Lilith
Lilith
Lilith
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"Father," I cried, "where is she? Where are the dead? Is the great resurrection come and gone? The terror of<br />
my loneliness was upon me; I could not sleep without my dead; I ran from the desolate chamber. −−Whither<br />
shall I go to find them?"<br />
"You mistake, my son," he answered, in a voice whose very breath was consolation. "You are still in the<br />
chamber of death, still upon your couch, asleep and dreaming, with the dead around you."<br />
"Alas! when I but dream how am I to know it? The dream best dreamed is the likest to the waking truth!"<br />
"When you are quite dead, you will dream no false dream. The soul that is true can generate nothing that is<br />
not true, neither can the false enter it."<br />
"But, sir," I faltered, "how am I to distinguish betwixt the true and the false where both alike seem real?"<br />
"Do you not understand?" he returned, with a smile that might have slain all the sorrows of all his children.<br />
"You CANNOT perfectly distinguish between the true and the false while you are not yet quite dead; neither<br />
indeed will you when you are quite dead−−that is, quite alive, for then the false will never present itself. At<br />
this moment, believe me, you are on your bed in the house of death."<br />
"I am trying hard to believe you, father. I do indeed believe you, although I can neither see nor feel the truth<br />
of what you say."<br />
"You are not to blame that you cannot. And because even in a dream you believe me, I will help you.−−Put<br />
forth your left hand open, and close it gently: it will clasp the hand of your Lona, who lies asleep where you<br />
lie dreaming you are awake."<br />
I put forth my hand: it closed on the hand of Lona, firm and soft and deathless.<br />
"But, father," I cried, "she is warm!"<br />
"Your hand is as warm to hers. Cold is a thing unknown in our country. Neither she nor you are yet in the<br />
fields of home, but each to each is alive and warm and healthful."<br />
Then my heart was glad. But immediately supervened a sharp−stinging doubt.<br />
"Father," I said, "forgive me, but how am I to know surely that this also is not a part of the lovely dream in<br />
which I am now walking with thyself?"<br />
"Thou doubtest because thou lovest the truth. Some would willingly believe life but a phantasm, if only it<br />
might for ever afford them a world of pleasant dreams: thou art not of such! Be content for a while not to<br />
know surely. The hour will come, and that ere long, when, being true, thou shalt behold the very truth, and<br />
doubt will be for ever dead. Scarce, then, wilt thou be able to recall the features of the phantom. Thou wilt<br />
then know that which thou canst not now dream. Thou hast not yet looked the Truth in the face, hast as yet at<br />
best but seen him through a cloud. That which thou seest not, and never didst see save in a glass darkly−−that<br />
which, indeed, never can be known save by its innate splendour shining straight into pure eyes−−that thou<br />
canst not but doubt, and art blameless in doubting until thou seest it face to face, when thou wilt no longer be<br />
able to doubt it. But to him who has once seen even a shadow only of the truth, and, even but hoping he has<br />
seen it when it is present no longer, tries to obey it−−to him the real vision, the Truth himself, will come, and<br />
depart no more, but abide with him for ever."<br />
"I think I see, father," I said; "I think I understand."<br />
<strong>Lilith</strong><br />
<strong>Lilith</strong> 150