Rosicrucian Writings Online
[From The Rosicrucian Digest October 1944]
No man has a greater host of friends than I; of an evening, some will take me on high adventure. Through icy blasts and over frozen regions we will journey. I will be numb with cold, and my eyes will ache from the unrelenting glare of sun on eternal white. Then, again, on occasion, in torrid lands we will travel, each cutting and hacking his way through the green hell, as savage eyes peer out at us from the dismal darkness of the shadows. Some of these companions of mine, of a night, will choose to leave the confines of this earth. With them I will vault into space. They stop at the moon, push their way through its moribund canyons and thence they swirl and dance with the nebulae, as I breathlessly keep pace. Never a night the same. Others of this host lead me into the past to silently witness sacred ceremonies of the ancients. We dine with Caesar. We fight in the Legions of Alexander the Great, or we tarry awhile to listen to the deathless words of the sages who are gathered in the shadows of the Parthenon.
My life is ever a rich one, for my friends are full of spirit. Their resourcefulness is the capacity of all human thought and endeavor. These friends are always near. Their escapades, lives, and sentiments, are just within the reach of my extended arm. For these friends are the treasured books upon my shelves. At attention they stand, a legion of personalities waiting to leap at my desire and serve my every mood and interest.
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