MASTER, DID YOU REALLY RISE FROM THE DEAD?
If thou wouldst know, tell me how many hundreds of thousands of times thou hast risen from the dead since Adam and Eve?
ARE YOU THE SON OF GOD?
My son, art thou the seed of thy fore-fathers? If so, what is thy soul?
WHY A SOUL?
Thy appetite will answer that. Ask it. Dost thou judge thyself, or judge thyself by the opinion of what others judge thee?
BUT HOW CAN ONE KNOW?
By reading only the directions enclosed in thy Book of Life that God did not neglect to inscribe by the gift of thy soul.
BUT WHAT IS THE SOUL?
That which constitutes thee to question or sense without reasoning; to know without words to express, as two strange raindrops, meeting, become one without a change of opinion or identity.
The bud questions where the rose answers only as a rose. Was not the bud before the rose; thy soul before thee? Who wonders, to question?
FROM WHENCE DID I COME?
Thou hast not come. Thou art but going; yet still are from whence thou came. Thou art eternal; thus didst not come. Thou were as thou will be.
MASTER, I SHALL NOT LOSE SIGHT OF THE INFLUENCE YOU EXTEND TO ME.
My son, 'tis thy influence upon me that binds me to thee. Did I not say: Knock,and the door shall be opened? Has it not been opened? Then let us not forget those who seek but are blind, who ask but are not heard. 'Tis the way of a good shepherd to protect the lost sheep of his neighbor.
WHAT A JOY OF SELFISH EMOTION IN YOUR PRESENCE!
Is it not mutual by choice, and a pleasant companionship under the law of duality? It lessens even the hour of death. Should I not know?
WOULD THAT I HAD BEEN WITH YOU!
Art thou not?
YES, BUT LIKE A WORM UNDERGROUND.
Thy body, yes; but not thy spirit, or wouldst thou be with me while others sleep?
MASTER, NO ONE WOULD BELIEVE WHAT HAS BEEN WRITTEN ON THESE PAGES.
Do they believe in God, my Father, or in me, as thou dost? Then how can this be a part of their concept?
SHALL I GIVE THIS TO THE WORLD?
No; only to those whose fingers of inspiration knock at the door that conceals and protects the truth thus written.
SHOULD I WRITE THESE THINGS DOWN?
They are written for thee. Might thou not share them with others by writing to be read by those who hear them not?
HOW MUCH IS IT BEST TO REVEAL OF THE TRUTH YOU HAVE GIVEN ME?
My son, only as much as can be comprehended easily by those whom thou wouldst enlighten. Wouldst thou feed a newly born babe bread and wine? Reveal thy crumbs first. Truth shall find its brothers and sisters who seek their kin.
BUT WILL THEY ALL READ THEM?
Not the overfed. Their eyes are filled with luxury and food; their ears with flattery and praise. But even the least of them shall hear my whisper to follow me, as thou hast done and do.
WHY DO THEY NOT SEE OR HEAR?
Because, my son, their eyes and ears are filters made of their past experience. Thus they allow nothing to pass through them but what they already possess.
Canst thou convince the blind of the beauty of the sunset; or the deaf of the nightingale's melodies? Thus those who have ears let them hear what has been written to see the sunset of life and the melody of love, death and life.
HAVE ALL THE PAST GREATEST WRITINGS BEEN LOST?
Not at all. Every living creature and plant carries one letter of the words written that man will read as he evolves toward the Garden of Eden once more, from whence they all escaped with Adam and Eve; where the last will become first -- the twain one.
ONCE AGAIN, MASTER, A FEW MOMENTS OF HAPPINESS.
Yea, happiness forever, my son, binding to its own on thy journey Home.
MY HEART IS EVER GRATEFUL.
That, my son, is the Key to my heart; for which I bless thee in thought. So come nearer to me.
THAT I WILL!