The Theatre of the Soul

The intense ultimate drama
Is played within yourself,
Each day there is a new scene. . . . ,
A master of stagecraft with infinite resources--
With all the universe of beauty and wonder to draw on
Is producing for you in the Theatre of the Soul.

If you will to sit responsive in your seat
And cry to him--"Let the Play go on."
He will bring to you every hour
The stolid silent comedies of Fact,
The witchery of Dream,
The thin appealing voice of the Ideal,
He will show you grotesque and pathetic your furry brethren,
And your brothers and sisters in the flesh,
Your enemies and your lovers,
And in the space between day and day
He will make you Raja
Of the fantastic Empire of Sleep
And its jungle fringe of dreams.

Only--and here the hard secret of the Theatre of the Soul--
You must will to understand that Other Self, the Master of the Stage,
For he doth ever play to your mood,
And if you cry--"Behold how dull and empty is life!"
Straightway will He create a drama of emptiness to match your wit!
Be brave! Praise Him! Shout from your box--
(Strange how he gives YOU always the Imperial Box)
Go on! Magnificent! Bravo! Maestro, I love you!
Then the shy Genius will blossom forth in masterpieces,
Each day He will wake you to the splendors and the terrors of being,
He will reveal the hidden things of your heart,
He will grow closer to you . . . and then some day . . . perhaps . . .
He will stand behind in the darkness and whisper--
"Friend, lover, comrad, will you come Behind?
You have made yourself one with Us--
The Star has asked to see you!"

Rosicrucian Writings Online
The Theatre of the Soul By Bernard Sexton [From The American Rosae Crucis August 1917] The intense ultimate drama Is played within yourself, Each day there is a new scene. . . . , A master of stagecraft with infinite resources-- With all the universe of beauty and wonder to draw on Is producing for you in the Theatre of the Soul. If you will to sit responsive in your seat And cry to him--"Let the Play go on." He will bring to you every hour The stolid silent comedies of Fact, The witchery of Dream, The thin appealing voice of the Ideal, He will show you grotesque and pathetic your furry brethren, And your brothers and sisters in the flesh, Your enemies and your lovers, And in the space between day and day He will make you Raja Of the fantastic Empire of Sleep And its jungle fringe of dreams. Only--and here the hard secret of the Theatre of the Soul-- You must will to understand that Other Self, the Master of the Stage, For he doth ever play to your mood, And if you cry--"Behold how dull and empty is life!" Straightway will He create a drama of emptiness to match your wit! Be brave! Praise Him! Shout from your box-- (Strange how he gives YOU always the Imperial Box) Go on! Magnificent! Bravo! Maestro, I love you! Then the shy Genius will blossom forth in masterpieces, Each day He will wake you to the splendors and the terrors of being, He will reveal the hidden things of your heart, He will grow closer to you . . . and then some day . . . perhaps . . . He will stand behind in the darkness and whisper-- "Friend, lover, comrad, will you come Behind? You have made yourself one with Us-- The Star has asked to see you!"

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Rosicrucian Writings Online

The Theatre of the Soul