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Advanced Course in Yogi Philosophy and Oriental Occultism270
again the battle must be fought and won. It is only for an interval that nature can be
still.
The flower that blooms in the silence that follows the storm (and only then
and there) is the flower of Spiritual Consciousness, for the production of
which the Plant of Life has been striving—that which caused the sprouting
of the seed—the putting forth of roots—the pushing of the plant through
the soil of the material into the purer region above—the unfolding of leaf
after leaf—the discarding of sheath after sheath—until finally the tiny bud
of the Spirit was visible, and the real unfoldment began.
This appearance of the bud of Spiritual Consciousness—the first rays
of Illumination—mark a most critical period in the evolution of the soul.
And, as the little manual states, it occurs only after the storm—only when
the silence has succeeded and replaced the rush of the winds—the roar
and crash of the thunder—the terrifying incidents of the tempest. In the
calm, restful period that follows the storm, great things await the soul. So,
remember this, O soul, when you find yourself in the midst of the great
storm of spiritual unrest, which is sweeping away all the old landmarks—
which is tearing away all that you have been leaning against to support
yourself—which causes you to imagine that all is being swept away from
you, leaving you alone without comfort, or support. For in that moment of
spiritual distress when all is being taken away from you, there is coming to
you that peace which passeth all understanding, which will never leave you,
and which is well worth the stress of a thousand storms. The time of mere
blind belief is passing from you—the time of knowing is at hand.
It is difficult to speak of the higher spiritual experiences in the words of the
lower plane. Emerson, who had experienced that consciousness of which we
speak, says of it: “Every man’s words, who speaks from that life, must sound
vain to those who do not dwell in the same thought on their own part. I
dare not speak for it. My words do not carry its august sense; they fall short
and cold. Only itself can inspire whom it will…Yet I desire even by profane