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the organs of the body may be stronger in their action； perfect； and
lasting。 That the exterior flesh may be yet more beautiful； that the shape
may be finer； and the motions graceful。 These are the soberest words I can
find； purposely chosen； for I am so rapt in the beauty of the human form；
and so earnestly； so inexpressibly； prayerful to see that form perfect； that
my full thought is not to be written。 Unable to express it fully； I have
considered it best to put it in the simplest manner of words。 I believe in
the human form； let me find something； some method； by which that form may
achieve the utmost beauty。 Its beauty is like an arrow； which may be shot
any distance according to the strength of the bow。 So the idea expressed in
the human shape is capable of indefinite expansion and elevation of beauty。
Of the mind； the inner consciousness； the soul； my prayer
desired that I might discover a mode of life for it； so that it
might not only conceive of such a life； but actually enjoy it on
the earth。 I wished to search out a new and higher set of ideas
on which the mind should work。 The simile of a new book of the
soul is the nearest to convey the meaninga book drawn from
the present and future； not the past。 Instead of a set of ideas based on
tradition； let me give the mind a new thought drawn straight from the
wondrous present； direct this very hour。 Next； to furnish the soul with the
means of executing its will； of carrying thought into action。 In other
words； for the soul to
become a power。 These three formed the Lyra prayer； of which the two first
are immeasurably the in more important。 I believe in the human being； mind
and flesh； form and soul。
It happened just afterwards that I went to Pevensey； and
immediately the ancient wall swept my mind back seventeen
hundred years to the eagle； the pilum； and the short sword。 The
grey stones； the thin red bricks laid by those whose eyes had
seen Caesar's Rome； lifted me out of the grasp of house…life；
of modern civilisation； of those minutiae which occupy the
moment。 The grey stone made me feel as if I had existed from
then till now； so strongly did I enter into and see my own
life as if reflected。 My own existence was focused back on me；
I saw its joy； its unhappiness； its birth； its death； its
possibilities among the infinite； above all its yearning
Question。 Why？ Seeing it thus clearly； and lifted out of the
moment by the force of seventeen centuries； I recognised the
full mystery and the depths of things in the roots of the dry
grass on the wall； in the green sea flowing near。 Is there
anything I can do？ The mystery and the possibilities are not in
the roots of the grass； nor is the depth of things in the sea； they are in
my existence； in my soul。 The marvel of existence；
almost the terror of it； was flung on me with crushing force by
the sea； the sun shining； the distant hills。 With all their
ponderous weight they made me feel myself： all the time； all the
centuries made me feel myself this moment a hundred…fold。 I
determined that I would endeavour to write what I had so long
thought of； and the same evening put down one sentence。 There
the sentence remained two years。 I tried to carry it on； I hesitated
because I could not express it： nor can I now； though in desperation I am
throwing these rude stones of thought together； rude as those of the ancient
wall。
CHAPTER III
THERE were grass…grown tumuli on the hills to which of old I used to walk；
sit down at the foot of one of them； and think。 Some warrior had been
interred there in the antehistoric times。 The sun of the summer morning
shone on the dome of sward； and the air came softly up from the wheat below；
the tips of the grasses swayed as it passed sighing faintly； it ceased； and
the bees hummed by to the thyme and heathbells。 I became absorbed in the
glory of the day； the sunshine； the sweet air； the yellowing corn turning
from its sappy green to summer's noon of gold； the lark's song like a
waterfall in the sky。 I felt at that moment that I was like the spirit of
the man whose body was interred in the tumulus； I could understand and feel
his existence the same as my own。 He was as real to me two thousand years
after interment as those I had seen in the body。 The abstract personality of
the dead seemed as existent as thought。 As my
thought could slip back the twenty centuries in a moment to the forest…days
when he hurled the spear； or shot with the bow； hunting the deer； and could
return again as swiftly to this moment； so his spirit could endure from then
till now； and the time was nothing。
Two thousand years being a second to the soul could not cause
its extinction。 Itwas no longer to the soul than my thought occupied to me。
Recognising my own inner consciousness； the psyche； so clearly； death did
not seem to me to affect the personality。In dissolution there was no
bridgeless chasm； no unfathomable gulf of separation； the spirit did not
immediately become inaccesible； leaping at a bound to an immeasurable
distance。 Look at another person while living；
the soul is not visible； only the body which it animates。 Therefore； merely
because after death the soul is not visible is no demonstration that it does
not still live。
The condition of being unseen is the same condition which occurs
while the body is living； so that intrinsically there is nothing
exceptionable； or supernatural； in the life of the soul after death。 Resting
by the tumulus； the spirit of the man who had been interred there was to me
really alive； and very close。 This was quite natural； as natural and simple
as the grass waving in the wind； the bees humming； and the larks' songs。
Only by the strongest effort of the mind could I understand the idea of
extinction； that was supernatural； requiring a miracle； the immortality of
the soul natural； like earth。 Listening to the sighing of the grass I felt
immortality as I felt the beauty of the summer morning； and I thought beyond
immortality； of other conditions； more beautiful than existence； higher than
immortality。
That there is no knowing； in the sense of written reasons；
whether the soul lives on or not； I am fully aware。 I do not
hope or fear。 At least while I am living I have enjoyed the
idea of immortality； and the idea of my own soul。 If then；
after death； I am resolved without exception into earth； air；
and water； and the spirit goes out like a flame； still I shall
have had the glory of that thought。
It happened once that a man was drowned while bathing； and his
body was placed in an outhouse near the garden。 I passed the
outhouse continually； sometimes on purpose to think about it；
and it always seemed to me that the man was still living。
Separation is not to be comprehended； the spirit of the man did not appear
to have gone to an in conceivable distance。 As my thought flashes itself
back through the centuries to the luxury of Canopus； and can see the gilded
couches of a city extinct； so it slips through the future； and immeasurable
time in front is no bounandary to it。 Certainly the man was not dead to me。
Sweetly the summer air came up to the tumulus； the grass sighed softly； the
butterflies went by； sometimes alighting on the green dome。 Two thousand
years！ Summer after summer the blue butterflies had visited the mound； the
thyme had flowered； the wind sighed in the grass。 The azure morning had
spread its arms over the low tomb； and full glowing noon burned on it； the
purple of sunset rosied the sward。 Stars； ruddy in the vapour of the
southern horizon； beamed at midnight through the mystic summer night； which
is dusky and yet full of light。 White mists swept up and hid it； dews rested
on the turf； tender harebells drooped； the wings of the finches fanned the
airfinches whose colours faded from the wings how many centuries ago！
Brown autumn dwelt in the woods beneath； the rime of winter whitened the
beech clump on the ridge； again the buds came on the wind…blown hawthorn
bushes； and in the evening the broad constellation of Orion covered the
east。 Two thousand times！ Two thousand times the woods grew green； and
ring…doves built their nests。 Day and night for two thousand yearslight
and shadow sweeping over the moundtwo thousand years of labour by day and
slumber by night。 Mystery gleaming in the stars； pouring down in the
sunshine； speaking in the night； the wonder of the sun and of far space； for
twenty centuries round about this low and green…grown dome。 Yet all that
mystery and wonder is as nothing to the Thought that lies therein； to the
spirit that I feel so close。
Realising that spirit； recognising my own inner consciousness；
the psyche； so clearly； I cannot understand time。 It is
eternity now。 I am in the midst of it。 It is about me in the
sunshine； I am in it； as the butterfly floats in the light…laden
air。 Nothing has to come； it is now。 Now is eternity； now is
the immortal life。 Here this moment； by this tumulus； on earth；
now； I exist in it。 The years； the centuries； the cycles are
absolutely nothing； it is only a moment since this tumulus was raised； in a
thousand years it will still be only a moment。 To the soul there is no past
and no