THE OCEAN CANNOT CONTAIN ITS IMPORT
January 9, 1963
Present: Rhom, John, Dean.
WE: The touch of the Father’s hand on the shoulder of the son is at once firm and tender. He expresses wonder at the beingness beneath his fingers and determination that naught shall come nigh or sully the purity of his child. The child responds and thrusts upward through the fabric and meets the sire’s flesh in sympathy. He knows his parent dreams the dream of fools. He knows he is himself and not his father’s son. In the contact of fingers and fabric and that beneath is understanding of each that tears the heart. Still angels sing. A butterfly with pressed-together wings drops from the bloom to the sod. Unopened, the wings tremble in unison as a wind passes the field. Stillness and calm and warmth. The wings separate and droop. The Sun beats at the soil. The wings flatten and dry. Up comes a gust. The wings lift. He glides, he soars, he dips, he alights on a blossom and ups his wings and drinks. His wings join. He falls.
Pleasure has a companion-you know him well. Sadness has a friend-you know him not. Love has a purpose and this you know. Delay has a reason and you live it. Words and their meaning have a time and the timing is being readied. Let it come. The upright serpent is extended to her limit. Yet there is more. The expansion is in three directions–up, in and one other. The flame brightens whitely, yet coiled is the spirit; divorced has the Mind become from her with the white tail and fiery head. Look not to the appearance, seek not the discarded scales nor tracks in the dust. The bird’s flight leaves no trail in the vapors. Only his song is recalled. Listen for it.
WE say “no” what ye say “yea.” Triple trip tri T.
Shall WE out the point? ‘Tis a matter of grave concern. The ocean cannot contain its import. A star points the way. A clarion calls. The senses are not duped. What then? To whom do WE speak? Will you listen and do? How long must one cry to the Deliverer himself?
You have said it. WE witness for you. Speak! A mighty tool may enter the work-shop in the hand of a craftsman. Such a tool will lessen the load. An apprentice may lop his fingers off with it. Fashioned in a far place, the tool is not strange nor its operation. Make not a weapon of a tool. You are correct that a missing element exists. This has been recorded. It is to be recalled later.
The juice of memory rises. When it spills will be the time of reversal. It is coming. Be ye prepared. Mighy shall be the roar, violent the rending, joyous the release.
The serpent had been mentioned many times earlier. Now it was referred to as “her” and as spirit. It is up-right like the one at the brow chakra in the Citadel to be seen again in the Book of the Deliverer-both as an upright golden serpent rising from a box and as two serpents of fire forming the figure eight of infinity at the top of the Book.