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THE EARTH BREATH
After that awakening earth began more and more to bewitch me, and to lure me
to her heart with honied entreaty. I could not escape from it even in that busy
office where I sat during week-days with little heaps of paper mounting up
before me moment by frenzied moment. An interval of inactivity and I would be
aware of that sweet eternal presence overshadowing me. I was an exile from
living nature but she yet visited me. Her ambassadors were visions that made me
part of themselves. Through the hot foetid air of the gaslit room I could see
the feverish faces, the quick people flitting about, and hear the voices; and
then room, faces and voices would be gone, and I would be living in the Mother's
being in some pure, remote. elemental region of hers. Instead of the dingy
office there would be a sky of rarest amethyst; a snow-cold bloom of
cloud; high up in the divine wilderness, solitary, a star; all rapt,
breathless and still; rapt the seraph princes of wind and wave and fire, for it
was the hour when the King, an invisible presence, moved through His dominions
and Nature knew and was hushed at the presence of her Lord. Once, suddenly, I
found myself on some remote plain or steppe, and heard unearthly chimes pealing
passionately from I know not what far steeples. The earth-breath streamed from
the furrows to the glowing heavens. Overhead the birds flew round and round
crying their incomprehensible cries, as if they were maddened, and knew not
where to nestle, and had dreams of some more enraptured rest in a. diviner home.
I could see a ploughman lifting himself from his obscure toil and stand with lit
eyes as if he too had been fire-smitten and was caught into heaven as I was, and
knew for that moment he was a god. And then I would lapse out of vision and
ecstasy, and hear the voices, and see again through the quivering of the hot air
the feverish faces, and seem to myself to be cast out of the spirit. I could
hardly bear after thinking of these things, for I felt I was trapped in some
obscure hell. You, too, trapped with me, dear kindly people, who never said a harsh word to the forgetful boy. You,
too, I knew, had your revelations. I remember one day how that clerk with
wrinkled face, blinking eyes and grizzly beard, who never seemed. apart from his
work, to have interests other than his pipe and paper, surprised me by telling
me that the previous midnight he waked in his sleep, and some self of him was
striding to and fro in the moonlight in an avenue mighty with gigantic images;
and that dream self he had surprised had seemed to himself unearthly in wisdom
and power. What had he done to be so high in one sphere and so petty in another?
Others I could tell of, too, who had their moment of awe when the spirit made
its ancient claim on them. But none were so happy or so unhappy as I was. I was
happy at times because the divine world which had meant nothing to my childhood
was becoming a reality to manhood: and I knew it was not a dream, for comrades
in vision soon came to me. they who could see as I saw, and hear as I heard, and
there were some who had gone deeper into that being than I have ever travelled.
I was more miserable than my work-a-day companions, because the very intensity of vision made the recoil more unendurable. It was an agony of
darkness and oblivion, wherein I seemed like those who in nightmare are buried
in caverns so deep beneath the roots of the world that there is no hope of
escape, for the way out is unknown, and the way to them is forgotten by those
who walk in light. In those black hours the universe, a gigantic presence,
seemed at war with me. I was condemned, I thought, to be this speck of minute
life because of some sin committed in remote ages, I and those with me. We were
all lost children of the stars. Everything that suggested our high original
being, a shaft of glory from the far fire in the heavens spearing the gloom of
the office, the blue twilight deepening through the panes until it was rich with
starry dust, the sunny clouds careering high over the city, these things would
stir pangs of painful remembrance and my eyes would suddenly grow blind and wet.
Sometimes, too, I would rebel and plot in my obscurity, and remember moments
when the will in me seemed to be a titanic power, and my spirit would brood upon
ways of escape and ascent to its native regions, as those fallen angels in
Milton's tremendous narrative rose up from torture, and conspired to tear the throne from Him.
And then all that would appear to me to be futile as a speck of dust trying to
stay itself against the typhoon, and the last door would close upon me and leave
me more hopeless than before.

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