...
The most beautiful poem there is, is life--life which discerns its own
story in the making, in which inspiration and self-consciousness go
together and help each other, life which knows itself to be the world in
little, a repetition in miniature of the divine universal poem. Yes, be
man; that is to say, be nature, be spirit, be the image of God, be what
is greatest, most beautiful, most lofty in all the spheres of being, be
infinite will and idea, a reproduction of the great whole. And be
everything while being nothing, effacing thyself, letting God enter into
thee as the air enters an empty space, reducing the _ego_ to the mere
vessel which contains the divine essence. Be humble, devout, silent,
that so thou mayest hear within the depths of thyself the subtle and
profound voice; be spiritual and pure, that so thou mayest have
communion with the pure spirit. Withdraw thyself often into the
sanctuary of thy inmost consciousness; become once more point and atom,
that so thou mayest free thyself from space, time, matter, temptation,
dispersion, that thou mayest escape thy very organs themselves and thine
own life. That is to say, die often, and examine thyself in the presence
of this death, as a preparation for the last death. He who can without
shuddering confront blindness, deafness, paralysis, disease, betrayal,
poverty; he who can without terror appear before the sovereign justice,
he alone can call himself prepared for partial or total death.
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