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ring…doves built their nests。 Day and night for two thousand yearslight
and shadow sweeping over the moundtwo thousand years of labour by day and
slumber by night。 Mystery gleaming in the stars； pouring down in the
sunshine； speaking in the night； the wonder of the sun and of far space； for
twenty centuries round about this low and green…grown dome。 Yet all that
mystery and wonder is as nothing to the Thought that lies therein； to the
spirit that I feel so close。
Realising that spirit； recognising my own inner consciousness；
the psyche； so clearly； I cannot understand time。 It is
eternity now。 I am in the midst of it。 It is about me in the
sunshine； I am in it； as the butterfly floats in the light…laden
air。 Nothing has to come； it is now。 Now is eternity； now is
the immortal life。 Here this moment； by this tumulus； on earth；
now； I exist in it。 The years； the centuries； the cycles are
absolutely nothing； it is only a moment since this tumulus was raised； in a
thousand years it will still be only a moment。 To the soul there is no past
and no future； all is and will be
ever； in now。 For artificial purposes time is mutually agreed
on； but is really no such thing。 The shadow goes on upon the dial； the index
moves round upon the clock； and what is the difference？ None whatever。 If
the clock had never been set going； what would have been the difference？
There may be time for the clock； the clock may make time for itself； there
is none for me。
I dip my hand in the brook and feel the stream； in an instant
the particles of water which first touched me have floated
yards down the current； my hand remains there。 I take my hand
away； and the flowthe timeof the brook does not exist to me。
The great clock of the firmament； the sun and the stars； the
crescent moon； the earth circling two thousand times； is no
more to me than the flow of the brook when my hand is withdrawn； my soul has
never been； and never can be； dipped in
time。 Time has never existed； and never will； it is a purely
artificial arrangement。 It is eternity now； it always was eternity； and
always will be。 By no possible means could I get into time if I tried。 I am
in eternity now and must there remain。 Haste not； be at rest； this Now is
eternity。 Because the idea of time has left my mindif ever it had any
hold on itto me the man interred in the tumulus is living now as I live。
We are both in eternity。
There is no separation…no past； eternity； the Now； is
continuous。 When all the stars have revolved they only produce
Now again。 The continuity of Now is for ever。 So that it
appears to me purely natural； and not super natural； that the
soul whose temporary frame was interred in this mound should be
existing as I sit on the sward。 How infinitely deeper is thought than the
million miles of the firmament！ The wonder is here； not there； now； not to
be； now always。 Things that have been miscalled supernatural appear to me
simple；more natural than nature； than earth； than sea；or sun。 It is beyond
telling more natural that I should have a soul than not； that there should
be
immortality； I think there is much more than immortality。 It
is matter which is the supernatural； and difficult of under…standing。 Why
this clod of earth I hold in my hand？ Why this water which drops sparkling
from my fingers dipped in the brook？
Why are they at all？ When？ How？ What for？ Matter is beyond understanding；
mysterious； impenetrable； I touch it easily； comprehend it； no。 Soul；
mindthe thought； the ideais easily understood； it understands itself and
is conscious。
The supernatural miscalled； the natural in truth； is the real。
To me everything is supernatural。 How strange that condition of mind which
cannot accept anything but the earth； the sea； the tangible universe！
Without the misnamed supernatural these to me seem incomplete； unfinished。
Without soul all these are dead。 Except when I walk by the sea； and my soul
is by it； the sea is dead。 Those seas by which no man has stood which no
soul has beenwhether on earth or the planets； are dead。 No matter how
majestic the planet rolls in space； unless a soul be there it is dead。 As I
move about in the sunshine I feel in the midst of the supernatural： in the
midst of immortal things。 It is impossibble to wrest the mind down to the
same laws that rule pieces of timber； water； or earth。 They do not control
the soul； however rigidly they may bind matter。 So full am I always of a
sense of the immortality now at this moment round about me； that it would
not surprise me in the least if a circumstance outside physical experience
occurred。 It would seem to me quite natural。 Give the soul the power it
conceives； and there would be nothing wonderful in it。
I can see nothing astonishing in what are called miracles。
Only those who are mesmerised by matter can find a difficulty in
such events。 I am aware that the evidence for miracles is
logically and historically untrustworthy； I am not defending
recorded miracles。 My point is that in principle I see no
reason at all why they should not take place this day。 I do not
even say that there are or ever have been miracles； but I maintain that they
would be perfectly natural。 The wonder rather is that they do not happen
frequently。 Consider the limitless conceptions of the soul： let it possess
but the power to realise those conceptions for one hour； and how little； how
trifling would be the helping of the injured or the sick to regain health
and happinessmerely to think it。 A soul…work would require but a thought。
Soul…work is an expression better suited to my meaning than 〃miracle；〃 a
term like others into which a special sense has been infused。
When I consider that I dwell this moment in the eternal Now that
has ever been and will be； that I am in the midst of immortal
things this moment； that there probably are Souls as infinitely
superior to mine as mine to a piece of timber； what then； pray；
is a 〃miracle〃？ As commonly understood； a 〃miracle〃 is a mere nothing。 I can
conceive soul…works done by simple will or thought a thousand times greater。
I marvel that they do not
happen this moment。 The air； the sunlight； the night； all that
surrounds me seems crowded with inexpressible powers； with the
influence of Souls； or existences； so that I walk in the midst
of immortal things。 I myself am a living witness of it。
Sometimes I have concentrated myself； and driven away by continued will all
sense of outward appearances； looking
straight with the full power of my mind inwards on myself。
I find 〃I〃 am there； an 〃I〃 I do not wholly understand； or knowsomething
is there distinct from earth and timber； from flesh and bones。 Recognising
it； I feel on the margin of a life unknown； very near； almost touching it：
on the verge of powers which if I could grasp would give me an immense
breadth of existence； an ability to execute what I now only conceive； most
probably of far more than that。 To see that 〃I〃 is to know that I am
surrounded with immortal things。 If； when I die； that 〃I〃 also dies； and
becomes extinct； still even then I have had the
exaltation of these ideas。
How many words it has taken to describe so b