som are not perceived.
If we knew also who they really are, who sometimes in silence and
sometimes with the eyes of the world at gaze take upon them the mantle
of teacher, an unutterable awe would prevail, for underneath a bodily
presence not in any sense beautiful may burn the glory of some ancient
divinity, some hero who has laid aside his sceptre in the enchanted
land, to rescue old-time comrades fallen into oblivion; or, again, if
we had the insight of the simple old peasant into the nature of his
enduring love, out of the exquisite and poignant emotions kindled would
arise the flame of a passionate love, which would endure long aeons of
anguish that it might shield, though but for a little, the kingly hearts
who may not shield themselves.

But I, too, who write, have launched the rebellious spear, or in
lethargy have oft times gone down the great drift numbering myself among
those who, not being with must needs be against. Therefore I make no
appeal: they only may call who stand upon the lofty mountains; but I
reveal the thought which arose like a star in my soul with such bright
and pathetic meaning, leaving it to you who read to approve and apply
it.

1897

THE MEDITATION OF ANANDA

Ananda rose from his seat under the banyan tree. He passed his hand
unsteadily over his brow. Throughout the day the young ascetic had been
plunged in profound meditation; and now, returning from heaven to earth,
he was bewildered like one who awakens in darkness and knows not where
he is. All day long before his inner eye burned the light of the Lokas,
until he was wearied and exhausted with their splendors; space glowed
like a diamond with intolerable lustre, and there was no end to the
dazzling procession of figures. He had seen the fiery dreams of the
dead in heaven. He had been tormented by the music of celestial singers,
whose choral song reflected in its ripples the rhythmic pulse of being.
He saw how these orbs were held within luminous orbs of wider circuit;
and vaste and vaster grew the vistas, until at last, a mere speck of
life, he bore the burden of innumerable worlds. Seeking for Brahma, he
found only the great illusion as infinite as Brahma's being.

If these things were shadows, the earth and the forests he returned to,
viewed at evening, seemed still more unreal, the mere dusky flutter of
a moth's wings in space, so filmy and evanescent that if he had sunk
as through transparent aether into the void, i