be forgotten.
This one is not very big. It is situated at the heart of a green
park, to which, colored shrubs gave brightness and its structure OF
CLEAR brick give it a likeness to certain buildings on the
outskirts of London. We walk several steps from the car to a small
flight of steps leading to a large vestibule almost unfurnished. No
pictures are on the wall, in a corner a Chinese cabinet finely
engraved, in the centre a low table and two elegant armchairs,
nothing else which could particularly attract attention. On the
left is a large glass door and a small living room, as bare as the
vestibule. Maha leads me in and we sat down face to face on each
side of the elegant rectangular table. Maha seems to be waiting for
me to speak. I am
surprised but I make up my mind and say:
"A relatively short time has passed since you afforded me the
inestimable privilege of permitting me to make your acquaintance
and to learn of the existence of the High Council. According to
your instructions I have given out a part of the revelations which
were given to me, to those whom my own responsibilities give me the
right. I have made no distinction between them, but have given to
all of them the message I received. I would even say that some were
waiting for it and for others it was the awakening of an
indefinable knowledge that they sensed within themselves. Of the
reaction of some, very rare, you had warned me implicitly during
the course of our meetings that..."
Maha interrupted me with a smile; "It is well that men should
demand WHY, before certain phenomena and before events which do not
fit into their normal comprehension. A judicious WHY can open for
him the way towards transcendent knowledge and that which is beyond
the limitations of his intellect and register at the level of the
permanence of the actual. But such a WHY, even though expressed to
another, is really put to himself, and the reply of another, is
never satisfying. Therefore this reply often must be avoided. As
you well know, the "WHY" can be raised by egotism or favored by a
clever suggestion, of which, the true motives are always very clear
to one who knows how to analyze them. Everyone must therefore
determine the real nature of his WHY before asking it. It will draw
out a decisive knowledge of self and of others."
I admire the absolute wisdom of my teacher. Every word of his
struck my consciousness with piercing light. The simplest things
become a lesson on the value of a word such as WHY, so harmless in
appearance. Words are without life until they are brought to life
by the one who pronounces them. They are nothing in themselves, but
spoken they are charged with the personality of him who speaks
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Painting by Francine Hart
them. Does not that also apply to a phrase ... A WORD, which can
better reveal the inner self than all the analysis of a psychology
without depth?
Maha by his brief interruption has diverted my train of thought
in all human conduct, in complex argument of daily facts; I am ever
raised with him towards the simplicity of new heights. Most
Excellent Master, he has, at the most opportune moment, interrupted
the subtle play of my mental associations and going straight to the
core of my remarks, he has unravel the tangled skein of a reasoning
too well constructed by a remark which carries in itself the
solution of everything. I feel no more need to speak. Of what use
would it be? Someone capable in a few words of expressing a
response which forms the solution to all questions raised directly
or indirectly by a single curiosity, Would he not always know the
CAUSE, or the motive for actions, or even the thoughts of a being
occupied with human conditions and firstly with his own ego?
Suddenly I realize again who Maha is and what he represents not
only by his incomparable responsibilities but above all in HIMSELF
and I felt ridiculous, almost ashamed, of not having kept silent.
Maha who was looking at me kindly, shared in my mute reflections. I
gave myself up to the privilege of his presence and immediately, I
felt the immensity of his vibratory contact from which I had
removed myself by my fault, by living on the limited plane of
'reason' alone. I saw by his look that he did not refuse me, and
peace descended upon me, enveloped me and filled my being. All the
time that he was speaking I was, as it were, out of myself. It was
no longer Maha and myself, but simply a powerful vibratory flux, in
which I shared, knowing all, without distinguishing if this all had
really been said in words which sprang up in myself, or if they
came from outside in the voice of Maha.
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THE SECRET SEAL
In my previous encounters, strengthened by the measure of the
esteem of the members of the High Council for the Rosicrucian Order
AMORC, and happy to know that it is appreciated and recognized by
the highest jurisdiction of this world, I dared to ask some
questions, and, to my great surprise, not only were they answered,
but ALSO with precise details which I had not asked. In "The
Strange Encounters" I mentioned the recognition and the
appreciation of the High Council but I was not authorized to tell
the details of enthralling conversations which I felt nevertheless
would have carried certainty
and conviction to my Rosicrucian readers. Seeing that it is
permitted to do so today, some fundamental explanations are
necessary in the first place.
The official monographs of our Order, the works published under
the authority of, our tradition, the articles and conferences of
our beloved Imperator as well as my own writings and explanations,
repeat without ceasing that the Rosicrucian Order AMORC gives to
its members the means of visible initiation which permits them one
day to reach the invisible brotherhood. In other words it is often
said that the Rosicrucian Order is the authentic VISIBLE way
towards the INVISIBLE brotherhood of the Rose-Croix. The work, zeal
and perseverance leads the sincere member to the state of initiatic
understanding required for admission among the adepts of the
Invisible Fraternity where THOSE WHO ARE READY are received. One
can understand as a consequence that the invisible fraternity of
the Rose-Croix IS CONCERNED with the activities of its outer
organization -The Rosicrucian Order AMORC both collectively and by
the progress of each of its members. This progress is evaluated not
by the mass of monographs studied, but by the TRUE development
realized by the Rosicrucian and above all if a member knows how to
USE the visible methods confided in him by the outer Rose-Croix,
and if, in consequence, he has built an inner structure of
sufficient value to show THAT HE IS READY. Then he can be assured
that the doors of the inner Rose-Croix will be opened when the
right moment comes. The responsibility of his own advancement is
thus left to each member. He will inevitably reap by sincere work,
immeasurably more understanding and efficiency and in the last
analysis his life will be better, more orderly and happier. But the
way of initiation is a hard school of patience and if the
Rosicrucian accepts the lessons and obstinately follows his path,
the Rose-Croix finally will not be to him only a simple emblem. IT
WILL BE ALSO AN INNER STATE, thanks to which, he will take his
place among THOSE WHO REMAIN SILENT, amid the SILENT ONES of the
invisible fraternity of the Rosy Cross. That is, one understands,
the vigilant aim of the visible organization which is the
Rosicrucian Order AMORC and it infuses to this end LIFE, LIGHT AND
LOVE, as it at the same time stimulates the directing officers
towards more RIGOUR and SEVERITY if the necessity collective or
individually arises.
There are then in the world the true ROSE-CROIX. An author
declared some decades ago, that they had retired not long since to
the Orient and that was true for a long time but, even in the
Orient they continued to fulfill their role in connection with the
authentic Rosicrucian Order. NEVER have they ceased to do this, and
they TOOK PART in 1909 at the inauguration of the new cycle founded
by Dr. H. Spencer Lewis under the title of the Rosicrucian Order
AMORC. Besides, they have always kept
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and passed on to their successors the houses that they occupied
of old. Therefore at a relatively recent date they left the Orient
for Europe and they pursue their mission from the traditional
places and in some NEW PLACES, which nowadays as heretofore, were
known to accepted adepts under the name of "Secret Houses of the
Rose-Croix".
It was of these SECRET HOUSES that reference was made in the
course of certain conversations with those responsible persons
belonging to the A ... and what they told me has completed the
information that my office authorized me to know already, that a
new light has been given to me concerning the Rose-Croix in its
marvelous ensemble and the Rosicrucian Order AMORC in its unique
importance at the heart of the physical world, and the new cycle
which they outlined. Moreover, as the High Council ordered me to
do, I have waited for the time that was prescribed, and all BEING
READY, I have been received into a Secret House. I am allowed
another THREE visits, but at the time of writing these lines, I can
only tell of my reception in the first, simply because the three
others will not admit me for some weeks. My pilgrimage will come to
an end, anyway, on the 3rd of January next, and I will complete the
present manuscript after my return. However nothing changes what I
have told you already before my stay in the first secret house of
the Rose-Croix. I invite you to follow me to Vienna, in Austria, to
open the secret seal to a thrilling discovery.
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Vienna 1 2 3 4 5 6
Like all large towns and some smaller ones Vienna, for the
natives and the emigrants from the provinces, or from foreign
countries is their daily bread. For the tourist, and even the
hurried traveler, Vienna means the games of the Prater, and the
nonchalance of Schoenbrunn. For everyone, natives, emigrants,
tourists and travelers Vienna is the smiling capital of the music
and cult of Strauss. I arrived in Vienna at the height of the great
musical festival of June 1967. In the taxi which drove me from the
aerodrome to my hotel, the fragrance of a waltz charmed my path and
hardly had I arrived when another
waltz accompanied me from the mass of trees which face the Hotel
Continental. After a quick pause, time to fill in the formalities
at the reception desk and be led to my room, a new waltz filled the
universe, because the first act of the porter was to turn on the
radio. It was to music that I opened my bags and made the
acquaintance with my temporary home. I had asked for a quiet room,
and actually, I did not notice the noises of the town in the
distance, thus finding the place quite satisfactory. However,
glancing out of the great bay window, I saw in the square right
underneath, arranged in squares, several rows of seats with a ring
in the centre. I thought I want to think that these were the empty
places from a past sporting event, when later in the evening,
returning to my room after a meal, a maddening clamor lured me to
the window, and for a few minutes I am the clandestine witness of a
of the contortions of a match of ... catch!! ! Such is the sight
which upset my thoughtsTHE THOUGHT of the experience which I will
live here. The day J, the hour H? Oh no! I know that it is TOMORROW
and that the meeting will take place at 9 o'clock in the morning. I
know that I must wait in my room for the call of the concierge and
that it is in front of his desk that the meeting will take place.
On the surface, therefore, there are no foreseeable surprises. But,
foremost of these human conditions, there is ALL THE REST, a rest
that until now has been for me like for so many others VIRTUAL, but
soon, it will become REAL and ACTUAL. My heart feels a pang of hope
and of impatience. Oh! How time is an illusion and how much hold it
has on us!
I wake up at 6.30 and I am surprised, for my physical
constitution is such that, as the saying goes, I am not a "morning"
person. I often work at writing articles, my talks or I meditate,
till two or three o'clock in the morning, without being the least
tired. But if in the morning I get up too early, my efficiency is
considerably retarded. What a strange constitution is mine in this
incarnation! No intense cold, or any morning hours. . . One must
know these exigencies and adapt oneself to them. It requires a kind
of mastership to know oneself so well. Certain people at times tell
me, "How much you must regret not to know each day, the beauties of
the morning, when all nature awakes in explosions of joy!" I can
only reply, "It is a pity on your side you cannot know the
splendors of the night when everyone is asleep around you and the
talkative sky has only you to whom to tell its secrets!"
I am ready in a few minutes. I am about to go to the window when
the telephone rings ... IT IS THE TIME, HE IS WAITING ... I hurry
towards the lift, I rush towards the lift . . and am in the hall
then I come up to the desk of the concierge. HE IS THERE! I WOULD
HAVE KNOWN HIM AMONG THOUSANDS! The height, the noble face, the
overwhelming calm of the whole appearance, the brilliance of light
grey eyes under the amazingly thick white eyebrows thrown at random
on the
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forehead . . . the burning magnetism which emanates from his
whole BEING to such a point that THE ONE WHO KNOWS could, touch him
with his sensitive fingers. HE IS THERE, ROSE-CROIX, A ROSE-CROIX,
An ENLIGHTEN BEING. What could one do? What could one say? What
would you have done, or said? I approach him and without
ostentation, lightly bowed my head in a sign of profound respect
and intense devotion; I put the left hand on my heart and murmured
"TO SERVE!" A smile answers me and without a word being spoken, I
follow him to an immense black car marked with a diplomatic plaque.
The chauffeur drives without a word and is stiff and serious. He
drives the car along a route known to him towards its destination.
On the way, I throw a glance at the crowded thoroughfare along
which we are passing, then on the opera house, then . . . but a
hand lays affectionately on mine, as if to say, "Peace, patience,
confidence!" and these three feelings, at the same moment I AM
LIVING THEM. A little sooner, a little later, what does it matter!
An experience such as the present one, is it not in itself A
MYSTICAL EXPERIENCE? I remembered that a wise man, met during a
journey I had undertaken in search of the vestiges of an ancient
initiation, had said to me: "Repeat the word God for five minutes,
living it each instant as you speak. If you can do this you will be
God yourself!" He wished in this way to show that the initiation
had the effect of being conscious of each instant, in making each
moment a perpetual PRESENT. In truth, it is what I am feeling at
this moment, while this blessed hand rests on mine, ready to
receive whatever one decides that it is worthy of sharing.
The journey proceeded to I know not where. It seemed of little
importance to mention it. I was not unaware of where we were, I
KNOW WHERE WE ARE, strangely, I had already come one day by chance
to this place, during a walk, but I may not give here any
indications of precisely where it is. This house of the Rose-Croix,
like the others which we would visit later is SECRET, and this is
for reasons bound up with the same idea of INITIATION and
TRADITION. Besides, if I told in these pages that this house is on
such a street, and one gets there in such a way; how many in their
mystical enthusiasm would come running to these doors, not to know
more of what I am going to tell you, but to SEE more and perhaps to
perceive for an instant the shadow of an enlightened being. So this
would be the end, the breaking point, the collapse of a world of
tradition, for it is true that the noblest desire engenders
sometimes the most dreadful catastrophes.
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Lisbon 1 2 3 4 5
Few know that Lisbon was once called Ulissipo, then probably to
simplify, Olisipo. Many do not know that it was a town of the Roman
Lusitanian and in 375 it was already a Bishopric of which the Moors
took possession in 711 and that it was not reconquered until 1147
by Alphonso 1st, Henry and the Crusaders. It becomes in the
thirteenth century the residence of the Kings of Portugal. Its
fabulous prosperity acquired during the 15th Century disappeared
with the Spanish conquest in 1580 and definitely annihilated by the
destruction of the Indies, which is little remembered. One speaks
even yet with anguish of the trembling of the earth in 1531 and
with terror of the devastating earthquake of 1755 followed by
gigantic fires and tidal waves which destroyed the major part of
the town. It was the port and centre of commerce for the spices
exported from the Indies to European Atlantic ports. It was the
place of arrival for ships from Brazil ... It languishes today on
the beaches of the "Sea of Straw", dreaming of its past, surveying
the future and its uncertain promises, caught up in the hopes of
its people, smiling sadly, maintained by daily labor and centurys
old perseverance . . .
As for me, on the terrace of my apartment at the Ritz, in the
pleasant coolness of that 13th November, soon after my arrival, I
thought I could see in the very far distance below, one of the most
beautiful harbor of the world. I salute the river Tagus, that exile
from Aragon that grew in Castile and is accompanied from Aranjuez
by its sister Jarama, shining in the sun of Toledo, Talavera and
Alcantara before springing into Portugal and going through the
splendid gorge of the Portas de Rodas. It is charged with history
to pursue its winding way through the calm of the plains and after
many false tracks to come, after the majestic fall at Villa Franca.
There to play in the superb bay of Lisbon and to die exhausted in
the Atlantic Ocean...
Lisbon and its rare ruins, its ancient churches, its tower of
Belem and its monastery of Jeronimos... Lisbon and the Tagus,
Lisbon and its Ritz and Lisbon and MAHA! . . . Days have run into
months and here old memories meet again in the passing present. The
same places, the same hope! For tomorrow, the same wait...
I go inside and sit down. With closed eyes I try to calm the
disordered flow of thoughts in which are mixed the nostalgia of
yesterday with present impatience. All will begin tomorrow; of what
good is it to imagine now what may happen next. The time is not far
off when the facts will be written in the time which is prepared
for them. The concierge has given me a brief message: "Someone will
come tomorrow at 10 o'clock." How useless always are assumptions of
"perhaps".
Nevertheless, had not Maha told me in Vienna to hope for another
meeting with him in the towns where I would find myself in for the
visits to which I was invited? Indeed, who am I to hope that such a
being or even one of his assistants would dream of including me in
the immensity of his task or even a
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few minutes of his precious time! Come now, I must not entertain
such dangerous illusions, I am already confounded by the unique
privilege to be granted me tomorrow ... I must not prolong the
thought of Maha. What took place with him here in this hotel;
remind me constantly of his image. Well! Let us suppose! So much
for the uselessness of "perhaps"!
However, Maha is, or will be, in the next few days visiting
Lisbon, a little later in Madrid and I will be there also, and then
later in Athens. Lisbon, Madrid, Athens . . . three places of
authority, three countries which do not follow the rhythm of the
world despite the aspirations of their people. I follow this
political thought. After all things follow their natural course and
nothing can change it. Nothing? I remembered what I had learned
during the course of the previous meetings. After all, I KNOW that
"they" watch and evaluate the state of a nation in relation to
general normal requirements and take into account the lessons to be
learned and stages to be attained. These are certainly known
perfectly. Since I had access to this knowledge
thanks to the light received from the most competent authorities
in these matters, I have no problem. A little reflection allowed me
to size up events, large and small, in their admirable universal
context.
Painting by Peter Celeste
Maha could not, therefore, be in Lisbon for one of the periodic
reunions. There are four which coincide, within one or two days
with the beginning of a new season. In Vienna this could have been
the case, in Athens this would certainly be the reason for the
presence of Maha next December, but in Lisbon there is nothing of
the sort. I remember after all that my first meeting with Maha had
taken place here in November also, and I never pretended to believe
that he had made such a journey only to meet me. A "meeting" has
taken place here. It could be that it will turn out to be an
exceptionally important meeting, but Maha, at the same time of the
year will come again to Lisbon. This could not be a stroke of good
luck. Is Lisbon of first importance for the High Council? After the
last meeting with Maha in this town, there have been important
events in the world, but how could one find the direct relationship
between the two facts, although ... I refuse to follow this
assumption further. Did Maha live here? No! The answer jumps with
such immediate certainly into my sub consciousness that I abandon
this idea. Then what should one conclude? That if the situation
requires it, a special reunion is always held in Lisbon, but in
this case why November? Events do not wait . . . unless NOVEMBER IS
A MAJOR MONTH EACH YEAR IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD, PERHAPS THAT
OF THE BALANCE SHEET, WHERE APPROACHING EVENTS ARE FORESEEN AND THE
MANNER OF FACING THEM IS EVIDENT.
I begin to understand. Maha had truly said that what had been
revealed to me would become the KEY explaining ALL conditions. So
the time of the meetings, their dates and their places ARE THEY
NOT
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IN THEMSELVES A REVELATION?
The four annual reunions could be, if my reasoning is right,
those of ACTION AND DECISIONS, the others, those of EVALUATION. As
to Lisbon, this could be the town of the ANNUAL STOCKTAKING before
the GREAT MEETING of the winter. What of the other towns, Amsterdam
and Vienna? I think that I can guess: Athens is close to Istanbul,
less than an hour by airplane. So another town would be Istanbul,
that of the last great meeting. The listing is incomplete. I know
of ALL the meetings, general and private, of Amsterdam, Vienna,
Lisbon, Athens and Istanbul. I remember Copenhagen where I
UNDERSTOOD a reunion had taken place. Of London, I was not so sure,
except that members of the High Council certainly never travel
uselessly. SEVEN towns in total, and not only am I ignorant of the
eighth, but it would also be conjecture to say where the important
meetings take place and where the secondary ones meet. A part from
Istanbul, Vienna and perhaps Copenhagen . . . What does it matter
after all? Is not the essential thing that such meetings take
place? I reproach myself for my human curiosity. I get up and
unpack my luggage. This evening I will go to bed very early.
Decidedly I have to admit that time counts and that age flies away:
my old friend the airplane, it also tires me...
In the car which drives me this morning to a new "secret house
of the Rose-Croix", I review over the events that have happened
during the last hour, and the similarity to those which happened at
Vienna strikes me. Firstly, the messenger who brings me a few
minutes before ten o'clock, when I am waiting by the telephone in
my room for a ring from the concierge, a sealed envelope containing
a minute card with only the words, in a beautiful slanting
handwriting "I am here J.C." Next, my arrival in the immense hall
with a look at the place which, previously, stood Maha, but his
place is empty, silent, then someone is coming towards me. He is
tall, slim, and splendidly upright in an old age which he carries
with a youthfulness that radiates from his grey eyes, in the
luminous silver of his abundant hair. Pale? Yes, but the pallor is
due to the contrast of his fine face with his extremely dark blue
suit on which rests a white tie lost on a shirt of the same color.
"Come" and again confident with absolute certainty, I am a stranger
going to a new discovery. Perhaps, I ought to say something about
the car which awaits us, of the chauffeur who without a word, takes
the road which he must know well? It seems that I have nothing more
to add to this story. There are many cars and drivers in all my
meetings without my knowing if one or the other had been in service
of those whom they carried with me, or whether they were "lent" by
some unknown supporter. Anyway, of what good is it to think of this
kind of problem? The anonymous role of these devoted helpers honors
them in the perfection of their accomplished mission..
The car drives rapidly and I dare not break the silence. My
companion seems withdrawn in a profound meditation, I close my eyes
and force myself to join his vibratory level, but quite quickly, I
sense that HE IS LEADING MY MEDITATION TOWARDS AN INDESCRIBABLE
STATE OF COMMUNION to which I abandon myself entirely. When I
recover consciousness again the car has left the sea on the left
and is following a wide and well tended road. This is leading
towards a large building of which nothing can hide the view, and
most probably neither the natives nor the tourists, following the
road which we had taken, COULD FAIL TO SEE. Thus far, this building
resembled a monastery and it must certainly intrigue the curious,
unless the idea that it is a convent, that one could not visit,
puts an end to all desire to know more . . .
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Madrid 1 2 3 4 5
Painting by Martine Jacobs
Lisbon proclaims her sadness in the lamentations of a fado. In
order to forget her sorrow, Madrid calls it love and to make it
sociable, the city skips, shakes from the clacking castanettes and
stamping feet, stealthily at first then in the thunder of rhythm
without ceasing, more accelerated, which soon will die in the
languor of a deceptive victory. Fado or flamenco, two proud people,
at the sound of a guitar, singing their unhappiness and their hope!
The one bows the head and resigns itself, but it is under a manly
pride that the other conceals its weakness. See that dancer with
the gorgeous finery. The woman? Perhaps and indisputably the sorrow
to surmount, the happiness to conquer . . . from the heel, the
Spaniard will scan his desire in a voluptuous artifice to which the
prey will only succumb in appearance. She and it finally will
remain in a tragic face to face. No surrender! It is tomorrow and
shortly, the cycle will resume itself racing towards insatiable
felicity!...
I experience an exceptional predilection for Madrid, I feel
myself at home there and my Madrid friends have always welcomed me
as one of them, never as a stranger. There is much more besides,
the surroundings that respond to my profound nature. There is no
need for me to go down there, to the others and the others do not
have to come to me. We each make, by chance, half of the road; we
meet and continue our path together. No effort is required. My soul
combines itself at the very outset with the Spanish soul as if the
harmony between this country and me was, let us say,
pre-established. However, to describe Madrid would be for me an
arduous task with pitiful results. This city has nothing different,
it is just a city . . . but it only takes the touch of an expert
artists brush to combine the colors and blend them to its history,
then, we see the picture of a city that comes to life and on its
background of blood, dignity stands erect, the pride, and perhaps
the arrogance of the whole Spanish people. "To die for Madrid"?
Why? It suffices to live there.
Joseph Kessel loves the night and delights in the slums of a
town. It is there, says he, that he experiences the true contact
with man and his profound nature. Joseph Kessel is certainly one of
our most perceptive writers and of authentic purity. When he
underlines his taste of risk, I believe that he draws above all his
love of life. But to live, to my way of thinking, is not to
differentiate humanity into distinct compartments. HUMANITY IS ONE,
ONLY HYPOCHRISY MAKES IT MANY. For me, a city is not only the
beautiful parts, some historic monuments, but also shady sectors,
where the pretended "respectable thinker takes offence in words
whilst, with eyes closed, he dreams of going there to see A city is
a whole where each one shows forth his own nature. To content one
by seeking out the low quarters is as great an error as wishing to
ignore them. Might we not have lived there formerly, in some life?
Will not our fanaticism establish for us the hard obligation to
have one day such an experience, in some future life? Since to
learn is to know and the inescapable law demands that we learn. In
spite of everything and no matter where he is, man is always in
search of himself in everything he does and everyone he knows. A
city in its diversity offers its experience to us. Joseph Kessel
gathers it only in certain quarters; that is his right, as regards
to me, I gather it from everywhere. From the rich as well as the
poor, the prodigal as well as the miserly, the humble as well
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as the proud, the saint and the sinner, the pure and the
degenerate, all have something to give, an experience to share, a
warning to give, all have something to receive, some council to
solicit, a smile to collect. That is humanity, it is THE CITY, and
Madrid is a city and why shut our eyes on the world which is OUR
world, a world of which we are the replica, the microcosm?
Everywhere it is sufficient to be ONESELF, to teach oneself, to
share, to SERVE . . .
Painting by Martine Jacobs
So, I shall not say anything of Madrid, but if, one day, your
steps lead you there; do not neglect certain narrow and secret
streets. They are filled with a rich history, for behind the
misery, you will recognize mankind and you will discover YOUR
SELVES. On a table weathered by the years, a horrible rusty iron
box, from which sprouts a bright rose, whose stem is lost in fetid
water: what a simple picture, what a wonderful picture!
I have never understood the reproaches that certain people have
raised against the Hilton Hotels. What can there be in common
between a technical way of running a hotel technique and the
buildings where it operates? If the same hotel was called Durand or
Dupont would it offer more appeal? Of course, in all the "Hiltons"
of the world, one discovers a monotonous uniformity, but precisely,
this uniformity, is the certainty of a satisfying comfort, of an
efficient service and a discrete tranquility. Can one wish for
more? The hotel is a shelter after the fatigue of a day of
persevering labor or of urgent visits. Hilton, until
now, has offered me its guarantee and I have never regretted it.
This is why in Madrid; I reside at the Castilian Hilton.
I have arrived there at the appointed hour, and after a moment,
I make acquaintance with my apartment. I also make acquaintance
with the thoughts which assail me. Where can a secret house of the
Rose-Croix be found in Spain? "Sancti Spiritus"? It is a city in
Cuba but it is also one in Spain. But it is in Madrid where I am
expected. After all, "Spiritus ubi vult spirat" as well as
"Spiritus flat ubi vult" means the "spirit breathes where it
wishes". Then it is Madrid... or perhaps elsewhere?...
The rendezvous is fixed for Saturday, the18th of November at an
hour later than customary: 13 o'clock. It is true that in Spain,
one gets up later, but I do not think that this may be the reason
for the time chosen for this meeting. I have learned never again to
ask any precise questions in relation to these exceptional
experiences to which I have been privileged to be invited. The
answers which I might be able to imagine would have little chance
of being proved correct. I have better things to do. I must get
ready. It is only after tomorrow when the new hour will strike.
Therefore, I only have this evening and a full day. I decide on a
relative fast: vegetables, fruits, no meats, no coffee but plenty
of water. In short, it is a preparation for a high mystical
experience. I add to it the "spiritual shower" known to advanced
adepts. Further, I suggest to myself to commune with the Celestial
Sanctum every three hours during the day until midnight. I will
also go for one hour in the morning and in the evening to my little
chapel in Madrid always so forgotten and yet so powerful in its
vibratory note. Why a chapel? In Istanbul it was a mosque,
elsewhere it was a temple, in other places a synagogue, sometimes a
tree near a babbling river. In Madrid, in the very Catholic Spain,
is it not natural that it may be a chapel that welcomes me? I meet
my solitude while I commune with my soul. I shall
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rigorously observe this program and during the time of waiting,
my being little by little, will free itself from the corporeal
chains in order to live on "its" plane, taking with it, in order to
annihilate it in the sublime abandonment, all notion of time and
every impression of space . . . The evening comes, then the day and
once again the night. . . The Sabbath approaches . . . my brother,
it is the hour! A few moments more and the nothing which I am will
unite its nothingness to the greatness of all. This sacred Saturday
sanctifies each gesture, each step towards the One who now awaits
me and towards which I approach at last I in this pretentious hall
which its presence fades...
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Madrid 1 2 3 4 5
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interlude
Today is the 2nd of December and not having reread my account
until today, of my visit to the "Secret Houses of the Rose-Croix";
I feel that this account calls for some commentary. In fact, having
chosen to write this manuscript as soon as possible after each of
the events it describes, it becomes more or less a private diary to
which I confide my thoughts as they occur. As a result, this story
contains much of "me", perhaps too much. Another consequence is
that if, for any reason whatever, an unforeseen hitch happens or if
there is a change in the proposed journey, the pages written carry
in them a hope which the facts do not confirm. Now in Madrid, I
learned precisely that the last phase of my journey towards the
light was changed. Instead of the Parthenon, it is the Tagus which,
once again, will welcome me. My first inclination was to revise my
texts, to adjust it to the course of events and to render it thus
more coherent. Then I decided to do nothing, for in attempting to
make the story uniform, I would have perhaps removed the life which
the inspiration of the moment breathed into it, when coiled in my
memory, I was projecting the scene in words. But how can I explain
it? THE MOOD I found again in the images
flowing to my consciousness and in the emotions renewed by them
is hard to put into words.
I did not see Maha again at Madrid. Should I for that suppress
what He had given me Himself to understand in Amsterdam? I cannot
allow myself such a liberty. Besides was he truly absent? HE KNEW
that I would be in Madrid and he knew the place where I was awaited
and the moment of my visit. . . "Our routes will cross" he had
assured me. Basically, that need not signify that there would be a
meeting. He was already in Athens, but he might also have been in
Madrid without judging it necessary to see me. After all, it is
enough to see Maha once, never to forget him. Afterwards he is with
you and you live with him. And yet, I have had the privilege of
many meetings. I was not expecting them and my gratitude is
infinite for this happy experience.
For the Great Vigil, well, I prepare myself. The great teachings
of the Rosicrucian Order AMORC have opened to me the unique
treasure of their profound wisdom and, curiously, it is the
Neophyte Degrees which have appeared to me as the most appropriate,
in the circumstances. It is true they conceal much, perhaps ALL,
but one does not perceive it until the time comes after many
years
Here, in the domain of the Rose-Croix, strange as this may seem
to my readers, the silence is profound with regard to my visits to
the "secret houses". It is necessary so that the written account
record the happening before any question or commentary, and guard
in its entirety the essence of the remembrances. My wife, discrete,
active, always anxious to keep from me the daily worries, keeps
silent, while I confide to my manuscript the "secret", l feel
ocasionally, regarding me, the questioning look of Pernelle . . .
she awaits as the Grand Secretary Serge Wahart waits, that silent,
hard working, efficient and indispensable friend, vvhose comforting
presence and affectionate attention, each day make me fear l have
been a little egotistical when l chose him to be at my side.. . As
to my son, in Sagittarius blended with Scorpion, he remains
attached to legality and order and profoundly devoted to rule and
formalism, bides his time patiently for the moment will come, he
knows, to attempt, through
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the text, to get an inkling of what he calls my "other
secrets".
Here is where we are in the journey which, soon, will end . . .
this morning, my air ticket has arrived; Air France, flight 503 of
26th December, hour of departure 11.40 return T.A.P. 400 of 5th
January, hour of departure 9.35. Between these two dates the GREAT
VIGIL ... Ouickly! What will make the interlude shorter ... l will
have here, with my own, my family Christmas and down there l
anticipate, a moment of light when my soul will ring out the peal
of Christmas..
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interlude
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The Great Vigil 1 2 3 4 5 6
Since my visit of last month, a flood swept through the city of
Lisbon in the night of Saturday, the 25th of November. It lasted
only a few hours, but brought with it sadness, blood and tears and
tortured the courageous people living there. The noble city has
wept, still weeps, but all in silence; like when the tears of
misery of an even greater misery, tightens its grip on an all
embracing, kind person and she weeps. The poor have their absent
ones and the rich have theirs, for the earth has retaken that which
the water has yielded. The Tagus is less brilliant, the sea less
captivating, yet how can one scorn them. My heart aches for them! l
cannot hate them but l think of their dead and my joy of being here
is darkened with sadness. l do not know yet what will be the
promised awakening. l anticipate the sublime . . . then O God, may
the work accomplished here break forth in a feast of peace, of
comfort and consolation for the mourning city. May l profit nothing
from it, if it be not for all, like the forerunner of a beatitude
once given to the world of sufferers by HIM who, for us, yesterday,
once again was born; Blessed are they that mourn for they shall be
comforted..
My reservation had been made, as was customary, at the Hotel
Ritz, but some days before my departure, a brief note recommended
me to plan nothing. Trustingly, l had asked the hotel to cancel my
apartment. Meanwhile, as no precise indication had been sent me, my
reasoning was instilling doubt in me. The picture was depressing. l
saw myself arriving in Lisbon and wandering, worried sick, in the
airport, then in the city, my luggage in my hand, in search of the
impossible and the unknown. The idea was nonsense and l was ashamed
of it. However, it also gave place to the certainty of a thoughful
preparation to the last detail which the events confirmed. "The
guide" in fact was there, and once that the custom formalities
ended, l hurried towards him for a warm embrace and in a compelling
motion coming from the depths of myself and he received me with
moving fondness. Since our first meeting at the Hotel Ritz, not
much time had passed, but even if it had been ten years, l would
have recognised him immediately.
l was then taken back to the same place of my reception in
November, to the Rose-Croix installed in this country, that is to
say to their "Secret House", and it is there that l am presently. l
have my cell here and l consider it a distinguished privilege to
occupy the thirteenth one, because of what it symbolises for this
supreme hierarchy. So, is it because the last must be first and the
smallest must appear as the greatest? The "word" manifests in all
occasion here. I have to learn to observe the smallest details. For
in the Rose-Croix, each gesture contains a particular meaning . .
.
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The thirteen cell ... l think of the thirteenth figure of the
Tarot: DEATH, and l remember the interpretation given to this
arcanum by Oswald Wirth . . . the SILENT arcanum of the painters of
the middle ages. . . The profane must die to be reborn to a higher
existence which, initiation confers. If he does not die to his
state of imperfection, he blocks all initiatic progress, so to
know, how to die is the great secret of the initiate, for in dying,
he frees himself from that which is inferior, by raising himself
through sublimation . . .
The true sage constantly forces himself to die in order to live
better. That does not imply on his part a practice of sterile
asceticism, but if he wants to really conquer his intellectual
autonomy, must he not first break with his preconceived ideas which
are dear to him, so that he is born to the freedom of thinking?
Indeed, in order to be born to the freedom of thought, one must
find freedom in dying, of all that which is opposed to the strict
impartiality of judgment. Thirteenth
cell, arcanum thirteen The Holy Spirit of the Gnostics and I am
in a "House of the Holy Spirit"! Arcanum thirteen, the consolatory
Paraclete which frees the spirit from the bondage of matter.
Liberation, spiritualization, DEMATERIALISATION and perception of
the reality, stripped of every tangible ornament, initiatic death,
then complete initiation...
Because THEY are twelve, my meditation stops at the twelfth
TAROT CARD, which is THE HANGED MAN. In the tarot deck there are
fourteen picture cards and in the House of the Holy Spirit there
are fourteen cells and the fourteenth picture card is TEMPERANCEAh
Then UNDERSTANDING dawns, and all is clear to me. LIVING, I KNOW
why I am here, I KNOW why, alone in this thirteenth cell. I am here
for several days, face to face with myself in an introspection
which only the communal meetings and the meals shared in common
will break.
A chair, a table, a bed, a tiny cupboard and a wash basin,
there, that is MY cell. My heart furnishes it with the most
precious riches; my waiting fills it with HOPE. I have FAITH and
they grant me CHARITY. On my knees on the uneven floor, my head
resting on the edge of the table, I fold my hands and I pray . .
.
The great moments of my life - the good and those which are not
so good thoughts, words, acts, omissions, those which were just and
those which were not, all that came to my lips in a Kyrie Eleison
that occasionally my hand beat my breast to the rhythm of a
torturing "mea culpa". In these moments, the good accomplished,
even though others have judged it great, is swallowed up by the
enormous whirlwind of the error, perhaps serious or only slight,
for which the conscience laments, until warned by the spiritual
sadness and the "mortal" regret' of the soul, the angel of pardon
makes amends and touches with its dazzling wing, the heart which
repents. Oh! intense purification, the SUM TOTAL of these blessed
hours, thou leavest me dying of inward exhaustion, empty, naked,
suddenly penetrated by an unknown irradiating force. Thou art the
time of the passion of the annunciation of celestial Easters. The
golden dawn has
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followed the dark night, for if thou crucify us, immediately
afterwards thou make us rise again.....
The Great Vigil! I was waiting for an exceptional evening,
within a few hours of the unique events of which I would be filled
with wonder and I had prepared myself to the best of my ability
before my arrival, because that was the order received and
ACCEPTED. Yet, my preparation had for its real motive, to prepare a
far greater one, a prelude to something else of which I MUST NOT
THINK. I have by an IMPERATIVE ORDER, TO CONCENTRATE MY ATTENTION
ON THAT WHICH I DO EACH MOMENT, whether it is to meditate on the
THREE words which had been communicated to me and to use them while
moving, rising myself, sitting or while eating. In the BEGINNING it
was extraordinarily difficult, but perfection was not demanded. It
sufficed to get as near to it as possible. THE EFFORT BEING MORE
IMPORTANT THAN THE SUCCESS as Father Rosencreutz insistently
repeated to me while easily leading me to my cell when I first
arrived.
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The Great Vigil 1 2 3 4 5 6
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Conclusion
Today is the 6th of January, 1968, the day of the Epiphany. "The
Secret Houses of the Rose-Croix" are finished; the time has arrived
for a necessary conclusion before which my pen, alas, is lazy. It
knows however, that basically NEVER AGAIN shall such tales be given
to it to write. This is, perhaps, why it trails along slowly in the
pursuit of words, reflecting the nostalgia which overshadows my
soul at this moment. NEVER AGAIN! This final ending was foreseen,
unavoidable. It crept, treacherous, on the sacred soil of the high
holy places, where the unknown unveiled its mystery to my dazzled
gaze. It was concealed behind the days which have passed, the days
and then the hours and here it is, victorious, invested with its
"NEVER AGAIN"!
Yes, the time of similar discoveries is past for me, but it has
impregnated my being to the point that the memory can at any time
relive and shout. It will "ALWAYS" be with me! At will, the CLOUD
OF KNOWLEDGE can recover again my inner heaven and shine with its
own sign which is the Rose and the Cross.
Painting by Rohrig Carl W.
Other accounts, certainly, will later see the light of day just
as I am inspired, but they will be legendary, VISIONS and my
readers will know it. They know it already by this conclusion.
Nevertheless, TRUTH remains constant in that which concerns the
MESSAGE, and if the imagination then works in the circumstances
related, in the SETTING the argument will remain AUTHENTIC and the
knowledge conveyed in this manner, will be real and permanent,
coming at times from "other places", from previous meetings or even
more recent ones, although less exceptional in appearance and only
by comparison. We will thus have new discoveries to make together
and when the time comes, I will inform you of it.
It is possible that "The Secret Houses of the Rose-Croix"
themselves may be placed by some in the series of these future
stories where reality will be allied with legend. SUCH IS NOT THE
CASE, but what does it matter! The result alone is what matters and
this manuscript stripped of its descriptive and the emotional
reactions of its author, retains nevertheless, valuable testimony,
or if one wishes a thesis whose ideas can lead him who meditates on
them to
fruitful conclusions.
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My role is finished; I was going to write "my mission". Yours
now commences. "The Secret Houses of the Rose-Croix" no longer
belong to me BUT TO YOU. I transmit them to you as a great truth
which has been precious to me and which my memory will ever
cherish. If this truth meets with YOURS, if it goes to the heart of
your inner self, it will then have attained its objective and, who
knows, rediscovered in you, its dwelling place, its "secret house",
from which springs the flux of "your" universe, of "your" world, of
"your" reality. This trust which I have received, I now entrust to
you. It was a privilege for me, what shall it be for you? It is up
to you to decide - although egoistically, I dream, I hope, I would
wish that your heart beats in harmony with mine on the PATH which
together we travel with our invisible guides who SO CLOSELY work
for us in the SECRET HOUSES OF THE ROSE-CROIX.
Domain of the Rose-Croix94 Villeneuve-Saint-GeorgeSaturday 6th
January 1968
Day of the Kings
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