The Child of the Dawn | Page 6

not materially yet in thought, and
recognised then, that all the qualities of matter, the sounds, the colours,
the scents--all that depends upon material vibration--were abstracted
from it; while form, of which the idea exists in the mind apart from all
concrete manifestations, was still present. For some time after that, a
series of these crystalline globes passed through the atmosphere where
I dwelt, some near, some far; and I saw in an instant, in each case, the
life and history of each. Some were still all aflame, mere currents of
molten heat and flying vapour. Some had the first signs of rudimentary
life--some, again, had a full and organised life, such as ours on earth,
with a clash of nations, a stream of commerce, a perfecting of
knowledge. Others were growing cold, and the life upon them was
artificial and strange, only achieved by a highly intellectual and noble
race, with an extraordinary command of natural forces, fighting in
wonderfully constructed and guarded dwellings against the growing
deathliness of a frozen world, and with a tortured despair in their minds
at the extinction which threatened them. There were others, again,
which were frozen and dead, where the drifting snow piled itself up
over the gigantic and pathetic contrivances of a race living underground,
with huge vents and chimneys, burrowing further into the earth in
search of shelter, and nurturing life by amazing processes which I
cannot here describe. They were marvellously wise, those pale and
shadowy creatures, with a vitality infinitely ahead of our own, a vitality

out of which all weakly or diseased elements had long been eliminated.
And again there were globes upon which all seemed dead and frozen to
the core, slipping onwards in some infinite progress. But though I saw
life under a myriad of new conditions, and with an endless variety of
forms, the nature of it was the same as ours. There was the same
ignorance of the future, the same doubts and uncertainties, the same
pathetic leaning of heart to heart, the same wistful desire after
permanence and happiness, which could not be there or so attained.
Then, too, I saw wild eddies of matter taking shape, of a subtlety that is
as far beyond any known earthly conditions of matter as steam is above
frozen stone. Great tornadoes whirled and poised; globes of spinning
fire flew off on distant errands of their own, as when the heavens were
made; and I saw, too, the crash of world with world, when satellites
that had lost their impetus drooped inwards upon some central sun, and
merged themselves at last with a titanic leap. All this enacted itself
before me, while life itself flew like a pulse from system to system,
never diminished, never increased, withdrawn from one to settle on
another. All this I saw and knew.

III
I thought I could never be satiated by this infinite procession of
wonders. But at last there rose in my mind, like a rising star, the need to
be alone no longer. I was passing through a kind of heavenly infancy;
and just as a day comes when a child puts out a hand with a conscious
intention, not merely a blind groping, but with a need to clasp and
caress, or answers a smile by a smile, a word by a purposeful cry, so in
a moment I was aware of some one with me and near me, with a heart
and a nature that leaned to mine and had need of me, as I of him. I
knew him to be one who had lived as I had lived, on the earth that was
ours,--lived many lives, indeed; and it was then first that I became
aware that I had myself lived many lives too. My human life, which I
had last left, was the fullest and clearest of all my existences; but they
had been many and various, though always progressive. I must not now
tell of the strange life histories that had enfolded me--they had risen in

dignity and worth from a life far back, unimaginably elementary and
instinctive; but I felt in a moment that my new friend's life had been far
richer and more perfect than my own, though I saw that there were still
experiences ahead of both of us; but not yet. I may describe his
presence in human similitudes, a presence perfectly defined, though
apprehended with no human sight. He bore a name which described
something clear, strong, full of force, and yet gentle of access, like
water. It was just that; a thing perfectly pure and pervading, which
could be stained and troubled, and yet could retain no defilement or
agitation; which a child could scatter and divide, and yet was absolutely
powerful and insuperable. I