MAN AND WOMAN AND CHILD
Harold W. Percival
MAN AND WOMAN AND CHILD
One hundred years should be the normal life of man and of woman, approximately divided into four periods or stages in the journey through life. First, youth, which is the stage for education and the learning of self-control; second, maturity, as the stage for learning of human relations; third, accomplishment, as the stage for service to larger interests; and, last, balance, as the stage or period during which one can comprehend and may perform the purifying rites which one ordinarily passes through in the after-death states, or perhaps even begin the regeneration of the physical body.
The four stages are not equally divided as to time; they are developed by one’s attitude of mind, and by thinking. Sports, amusements, or social requirements and enjoyments will be compatible with one’s age, associations and personal selection. The four stages are not to be considered as stern necessity but as the chosen duties, in which one performs what he chooses and wills.
The first stage begins when the infant body comes into this world; it is only an animal body; but it is different from other animal bodies; it is the most helpless of all animals; it cannot walk or do anything for itself. To continue to live, it must be nursed and coddled and trained to eat and to walk and to talk and repeat what it is told; it does not ask questions. Then, out of the darkness of infancy, comes the dawn of childhood. When the child begins to ask questions, it is evidence that a conscious something, a self, has come into the body, and it is then a human being.
The questioning conscious self makes the difference and distinguishes it from the animal. This is the period of childhood. Then its real education should begin. The parents do not usually know that they are not the parents of the conscious something, the self, which has taken residence in their child; nor do they know that it has an individual ancestry of character. The individual conscious self in the child is immortal; the corporeal body it is in, is subject to death. With the growth of body there will be, there must be, a contest between the conscious self and the animal body, to decide which shall rule.
Therefore, if the conscious self does not learn of its immortality during childhood it is not probable that it will learn during or after adolescence; then the body-mind will make the conscious self believe it is the body, and will prevent it from identifying itself within the body and from becoming consciously immortal. That is what has happened, and happens, to practically every human being born into this world. But it need not be so, for when the conscious something in the young child—as occurs almost invariably—begins to ask its mother, what it is and where it came from, it should be told that a physical body was necessary to enable it to come into this physical world, and so father and mother provided the physical body in which it is. By asking the conscious something questions about itself, its thinking will be centered on itself instead of on its body, and thus be turned into the proper channels. But if it thinks more about its body than it does about itself, then it will come to identify itself with and as the physical body. The parents should carefully note the attitudes, attractions and repulsions of the child; its generosity or selfishness; its questions and its answers to questions. Thus the character which is latent in the child can be observed. Then it can be taught to control the bad and to educate, draw out and develop the good in itself. Among the multitude of children that come into the world there are at least a few with whom this is possible, and of the few there should be one who would make the conscious connection with its greater Self. When a child is so educated, it will be prepared to take its courses in such schools as will qualify it for the chosen field of work in the world.
The second stage, maturity, is to be marked by the qualifying characteristics of independence and responsibility. One’s work in the world will serve this purpose. During development youth must outgrow the need for nursing and dependence on its parents by calling into activity and using its own potential resources to provide and make a place for itself in the community. The doing of this develops responsibility. To be responsible means that one is trustworthy; that he will make good his promises and will fulfill the obligations of all his undertakings.
The third stage should be the period of accomplishment, for service of whatever kind. The education of youth and the experience and learning of human relations should be the ripened maturity that can best serve the community or State in the position or capacity for which one is best fitted.
The fourth and final stage of the human being should be the period for balance when retired from active work, for the contemplation of oneself. It should be in review of one’s own past thoughts and acts in relation to the future. One’s thoughts and deeds can then be examined and impartially judged while in life, by thinking, instead of waiting until and when, in the after-death states, one must judge them in his Hall of Judgment by the Conscious Light. There, without the physical body, one cannot do any new thinking; he can only think over what he has thought and done while alive in the physical body. While living, each one can intelligently think over and prepare oneself for the next life on earth. One might even discover his conscious self in the body, and balance his thoughts so completely as to attempt to regenerate his physical body for an everlasting life.
The foregoing outline of the normal four stages is what they can be or may be if the human understands that he is not a mere puppet who by circumstance or position is made to do what the senses would move him to do. If one is to determine what he will or will not do he will not allow himself to act as if he were, by the senses, pulled or impelled to act. When he finds or determines what his purpose in the world is, he will thereafter work for that purpose, and all other acts or enjoyments will be incidental to this purpose.
In the morning of life the conscious self comes into the body and wakens in the dawn of unfolding childhood. Gradually the conscious self in the child becomes aware of sights and sounds and tastes and smells in the strange world in which it finds itself. Slowly it apprehends the meaning of the word-sounds spoken. And the conscious self learns to speak.
With the growth of children there is a mystery, a strange attraction, between boy and girl. Through the years, the mystery is not solved; it continues. The maid sees weakness with his strength; the youth sees ugliness with her beauty. As man and woman, they should learn that the way through life is made up of light and shade, of such opposites as pain and pleasure, bitter and sweet, each succeeding another, as day succeeds night or as peace follows war. And, like the opening of the world to youth, by experience and thinking man and woman should learn that the causes of unfoldment of the phenomena of the world are not to be found or solved in the world outside themselves, but in the world within; that within each breast are the opposites, pain and pleasure, sorrow and joy, war and peace, which, though unseen, are rooted in the human heart; and that, by branching outwardly by thought and act, they bear their fruits as vices or virtues or curses or blessings in the outer world at large. When one really seeks the self within, he will have cessation of warring and troubling, and find peace—even in this world—the peace beyond the reach of death.
The mystery and problem of men and women are the personal affairs of every man and of every woman. But hardly anybody seriously considers the matter until he is shocked and faced by some fact of life or of death. Then that one is made conscious of the mystery, the problem concerning birth or health or wealth or honor or death or life.
One’s physical body is the testing-ground, the means and the instrument by and through which all trials and tests can be made; and what is thought and done will be the evidence and proof and the demonstration of what has or has not been accomplished.
It will now be well to announce the newcomers, to look at their adventures and experiences in their lives, and to consider for the few who will to conquer death by regenerating their physical bodies—how to be the “forerunners” who will show the Way to the Kingdom of Heaven or Kingdom of God—The Realm of Permanence —which pervades this world of change, but which cannot be seen by mortal eyes.
Here they come: baby boys and baby girls! hundreds of them, every hour of the day and of the night; out of the invisible into the visible, out of the darkness into the light, with a gasp and a cry—they come; and not only for thousands but for millions of years they have been coming. In frozen north and torrid zone and temperate climes they come. On blistering desert and in sunless jungle, on mountain and in valley, on ocean and in cave, into crowded slums and on desolate coasts, in palace and in hut they come. They come as white or yellow or red or black, and as intermixtures of these. They come into races and nations and families and tribes, and they may be made to live in any part of the earth.
Their coming brings happiness and pain and joy and vexation, and they are received with anxiety and with great acclaim. They are fostered with love and with tender care, and are treated with indifference and gross neglect. They are reared in atmospheres of health and of disease, of refinement and indecency, of wealth and poverty, and they are brought up in virtue and in vice.
They come from man and woman and they develop into men and women. Everybody knows that. True, but that is only one of the facts concerned with the coming of baby boys and baby girls. And when the passengers land from a ship that has just come into port and the question is asked: What are they and where did they come from?, it is also valid to answer: They are men and women and they came from the ship. But that does not really answer the question. Boys and girls do not know why they came or how they came or when they came into the world, nor do men and women know why or how or when they came into or will leave the world. Because nobody remembers, and because of the constant coming of baby boys and baby girls, their coming causes no wonder, it is a common fact. But suppose nobody desired marriage and that all people just lived on and on and did not die; that, too, would be a common fact, and there would be no wonder about it. Then, if into the childless, deathless world there should come a baby boy and a baby girl: what a wonder there would be! Indeed, that would be wonderful. Never had there been such happening before. Then everybody would wonder, and wonder would lead to thinking. And thinking would give a new start to feeling-and-desire. Then again would come the steady stream of baby boys and baby girls. So the gates of birth and death would open and would be kept open in the world. Then the wonder would be that one should wonder, because that would be the natural course of events, even as it is today.
Everybody thinks as everybody does. To think or to do otherwise is against the rule and run of things. People merely see and hear and perhaps they believe, but they never understand. They do not know the mystery of birth.
Why do babies come as they do? How do the two microscopic specks merge and change from an embryo into an infant, and what makes the helpless little creature grow and develop into a man or a woman? What causes one to be a man and the other to be a woman? One does not know.
The baby and the man and woman bodies are machines, mysterious mechanisms. They are the most wonderfully constituted, the most delicately adjusted, and the most intricately complicated mechanisms in the world. The human machine makes all other machines that are made, and it is the machine without which no other machine can be made or operated. But who knows who it is or what it is that makes and operates the human machine?
The human machine is a living machine and it needs food for its growth and exercise for its organic development. Unlike inanimate machines, the human machine is the grower and the harvester of its food, which comes from the mineral and vegetable and animal kingdoms, and from the water, the air and the sunlight. Of course, everybody knows that, too. Very well, but who knows the mystery of it, which is akin to the mystery of the baby? What is it in the seed or the soil that makes the sugar-beet and the burning pepper, the almost tasteless potato or cabbage, the strong garlic, and what makes the sweet and sour fruits—all growing from the same kind of soil? What is it in the seed that combines the constituents of earth, water, air and light into vegetables and fruits? What causes the organs in the body to secrete as they do, and with their secretions to separate foods into their constituents, and to compound and transform these into blood and flesh and brain and bone and sinew and skin and hair and tooth and nail and germ cell? What fashions these materials and holds them always in the same order and form; what molds the features and gives them color and shade; and what gives grace or awkwardness to the movements of the human machine, with a distinctiveness of its own from every other machine? Uncounted thousands of tons of foodstuffs are consumed every day by the man and woman machines, and every day as many tons are returned to the earth, the water and the air. In this way is kept up a circulation and a balance of the elements through and by means of the man and woman machines. These serve as so many clearing houses for the exchanges carried on between nature and the human machine. The answer to such questions is that ultimately all this is due to the Conscious Light in nature.
Now when the baby boy or baby girl arrived, it could not see or hear or taste or smell. These special senses were in the baby, but the organs had not sufficiently developed so that the senses could be adjusted to the organs and trained to use them. At first the baby could not even crawl. It was the most helpless of all the little animals that come into the world. It could only cry and coo and nurse and wiggle. Later, after it had been trained to see and to hear and it could sit up and stand, it was trained in the venturesome performance of walking. When the baby could toddle around without support it was said to be able to walk, and to walk was indeed an astonishing achievement for a baby. About this time it learned to pronounce and to repeat a few words, and it was supposed to be able to talk. While attaining to these accomplishments, the senses of sight, hearing, taste and smell were being adjusted to their respective nerves, and these nerves were being fitted and attuned to their respective organs the eye, the ear, the tongue, and the nose. And then the senses and nerves and organs were so coordinated and related to each other that they worked together as one organized mechanism. All these processes in the life of the baby were to develop it into a living and automatically working machine. Long before this, the living machine had been given a name, and it learned to answer to some such name as John or Mary.
You do not remember any of these undertakings and events in your life, as a baby. Why? Because you were not the baby; you were not in the baby, or at least, not enough of you was in the baby body or in touch with the senses to remember the developments and exploits of the baby. It would indeed be disquieting for you to remember all the things that the baby, which was being prepared for you, either did or had done for it to make it ready for you to come into it and to live in it.
Then, one day an extraordinary and very important event took place. Around and into the living baby named John or Mary, there came a conscious something that was conscious of itself, conscious as being not John or Mary. But when that conscious something was in John or Mary it was unable to identify itself as being distinct, and as not John or not Mary. It was not conscious of where it came from, or where it was, or how it got wherever it then happened to be. That is the way it was when you, as a conscious self had come into the body you inhabit.
As a little John or Mary body the baby had responded to the impressions it had received as an automatic machine would respond, without being conscious of what was happening. The baby was still a machine, but a machine plus the “something” that had come into it. Just what the something was, certainly the something did not know. It was conscious of itself, but it could not understand what itself was; it could not explain itself to itself. It was bewildered. It was also conscious of the body in which it lived and moved and felt, but it could not definitely identify itself, so as to say: I am this, myself, and the body which I feel is something in which I am. The conscious something then feels itself to be the conscious “I” in the John or in the Mary body, just as you now think of and feel the clothes you wear to be different from the body, and not the body which wears the clothes. You were then sure you were not the body.
You were in a dreadful plight! Therefore, after wondering about the matter a long while, the conscious something asked the mother questions such as these: Who am I? What am I? Where am I? Where did I come from? How did I get here? What do such questions mean? They mean that the conscious something has a past! Nearly every conscious something which comes into the baby is sure to ask such questions of the mother as soon as it gets over its first daze from coming in, and is able to ask questions. Of course these were puzzling questions, and disconcerting to the mother, because she could not answer them. She made some answer which did not satisfy. The same or similar questions have been asked by the conscious something in nearly every boy and girl that has come into the world. The mother was at one time in the same predicament in which the “I,” the you was then. But she had forgotten that what was then happening to you, in John or in Mary, was practically the same that had happened to herself when she came into her body. And so she gave you the same or similar answers to your questions as those which she had received from the parents of her body. She told you that the little body in which you then were, was you; that your name was John or that it was Mary; that you were her little boy, or her little girl; that you came from heaven, or some other place of which she knew nothing but of which she had been told; and, that the stork, or the doctor, had brought you. Her intention and her answers were given to satisfy the you, in the John or the Mary, and with the hope that they would stop your questioning. But about the mystery of conception, gestation and birth, she knew little more than you did. And she knew still less than you did at that time about the greater mystery of the conscious something which was not her baby but which was asking, through the child body, the questions which she herself had asked and had long ago forgotten.
The baby had lived without regard to past or future. The John or Mary did not distinguish between day and night. But now that the “I,” you, had come into it, it was no longer a baby, it was a child, and you began to live in the time-world, to be conscious of day and of night, and to expect a tomorrow. How long a day seemed! And how many strange happenings there could be in a day! Sometimes you were among many people and they praised or petted you, or made fun with you, or you were scolded. They treated you as something different. You were a stranger in a strange land. And you—sometimes—felt lonesome and alone. Eventually, you found that it was useless to ask questions about yourself; but you wanted to learn something about the strange world into which you had come, and you asked about the things you saw. You got used to answer to the name of John or Mary. And though you knew you were not, still, you answered to that name. Later, you became restless, and would seek activity; to do, to do, just to keep doing something, anything at all.
To the boy and girl, play is important; it is a serious matter. But to the man and woman it is merely the nonsense of a “child’s play.” The man and the woman do not understand that the little fellow, who says he is the conqueror, can by the mere waving of his wooden sword and saying “die!” slay armies of tin soldiers; that the dauntless knight bestride his spirited broomstick-horse tramples down a terrible dragon garden-hose and lets it spout forth fire and steam while it dies under the fearless thrusts of his drumstick-spear; that bits of string and a few sticks suffice to erect and suspend over a little puddle from shore to shore a bridge; that with a few cards or blocks he builds up a cloud-piercing sky-scraping edifice; that on the seashore the brave defender of his country raises up great sand castles and cities, protected by a navy of cockleshells and armies of pebbles and against which the winds and tides dare not prevail; that with buttons for money and a handful of cotton or corn the tiny merchant prince buys or sells huge harvests, and ships great cargos of fabrics and foodstuffs to foreign shores in his grand fleet of paper boats sailing the high seas—on a little water, in his mother’s dishpan.
The accomplishments of the girl are scarcely less astonishing than the great deeds of the boy. In a few minutes she easily raises a large family, teaches the boys and girls their respective duties, marries them off, and raises another lot. The next moment she finds a further outlet for her energy by ordering the instant building of a castle, attending to its extraordinary furnishings and entertaining friends or the entire countryside. Strange objects which she fabricates out of anything at hand and calls her babies and children, have equal or greater values than expensive dolls. With ribbons or rags she creates or adorns men and women or such other objects as may suit her fancy. An attic with its rubbish she transforms into a palace and receives royalty; or she gives a grand fete, in any corner of her room. Then she may suddenly leave to keep an appointment in the garden with no particular person. There, fairy visitors may transport her into fairy palaces or show her the wonders of fairyland. One of her privileges is, when she chooses, to create anything she pleases out of nothing at all.
These performances may be not merely for the benefit of the solitary performer. Other girls and boys may be assigned to parts and may help to perform whatever happens. Indeed, the wonder-working of one can be changed into whatever the other suggests, and every one of the party sees and understands what is being done by the others. They are all consciously living in the boy-and-girl world. Everything is strange or nothing is strange. Anything may happen. Their world is the world of make-believe.
The world of make-believe! How did the boy and the girl enter it? They entered it and they helped to maintain it by contacting the senses of sight and sound and taste and smell, and then by seeing and hearing and tasting and smelling. At about the time of one’s first memory of the world, the “conscious something” came into the boy or into the girl. It could not see or hear nor could it taste or smell, but gradually it got into gear with those senses of the body and it learned to use them. Then it began to dream, and found that it was in a strange world, and it did not know what to do about it. The little animal body in which it found itself had been taught to articulate its breathing into word-sounds. These words were arranged into the parts of speech used by human beings to represent the things and happenings of the strange world in which it was, so that the people in the world could speak to each other about what they saw and heard, and so that they could describe these things to each other and tell what they thought about anything. The boy and girl had learned to pronounce these words, just as a parrot does. But that in the boy or in the girl which was the “something” conscious of itself, learned what the word meant and it knew what it was talking about. Well, about the time the boy or girl could do this, the conscious something in him or in her began to think and to ask questions about itself, and about the body, and the world in which it found itself. Of course it could not find out what it was, because the senses of the body could tell it of the body only; it was bewildered; it had lost the memory of who or what it was, like men or women have periods of amnesia when they lose their power of speech or forget their identity. Then there was no one who could tell it anything about itself, because the something “conscious of itself” in every man or woman had long ago forgotten. There were no words that the conscious something could use to tell about itself, even if it were free enough to do so; words meant something about the body and about the world around it. And the more it saw and heard the less it was able to think about itself; and, on the other hand, the more it thought about itself the less it knew about its body and about the world. It tried to do two kinds of thinking. One kind was about itself, and the other was about the body in which it was and about the people and the world around it. It could not reconcile itself with its body and its surroundings, and it could not clearly distinguish itself from these. It was in an unhappy and confused state, like trying to be itself and not itself at the same time, and not understanding either of the things it was trying to be. Therefore, it could not completely be itself or entirely be the body. It could not be completely itself because of the portion of itself which had become geared into the body by the senses of the body, and it could not think and live in the man and woman world because the organs of the body in which it was were not sufficiently developed so that it could think and live itself into the patterns of the man and woman world. So there was nothing else for it to do than to be in the boy and girl world, the world of make-believe.
Why is the boy and girl world the world of make-believe? Because everything in it is real and nothing is real. Everything in the world seems real to the senses of the body when the “conscious something” in the body identifies itself with the senses, and nothing is real to that conscious something when it is conscious of itself as being not of the body or of the senses of the body. The body is not conscious of itself as a body, the senses are not conscious of themselves as senses, and they are not conscious of the body at all. The senses are instruments, and the body is an instrument or a machine, through which the senses are used as instruments. These are not conscious of themselves in any way, and the conscious something which uses them as instruments is not conscious of them or of the objects of the world when it is in deep sleep. In deep sleep the “conscious something” is out of touch with the body and its senses and, therefore, it is not conscious of them or of the body or of the world. Then the body and its senses cannot in any way communicate with the conscious something. While the body sleeps the conscious something retires to a part of itself which is not in gear with the body. When the conscious something returns, and is again in touch with the body it is stricken with forgetfulness of itself. It is again befuddled by the senses with the seeing and the hearing of things and with the name of the body which it must assume. It is conscious of itself as real and of things as unreal when it thinks of itself; and it is conscious of the things of the world as real when it thinks through the senses.
Before the conscious something is entirely shut in by the senses of the body it is in a paradoxical situation. It is conscious of itself as something which is not the body, but it cannot distinguish its body as not itself. It is conscious that all things are possible for it, as the conscious something; and it is conscious of being limited in all things by its body. There is confidence in everything, and there is no assurance of the permanence of anything. Anything may in a moment be created, and in a flash it may be made to disappear or be changed into some other thing, according to the wish. A sawhorse may be used as a prancing steed and a soapbox as a golden chariot, and they may at the same time be the sawhorse and the soapbox, or they may be any other things, or nothing at all, by demanding them so to be or not to be. Then things are not, by supposing them not to be; and things that are not are, by fancying them to be. Now that is simple—and too ridiculous to believe! Well, the conscious something in the body which is conscious of itself and of the body, and which by thinking is conscious that it is not the body, and also by thinking makes itself believe it is the body, learns to follow where the body senses lead, and as its fancy pleases. That is why the conscious something in the boy and in the girl makes the world of make-believe and lives in it—and of which men and women are almost, if not quite, unconscious.
The conscious something knows it is not the body with a name because: it is conscious that it is conscious; it is not conscious that the body is conscious as part of itself; it is not conscious as part of the body; therefore it, as the conscious something, is separate and distinct from the body in which it is, and it is not the name to which it answers. The conscious something does not reason about this. To it the facts are self-evident—that is enough.
But the conscious something in the boy or girl becomes observant; it compares and sometimes reasons about what it sees and hears. If not instructed it will of itself notice that there are certain usages in speech and behavior for different people in the particular relation they bear to each other, between parents, children, domestics, guests, and in social gatherings. The conscious something in the child notices much more than the child is given credit for. It sees that everybody says and does what everybody else says and does, each in his place and in his relation to the others. Everybody appears to imitate others. Therefore, when boys and girls assume their parts and play them, these are to them as important and as real as are the parts which men and women play. They see the parts as a game, the game of make-believe.
Boys and girls will carry on their performances wherever they happen to be. They are not, in this modern age, disturbed by the presence of their elders. When they are questioned concerning their “absurd” or “nonsensical” play, they readily explain. But they feel hurt or unjustly treated when what they say or do is ridiculed. And they often feel pity for men and women who are unable to understand.
When the conscious something has learned to play the part of the body and of the name it has assumed, it becomes conscious that it can as well choose any other name for the body of John or Mary and play the part taken. It hears the names of people, of animals and of objects mentioned by men and women, and it takes and plays the part of the person, animal or object which strikes its fancy and which it chooses to play. Thus the conscious something learns the art of imitation and also the art of masquerade. It is just as natural and as easy for it to assume the name and play the part of father, mother, soldier, vocation, trade or animal, as it is to answer to the name and play the part of John or Mary. It inherently knows that in reality it is not the body named John or Mary any more than it is any other body with a name. Therefore it may just as well call the body in which it is by any other name and play that part.
What is done by the boy and girl about the questions that puzzle and disturb them? Nothing. No answers satisfy them. And there is nothing that can be done about it. So they learn to take for granted things as they seem to be. Each new thing is at first wonderful and in a little while it is just commonplace.
Little John with his penny pistol may break into any bank, right on the street or in his own backyard, and command: “Stick ‘em up, ev’ry bod’ee!” Of course, at the sound of that awful voice and before that dreadful gun, everybody obeys and trembles. Then the fearless robber gathers up and carries off the plunder.
John kidnaps Mary and both hide and are thrilled while other boys and girls are excitedly running around, searching and offering rewards for the return of the darling child. Then there is great joy when the heartless kidnapper receives the ransom, paid in newspaper bills, and precious little Mary is recovered.
The men and women do not enjoy these “pranks,” nor can they understand them, because long ago they left the boy and girl world and they are not now conscious of it, although they see the boy and girl seriously carrying on right there before them.
Story books for the boy and girl make deeper impressions on them than the popular books make on man and woman. Let the man or woman who has read “Robinson Crusoe” or “The Swiss Family Robinson” read either of those books again. They cannot go back to that time and remember how the scenes were unfolded, and again experience the emotions that they then did. The present reading will be dull and stale as compared with what they as boy and girl experienced. They may wonder how it was possible that they could have enjoyed such books. The shipwreck!, the island home!, the wonders of the island!—those adventures were so real; but now—the colorful scenes have faded, the glamour has gone. And so fairy tales—they are entrancing. There were hours when the boy and girl read or heard read some marvelous account of what happened. The adventure of Jack and the Beanstalk, the victories of Jack, the Giant Killer, are alive to John, who may fancy himself as Jack, and do over again the wonders that Jack had done. Mary is delighted with the Sleeping Beauty in the enchanted palace, or with Cinderella. She herself may be the Beauty, awaiting the coming of the Prince; or, like Cinderella, watch the transformation of mice into horses and of a pumpkin into a coach and be carried to the palace—there to meet the Prince—if only a fairy godmother would appear and do these things for her.
Man and woman have forgotten, and they never can recall the fascination of these stories, the interest which they then had for them, as boy and girl.
The boy and girl also went through tragic experiences—and where is there man or woman who can understand or share the sorrows of a child! John had not returned from play. After a search he was found sitting on a rock, his head in his hands, his body shaking. And there at his feet lay the remains of his dog, Scraggy. Scraggy had once been struck by an auto and nearly killed. John had rescued the dog and nursed him back to life, and had named him Scraggy. Now, Scraggy had been struck again by a passing car—for the last time! Scraggy was dead, and John was disconsolate. Scraggy and he had understood each other, that was enough for John. No other dog could take his place with John. But in after years, when John had grown into the man and woman world, the tragedy is forgotten, the pathos gone; Scraggy is only a faint memory.
Mary comes running to her mother, sobbing as though her heart would break. And between her sobs she wails: “Oh Mother! Mother! Carlo has pulled off Peggy’s leg. What shall I do? What shall I do?” She had shaken her rag doll at the dog while at play, and off came the leg when Carlo seized it. Mary bursts into a spasm of emotion and there is another flood of tears. The world is dark! The light has gone—with the loss of Peggy’s leg. The mother tells Mary that she shall have a nicer and a prettier doll to take the place of Peggy. But this promise only adds to Mary’s grief. “Nicer and prettier than Peggy? Indeed! Peggy is not ugly. There is no doll so nice, or as pretty, as Peggy.” And Mary hugs closer the remainder of the rag doll. “Poor, dear Peggy!” Mary will not part with Peggy, now that she has lost her leg. The perplexed mother has forgotten her own rag doll that in the long ago she, too, had loved.
Man and woman seldom see in the child the future man or woman, as they watch the child in pensive mood, at pastime or at study. They cannot or do not try to enter the world in which the child lives, in which they at one time lived, and which they have outgrown and utterly forgotten. The man and woman world is a different world. The two worlds intersect, so that the inhabitants of both worlds may communicate with each other. Nevertheless, the inhabitants of these worlds merely sense each other, they do not understand. Why? Because a partition of forgetfulness separates the boy-and-girl-world from the man-and-woman-world.
The child leaves childhood when it passes through that partition and is then a man or a woman, but its age is not the determining factor. The partition may be passed at the adolescent period, or it may be before or after; it may not be until schooldays are over, or even after marriage—which depends on one’s development, his morals, and on his mental capacities. But childhood is left behind by going through a blank, that partition. And a few human beings remain in the boy-and-girl-world all the days of their lives. With some it lasts no longer than a day or a month. But once the boy and girl stage is left behind and the man and woman stage has actually begun, the partition of forgetfulness closes behind them and shuts them off forever from the boy-and-girl-world. If ever man or woman is reminded of a vivid scene in that world, or of an event in which he or she had been much concerned, it is only a flash-like memory—which in a moment fades into the dim past of dreams.
Sooner or later, in every normal case, a critical change takes place. As long as the conscious something remains conscious that it is not the body in which it plays the part, it distinguishes itself from the body and the part. But as it continues to play it gradually forgets the distinction and difference between itself and the part it plays. It no longer chooses to play parts. It thinks of itself as being the body, it identifies itself as of the name of the body and with the part it plays. Then it ceases to be the actor, and is conscious of the body and the name and the part. At that time it may think itself out of the boy-and-girl-world and into the man-and-woman-world.
At times the conscious something becomes conscious that there is also a conscious something in each of the boys and girls with whom it is acquainted, and it may even be conscious of that in a man or in a woman. Then that conscious something is conscious that not one of these conscious somethings in the boy and girl or man and woman is conscious of itself as who and what it is, or whence it came. It learns that the conscious something in each boy or girl is in the same predicament in which it is; that is to say, they are conscious, but cannot explain to themselves who or what it is that is conscious, or how they are so conscious; that there are times when each must make-believe it is what it is not, and there are other times when necessity does not compel; and, that at these times it is allowed to make-believe what it pleases—then it revels in the world of make-believe, as fancy leads.
Then, with a few, there are moments—and with most these become less frequent or altogether cease with the passing of the years—when all is still, when time stops, it is not noticed; when no thing appears; sense-memory and the states of matter fade away; the world does not exist. Then the attention of the conscious something is fixed in itself; it is alone, and conscious. There is the miracle: Oh! it IS itself, the timeless, the true, the eternal! Within that moment—it is gone. Breath continues, the heart beats, time goes on, clouds enclose, objects appear, sounds rush in, and the conscious something is again conscious of the body with a name and of its relations to other things, and it is again lost in the world of make-believe. Such a rare and in-between moment, like an unrelated reminiscence, comes unannounced. It may happen only once or many times in a life. It may happen just before sleep at night, or while it is becoming conscious of waking in the morning, or it may happen at any moment of the day and regardless of whatever activities there may be.
This conscious something may persist in being conscious of itself throughout the boy and girl period, and it may continue until it accepts the cares or the pleasures of life as its “realities.” Indeed, in some few individuals it is indomitable and cannot surrender its feeling of identity to the engrossing senses of the body. It is the same conscious and distinct something through the entire life of the body. It does not know enough to make its identity known to itself so that it can distinguish itself from the body with a name. It may feel that this can be done, but it does not learn how to do it. Yet in these few individuals it will not or cannot cease to be conscious that it is not the body. The conscious something needs no argument or authority to convince it or assure it of this truth. That is too obvious to argue about. It is not bombastic or egotistic, but concerning this truth it is its own and only authority. The body in which it exists changes, objects change, its feelings and desires change; but, contrary to these and to all else, it is conscious that it is and always has been the very same identical conscious something as itself that has not changed and does not change, and that it is in no way affected by time.
There is a self-knowing Identity which is related to and is inseparable from the conscious something; but that Identity is not the conscious something, and it is not in the body, though it is in contact with the conscious something in the body which entered the body with a name, and which became conscious of the body it had entered, and conscious of the world. The conscious something comes into the body a few years after the birth of the body and leaves it at the death of that body. It is that which does things in the world, the Doer in the body. And after a time it will enter another body with a name, and still other bodies with other names, in the course of time. But the self-knowing Identity in contact with the conscious something in each of its existences, in each child is the same self-knowing Identity by which the conscious something cannot help being conscious of itself, and, conscious during the early years of that body that it is not the body with a name. The conscious something in the body does not know who it is or what it is; it does not know the Identity or of its relation to the self-knowing Identity. It is conscious as the conscious something because of its relation to the Thinker-Knower of its Triune Self, its individual Trinity.
The self-knowing Identity is not born nor does it die when its conscious something enters a body or leaves the body; it is unchanged at each existence of its “conscious something,” and it is undisturbed by death. In itself it is the calm, the serene, the everlasting Identity—of which presence the conscious something in the body is conscious. The conscious something is, then, the only self-evident fact or truth that one knows. But with most all persons the conscious something is invariably disguised and engulfed by the senses, and it is identified with the body and as the body.
For a man or woman to be again conscious as what he or she was conscious of when a little boy or girl, sense-memory is not enough. Merely to say they remember will not do. Memory, like a faint and indistinct dream, is of the past. The conscious something is essentially of the present, of the timeless Now. The desires and feelings of the man and of the woman are not conscious as they were in the boy and in the girl, and the thinking is different. Therefore, for the man and woman to understand why the boy and the girl do act as they do, the man would have to re-become and be conscious as the boy, and the woman would have to re-become and be conscious as the girl. This they cannot do. They cannot, because the conscious something which was then conscious that it was not the body or the part it played, makes no such distinction now. This lack of distinction is largely because the then undeveloped sexual organs of the boy might have influenced, but could not compel, the thinking of the conscious something in that boy. Now the same identical conscious something in the man is compelled to think in terms of the desires of a man, because his thinking and acting are suggested and colored and compelled by the organs and functions of a man. The same is true of a woman. The then undeveloped organs of the girl did influence, but they did not compel, the thinking of the conscious something. Now, the very same conscious something in the woman is compelled to think according to the feelings of a woman because her thinking and acting are colored and determined by the organs and functions of the woman. These facts as cause, make it almost impossible for a man or woman to desire and feel and understand how the boy and the girl think, and why they act as they do in their world.
Boys and girls have fewer prejudices than men and women. You, as a boy or as a girl, had few or no prejudices at all. The reason is that you had not at that time formed definite beliefs of your own, and you had not had time to accept as your own beliefs the beliefs of your parents or of the people you met. Naturally, you had likes and dislikes and these you changed from time to time as you listened to the likes and dislikes shown by your companions and by older people, but more especially by your father and mother. You very much wished to have things explained, because you wanted to understand. You were ready to change any belief if you could get anyone to give you a reason or to assure you that what they said was true. But you probably learned, as children usually learn, that the ones you asked to explain did not want to bother to explain, or that they thought you would not understand, or that they were unable to tell you what you wanted to know. You were free from prejudice then. Today you are most likely carrying a large stock of prejudices, although you may be horrified to admit the fact until you begin to think about it. If you do think about it you will find that you have family, racial, national, political, social and other prejudices concerning everything that has to do with human activities. These you have acquired since the time you were a boy or a girl. Prejudices are among the most distinguished and cherished of human characteristics.
There is a constant intermingling of boys and girls with men and women. Yet, all sense a difference, an invisible barrier of the world-of-men-and-women from the world-of-boys-and-girls. And that barrier remains until there is a change in the boy and in the girl. The change from boy and girl to man and woman is sometimes gradual, very gradual. And sometimes the change is sudden. But the change is sure to come in every human being who does not remain a child throughout life. The boy and the girl are conscious of the change when it comes, though some do forget it later on. Before the change, the boy may have said: I want to be a man, and the girl: I wish I were a woman. After the change, the boy declares: I am a man, and the girl: I am now a woman. And the parents and others will see and perhaps comment on the change. What has caused or brought about this change, this critical state, this crossing of the barrier, which is the partition-of-forgetfulness, separating the boy-and-girl-world from the man-and-woman-world? How is the partition made or prepared, and how is it put into place?
Thinking designs the partition, thinking prepares it, and thinking establishes its place. The change from boy and girl into man and woman must be twofold: the change in the physical development of their sexes, and the concomitant change in their mental development, by thinking. Physical growth and sexual development will take the boy and girl to the man-and-woman-world, and there they will be man and woman in so far as their sexes are concerned. But unless they have by their own thinking made a corresponding advance in mental development, they will not cross the bar. They will still be in the boy-and-girl-world. Physical sexual development without mental development disqualifies them as man and woman. Thus they remain: man and woman sexually, but boy and girl mentally, in the boy-and-girl-world. They appear to be man and woman. But they are irresponsible. They are unfortunate facts to both worlds. They have outgrown and developed beyond the child state and are no longer children. But they lack mental responsibility, have no sense or understanding of right and fitness, and cannot therefore be depended upon as man and as woman.
To cross the partition-of-forgetfulness from boy and girl, and to enter into the man-and-woman-world, thinking must accompany and correspond to the sexual development. The partition is made and adjusted by two processes of thinking. The conscious something in the body does the thinking. One of the two processes is carried on by the conscious something in progressively identifying or relating itself to the sexual development or sexual function of the man body or the woman body in which it is. This identification is confirmed by the conscious something as it continues to think of itself as that body and as that function. The other process of thinking is the acceptance by the conscious something of what are sometimes called the cold and hard facts of life, and by the identifying of itself as the bodily personality on which it depends for food and possessions and a name and place in the world, and for the power to be, to will, to do, and to have all these; or, to be and to have such of these as it wills.
When, by thinking, the conscious something in the boy or in the girl has identified itself with the sexual body in which it is, and makes itself dependent for a name and place and power in the world, then come the critical state, moment and event. This is a third thinking, and it comes in lowly and in high estate. It is when the conscious something decides what is his or her position in the world, and what that position is in relation to other men and women. This third and determining thinking is the factor or self-contract of the conscious something with the body it is in, and with the relation of that body to other human bodies and to the world. This thinking causes and creates a certain mental attitude of moral responsibility. This third thinking coalesces the sexual and bodily identity with the conditions of living. This thinking or attitude of mind precipitates, lays and fixes. Then the boy or girl which was, is out of the boy-and-girl-world, and is now a man or a woman in the man-and-woman-world.
The boy-and-girl-world vanishes as they become more and more conscious of themselves and their activities as man and woman. The world is the same old world; it has not changed; but because they have changed from boy and girl into man and woman and because they see the world through their eyes as man and as woman, the world seems to be different. They see things now which they could not see when they were boy and girl. And all the things of which they were then conscious, they are now conscious of in a different way. The young man and woman do not make comparisons or question themselves about the differences. They are conscious of things as things appear to them to be, and which they accept as facts, and each one deals with the facts according to his or her individual make-up. Life seems to be opening up to them, according to their natures and to the social stratum in which they are, and it seems to continue to open as they go on.
Now what happened to the young man and woman to make them see the world and the things in it to be so different? Well, on going through the partition-of-forgetfulness they at once became conscious of a line of demarcation, which divided the man side from the woman side of the man-and-woman-world. The young man and the young woman did not say: I will take this side, or, I will take that side, of the line. They said nothing about the matter. The young man saw himself to be and was conscious of himself as being a man on the man side, and the young woman saw herself to be and was conscious of herself as being a woman on the woman side of the line dividing man from woman. This is the way of life and growth. It is as though life were a section on a circular-time-moving-roadway onto which baby boys and baby girls are ushered. They laugh and cry and grow and play, while the roadway moves them on through the period of the boy-and-girl-world up to the line of demarcation which runs through the entire boy-and-girl- and the man-and-woman-worlds. But the boy and girl do not see the line until they go through the partition-of-forgetfulness. The boy keeps on the road, but on the man side of the line. The girl also keeps on the road, and on the woman side of the dividing line. So on each side of the line they go as man and as woman into the man-and-woman-world. Men and women look at each other and they intermingle on the visible section of the circular-time-moving-roadway called life until the very end, the man being always conscious of his side and the woman of her side. Then death is the end of the visible physical-life-section of the roadway. The visible physical body is left on the visible section of the road. But the circular-time-moving-roadway carries on the conscious something with its invisible form through many after-death states and periods and leaves all invisible bodies and forms on their particular sections of the road. The circular-time-moving-roadway continues. Again it brings on to its visible section called life, another baby boy or baby girl. And, in its turn, again that same conscious something enters that boy or girl to carry on with its purpose through the visible section of the roadway.
Of course, boys and girls are conscious, more or less, that there is a difference between a boy and a girl; but they do not bother their heads overly much about the difference. But when their bodies become men and women their heads bother them about the difference. Men and women cannot forget the difference. Their bodies will not let them forget.
The world is fast or the world is slow. But whether fast or slow—that is the way that man and woman make it go. Over and over again beyond the record of time a civilization has risen; and always it has fallen and faded away. What is the purpose! What is the gain! Must the rise and fall of civilization after civilization continue through the endless future! Its religions, ethics, politics, laws, literature, arts, and sciences; its manufacture, commerce and other essentials to civilization, have been based upon and depend upon man and woman.
And now another civilization—supposed to be the greatest of all civilizations—is rising, and is being raised to greater and ever greater heights—by man and woman. And must it, too, fall? Its fate depends on man and woman. It need not fail and fall. If it is changed from its impermanence and is built for permanence, it will not fail, it cannot fall!
The United States of America is to be the battleground of this civilization, on which the future of the nations will be worked out. But man and woman can build a civilization only according to what they know about themselves. Man and woman know that they were born and that they will die. This is one of the causes of the failure and the fall of past civilizations. That in them which makes them man and woman does not die. It lives beyond the grave. It comes again, and again it goes. And as often as it goes, it returns.
To build for permanence man and woman must understand and discern and become familiar with the immortal something in them which does not, cannot, die when its appearances as man and woman have run their course and there is an end of days. That conscious thing, that deathless something, periodically dreams itself into an appearance as a man or as a woman. In its dream it seeks the reality which it lost—the other side of itself. And not finding it in its own appearance, it seeks it in the other appearance—the man body or the woman body. Alone, and without that lost reality of which it dreams, it feels incomplete. And it hopes to find and to have happiness and completion in the appearance of the man or of the woman.
Seldom or never do a man and a woman live happily together. But seldom, if ever, do man and woman live happily apart. What a paradox: Man and woman are not happy with each other, and they are unhappy without each other. With the experience of countless lives of dreaming, man and woman have not worked out the solution to their two problems: How to be happy with each other; and, how to be happy without each other.
Because of the unhappiness and restlessness of man and woman with or without each other, the people of every land continue to be in hope and fear, doubt and insecurity, with only an appearance of joyousness, resourcefulness, and confidence. In public and in private, there is plotting and planning; there is running here and running there, to get and to get and never to be satisfied. Greed is hidden by a mask of generosity; vice smirks beside public virtue; deceit, hatred, dishonesty, fear, and falsehood are clothed in fair words to lure and trap the wary and astute; and organized crime brazenly stalks and gets its prey in public light of day while law lags behind.
Man and woman build for food, or for possessions, or for a name, or for power, to satisfy man and woman. They never can be satisfied, as merely man and woman. Prejudice, jealousy, guile, envy, lust, anger, hatred, malice, and the seeds of these are now being laid and built into the structure of this rising civilization. If not removed or changed, the thoughts of these will inevitably flower and exteriorize as war and disease, and death will be the end of man and woman and their civilization; and the earth and the water about all lands will leave little or no trace of its having existed. If this civilization is to go on and to bridge that break in the rise and fall of civilizations, man and woman must discern the permanence in their bodies and in nature; they must learn what that deathless something in them is; they must understand that it has no sex; they must understand why it makes man man and woman woman; and, why and how the dreamer is now in appearance a man or a woman.
Nature is vast, mysterious beyond the dreams of man or woman. And the more that is known, the more is shown the little that is known, as compared to what there is to be known of the vastnesses and mysteries of nature. Praise without stint is due to the men and women who have added to the fund in that treasury of knowledge called science. But the intricacies and complexities of nature will increase with the continuance of discovery and invention. Distance, measure, weight, size, are not to be trusted as rules for the understanding of nature. There is a purpose throughout nature, and all operations of nature are for the carrying on of that purpose. Man and woman know something about some of the changes in nature, but they do not know about the continuity of purpose and permanence through nature, because they do not know the continuity and permanence of themselves.
Human memory is of the four senses: seeing, hearing, tasting, and smelling. Memory of the Self is of The Eternal: continuity uninterrupted by the changes of time, beginninglessness and endlessness; that is, The Eternal Order of Progression.
Man and woman lost the knowledge they formerly had about themselves and about the permanence in nature, and ever since, they have been wanderers in ignorance and trouble throughout the labyrinths and changes of this man-and-woman-world. Man and woman can continue their wanderings if they choose, but they also can, and sometime they will, begin to find their way out of the labyrinth of deaths and births and become acquainted with the knowledge that is to be theirs—and which awaits them. The man or woman who would come into possession of that knowledge can carefully consider the outline of nature and the origin and history of themselves, and about how they lost their way and came to be in the man and woman bodies they are in today.
It will be well here to consider briefly man’s place in the all-embracing scheme of things, beings and Intelligences, within the One Reality: Consciousness Absolute; that is, the Doer’s relation, on the one hand, to nature and, on the other hand, to the immortal Triune Self of which he is a part. However, as both nature and the human being are extraordinarily complex, it is not feasible or necessary for present purposes to more than briefly sketch their many divisions and parts.
There are four basic, primordial “elements,” out of which all things and beings have come. For lack of more specific terms, they are here spoken of as the elements of fire, air, water, and earth. These terms do not connote what is commonly understood by them.
The elements are made up of countless units. A unit is an indivisible, indestructible, irreducible ONE. Units are either unintelligent on the nature-side, or intelligent on the intelligent-side of the great cosmos.
Nature, on the nature-side, is a machine composed of the totality of nature units, which are conscious as their function only.
There are four kinds of nature units: free units, transient units, compositor units, and sense units. Free units may pass anywhere in nature, in streams of flowing units, but they are not detained by the things through which they pass. Transient units combine with other units and are held for a time; they are made to enter, and thus build into visibility and tangibility, the inner structure and the outer appearance of mineral, plant, animal and human bodies, where they remain for a while, to be replaced by others; and then they flow on again in streams of transient units. Some of the manifestations of transient units are the nature forces, such as gravity, electricity, magnetism, and lightning. Compositor units compose transient units according to abstract forms; they build the bodies of cells, organs and the four systems in the human body—the generative, respiratory, circulatory and digestive systems. The fourth kind of nature units, sense units, are the senses of sight, hearing, taste and smell, which control the four systems and relate the objects of nature to them.
In addition to these four kinds of nature units there is, in the human and there only, the breath-form unit—a descriptive term for what is spoken of as the “living soul.” The form part of the breath-form is usually referred to when the “soul” and, in psychology, the “subconscious” or “unconscious” are being considered; the breath part of the breath-form is the breath which enters the infant’s body with the first gasp. No animal has a breath-form.
There is only one breath-form unit in each human body. It remains with that body during life, and at death it accompanies the Doer of the Triune Self into the early after-death states; later it joins the Doer again as that Doer makes ready for another life on earth. The breath-form unit coordinates the four senses with the four systems and keeps in working relation all the units of the body. The breath-form occupies the front or anterior half of the pituitary body in the brain. From there it controls and coordinates all the involuntary functions of the body, and in the rear half it is in direct contact with the conscious something in the body, the Doer of the Triune Self.
And then there is a unit which relates the intelligent-side to the nature-side in the human being, called the aia. During life the aia serves as intermediary between the breath-form and the Doer in the body; in the after-death states it performs certain definite functions and, when the time comes for the Doer to re-exist, the aia enables the breath-form to cause conception and, later, birth of the body.
The human being as a whole is on the intelligent-side of the universe, by virtue of being inhabited by the Doer part of an immortal being, an individual trinity, here called the Triune Self. In every man or woman there is the self-exiled part of a self-knowing and immortal Triune Self. This Triune Self, this individual—not universal—trinity has, as the name implies, three parts: the Knower or identity and knowledge, the noetic part; the Thinker or rightness and reason, the mental part; and the Doer or feeling and desire, the psychic part. In every man and woman there is a portion of the Doer part of a Triune Self. The Doer re-exists in one human body after another, and thus lives from life to life, separated by periods in many states after death. This alternating between life on earth and life in after-death states is exemplified by states of waking and sleeping. All are states of the Doer who is present and conscious. A point of difference is that after death the Doer does not return to the body now dead, but must wait until a new body has been prepared by the future parents and is made ready to receive the Doer.
There is that within the dim and forgotten history of every human being which caused the Doer in every man and woman to become the self-exiled part of its self-knowing and immortal Triune Self. Long, long ago, Knower, Thinker and Doer were one inseparable, immortal Triune Self, in The Realm of Permanence, commonly spoken of as Paradise, or The Garden of Eden, in a sexless, perfect “Adam”-body of balanced units, in the interior of the earth—which body, being perfect, is often referred to as the “first temple, not made with human hands.”
Briefly, this self-exile from The Realm of Permanence came about by the failure of all those Doers who subsequently became human beings, to pass a certain test, which it was necessary for all Doers to pass, in order to complete the individual Triune Selves. This failure constituted the so-called,” “original sin,” in that “Adam,” or rather Adam and Eve in their twin bodies, suffered the “fall of man.” By their failure to pass that test, they were expelled from “Paradise” in the interior of the earth onto the outer crust of the earth.
The multitudes of Doers who thus “sinned,” live as men and women in their human bodies, subject to the need of material food, and to birth and death, and death and birth. The balanced units of their previously sexless bodies had become unbalanced, and were what they are now, male-female and female-male, and the Doers were men and women—or desire-feeling and feeling-desire, as will be explained further on.
To continue briefly with man’s relation to the Universe and to nature. The Universe with its four pre-chemical elements, fire, air, water and earth, is of nature units and intelligent units. The four kinds of nature units—free, transient, compositor, and sense units—are the structure-stuff of all things, objects and bodies in the great nature machine. All nature units are in ceaseless motion, and all take part in a slow, very slow, but progressive development, the number being constant and unchangeable. Nature units are conscious as their functions only, but the units on the intelligent-side are conscious of or as what they are.
There are limits to the progress of nature units, the most advanced nature units being the senses of sight, hearing, taste and smell. The next degree is that of the breath-form unit, which accompanies the Doer through life and death and, in life, is the direct medium of communication between the Doer and nature. It has an active and a passive side, the active side being the breath, and the passive side the abstract form of the body. With the first cry at birth until the last gasp at death, the breath, which is fourfold, surrounds and flows in and out and through every part of the physical body.
Perfection—the secret and unknown goal of human striving—means that the now unbalanced units of the human body will have been balanced; that is, they will no longer be male or female, but will be made up of sexless, balanced, cells. Then the Doer will again be in its perfect body; it will not be subject to disease and death, and will not need gross material food, but will be sustained and nourished by breathing of the life eternal, uninterrupted by periods of sleep or death. The Doer will then be in accord with his Thinker-Knower, in a perfect body of eternal youth—the second temple—in The Realm of Permanence, The Eternal.
By reviewing its forgotten history, the immortal Doer in the body of every man and woman may understand how it exiled itself from its Triune Self in The Realm of Permanence and is now lost in the body—a wanderer in the man and woman world of birth and death and rebirth.
To show how all this came about, and that it is possible for the human being to take up the thread again that was broken in the dim past, and thereby to take the first steps for a return to The Realm of Permanence, is a purpose of this book.
Copyright 1979 by The Word Foundation, Inc.