After some time certain rays of light, comfort and divine sweetness scattered these mists and translated the soul of the servant of God into a paradise of interior delights and heavenly sweetness [31:552].

A certain brightness darted from his countenance on many occasions—especially when he came from the altar or from prayer. It is said that a heavenly light at times shone from his countenance [31:554].

Two hours before he died he repeated aloud the Miserere psalm with his brethren; then he desired one to read him part of the book of Canticles, appearing himself in transports of joy. He at length cried out: "Glory be to God!" pressed the crucifix on his breast, and, after some time, said: "Lord, into thy hands I commend my soul," with which words he calmly died, fourteenth of December, 1591, at the age of forty-nine [31: 558].

His cell became filled with light seen by the bodily eye. One night the friar who kept him went as usual to see that his prisoner was safe, and witnessed the heavenly light with which the cell was flooded. He did not stop to consider it, but hurried to the prior, thinking that some one in the house had keys to open the doors of the prison. The prior, with two religious went at once to the prison, but on his entering the room through which the prison was approached the light vanished. The prior, however, entered the cell, and, finding it dark, opened the lantern with which he had provided himself, and asked the prisoner who had given him light. St. John answered him, and said that no one in the house had done so, that no one could do it and that there was neither candle nor lamp in the cell. The prior made no reply and went away, thinking that the gaoler had made a mistake.

St. John, at a later time, told one of his brethren that the heavenly light, which God so mercifully sent him, lasted the night through, and that it filled his soul with joy and made the night pass away as if it were but a moment. When his imprisonment was drawing to its close he heard our Lord say to him, as it were out of the soft light that was around him, "John, I am here; be not afraid; I will set thee free" [112:108].

A few moments later, while making his escape from the prison of the monastery, it is said that he had a repetition of the experience as follows:

He saw a wonderful light, out of which came a voice, "follow me." He followed, and the light moved before him towards the wall which was on the bank, and then, he knew not how, he found himself on the summit of it without

effort or fatigue. He descended into the street, and then the light vanished. So brilliant was it, that for two or three days afterwards, so he confessed at a later time, his eyes were weak, as if he had been looking at the sun in its strength [112:116].

It is clearly necessary for the soul,* aiming at its own supernatural transformation, to be in darkness and far removed from all that relates to its natural condition, the sensual and rational parts. The supernatural is that which transcends nature, and, therefore, that which is natural remains below. Inasmuch as this union and transformation are not cognizable by sense or any human power, the soul must be completely and voluntarily empty of all that can enter into it, of every affection and inclination, so far as it concerns itself [203:71].

On this road,* therefore, to abandon one's own way is to enter on the true way, or, to speak more correctly, to pass onwards to the goal; and to forsake one's own way is to enter on that which has none, namely, God. For the soul that attains to this state has no ways or methods of its own, neither does it nor can it lean upon anything of the kind. I mean ways of understanding, perceiving, or feeling, though it has all ways at the same time,* as one who possessing nothing, yet possesseth everything. For the soul courageously resolved on passing, interiorly and exteriorly, beyond the limits of its own nature, enters illimitably within the supernatural, which has no measure,

* This is the doctrine of the suppression and effacement of thought, and the subjection of desire taught by Hindu illuminati from the time of Buddha until to-day—a doctrine undoubtedly resting on actual experience [154: 68 and 56: 164 et seq.].

N. B.—The author of the Bhagavatgita is not given in this volume as a case of Cosmic Consciousness for the reason that nothing is known of his personality. The Divine Lay, itself, however, carries on its face the proof that he was so—in it Krishna is the Cosmic Sense, and the speeches of Krishna the utterances of Cosmic Consciousness.

* Method of attainment of Cosmic Consciousness and general description of it.

* All ways at the same time: Carpenter tries to express this experience as follows: "What is the exact nature of this mood—of this illuminant splendor? All I can say is, there seems to be a vision possible to man as from some more universal standpoint, free from the obscurity and localism which especially connect themselves with the passing clouds of desire, fear and all ordinary thought and emotion—in that sense another

and separate faculty; and as vision always means a sense of light, so here is a sense of inward light, unconnected of course with the mortal eye, but bringing to the eye of the mind the impression that it sees and by means of a medium which washes, as it were, the interior surfaces of all objects and things and persons—how can I express it?—and yet this is most defective, for the sense is a sense that one is those objects and things and persons that one perceives (and the whole universe)—a sense in which sight and touch and hearing are all fused in identity" [62].

but contains all measure imminently within itself. To arrive there is to depart hence, going away, out of oneself, as far as possible from this vile state to that which is the highest of all. Therefore, rising above all that may be known and understood, temporally and spiritually, the soul must earnestly desire to reach that which in this life cannot be known, and which the heart cannot conceive; and, leaving behind all actual and possible taste and feeling of sense and spirit, must desire earnestly to arrive at that which transcends all sense and all feeling. In order that the soul may be free and unembarrassed for this end it must in no wise attach itself—as I shall presently explain when I treat of this point—to anything it may receive in the sense or spirit, but esteem such as of much less importance. For the more importance the soul attributes to what it understands, feels and imagines, and the greater the estimation it holds it in, whether it be spiritual or not, the more it detracts from the supreme good, and the greater will be its delay in attaining to it. On the other hand, the less that it esteems all that it may have in comparison with the supreme good, the more does it magnify and esteem the supreme good, and consequently the greater the progress towards it. In this way the soul draws nearer and nearer to the divine union, in darkness, by the way of faith, which, though it be also obscure, yet sends forth a marvellous light. Certainly, if the soul will [if it persists in wishing and striving to] see, it thereby becomes instantly more blind as to God, than he who should attempt to gaze upon the sun shining in its strength. On this road, therefore, to have our own faculties in darkness is to see the light [203: 74–5].

The more the soul strives* to become blind and annihilated as to all interior and exterior things, the more it will be filled with faith and love and hope. But this love at times is neither comprehended nor felt, because it does not establish itself in the senses with tenderness, but in the soul with fortitude, with greater courage and resolution than before; though it sometimes overflows into the senses, and shows itself tender and gentle. In order, then, to attain to this love, joy and delight which visions effect, it is necessary that the soul should have fortitude and be fortified, so as to abide willingly in emptiness and darkness, and to lay the foundation of its love and delight on what it neither sees nor feels, on what it cannot see nor feel—namely, on God incomprehensible and supreme. Our way to Him is therefore, of necessity, in self denial [203: 202].

Though it be true,*  as I have said, that God is always in every soul, bestowing upon it and preserving to it,

* So Balzac says that self consciousness, while glorious for what it has done, is at the same time baneful, because it precludes man from entering the Cosmic Conscious life, which leads to the infinite—which alone can explain God [5: 142].

* The distinction between the self conscious life even at its best and the life of Cosmic Consciousness.

by His presence, its natural being, yet for all this He does not always communicate the supernatural life. For this is given only by love and grace, to which all souls do not attain, and those who do, do not in the same degree, for some rise to higher degrees of love than others. That soul, therefore, has greater communion with God which is most advanced in love—that is, whose will is most conformable to the will of God. And that soul which has reached perfect conformity and resemblance is perfectly united with, and 'supernaturally transformed in, God. For which cause, therefore, as I have already explained, the more the soul cleaves to created things, relying on its own strength, by habit and inclination, the less is it disposed for this union, because it does not completely resign itself into the hands of God, that He may transform it supernaturally [203:78].

At other times, also, the divine light strikes the soul* with such force that the darkness is unfelt and the light unheeded; the soul seems unconscious of all it knows, and is therefore lost, as it were, in forgetfulness, knowing not where it is nor what has happened to it, unaware of the lapse of time.

It may and does occur* that many hours pass while it is in this state of forgetfulness; all seems but a moment when it again returns to itself [203: 127].

* "Louis had a well-defined attack of catalepsy. He remained standing for fifty-nine hours motionless, his eyes fixed, without speaking or eating, etc." [5: 127]. This experience of Lambert's (Balzac's) belongs to the period of illumination as in the case of Yepes.

* It is probable that a similar experience in the same circumstances is common though not universal.

O how blessed is that soul* which is ever conscious of God reposing and resting within it. . .. He is there, as it were, asleep in the embraces of the soul and the soul is in general conscious of His presence and in general delights exceedingly in it. If He were always awake in the soul the communications of knowledge and love would be unceasing, and that would be a state of glory. If He awakes but once, merely opening his eyes, and affects the soul

* Yepes says: God is always in man, and very commonly the soul is aware of His (passive) presence. It is as if He slept in the soul. If He wakes up only once in a man's whole life the experience of that instant affects the whole of life. If the experience of that instant should be indefinitely prolonged what soul could bear it!

so profoundly, what would become of it if He were continually awake within it [206: 506]?

The heavens are mine, the earth is mine, and the nations are mine!* mine are the just, and the sinners are mine; mine are the angels and the Mother of God; all things are mine, God himself is mine and for me, because Christ is mine and all for me. What dost thou then ask for, what dost thou seek for, O my soul? All is thine—all is for thee. Do not take less nor rest with the crumbs which fall from the table of thy father. Go forth and exult in thy glory, hide thyself in it, and rejoice, and thou shalt obtain all the desires of thy heart [206:607].

Visions of incorporeal substances,*  as of angels and of souls, are neither frequent nor natural in this earthly life, and still less so is the vision of the divine essence, which is peculiar to the blessed, unless it be communicated transiently by a dispensation of God, or by conservation of our natural life and condition, and the abstraction of the spirit; as was perhaps the case of St. Paul when he heard the unutterable secrets in the third heaven. "Whether in the body," saith he, "I know not, or out of the body, I know not; God knoweth." It is clear from the words of the apostle that he was carried out of himself, by the act of God, as to his natural existence [203: 198–9].

Knowledge of pure truth requires, for its proper explanation, that God should hold the hand and wield the pen of the writer. Keep in mind, my dear reader, that these matters are beyond all words.* But as my purpose is not to discuss them but to teach and direct the soul through them to the divine union, it will be enough if I speak of them

* So Whitman tells us: "As if one fit to own things could not at pleasure enter upon all and incorporate them into himself or herself" [193:214]. And again: "What do you suppose I would intimate to you in a hundred ways but that man or woman is as good as God? And that there is no God any more divine than yourself" [193: 299].

* The Cosmic vision compared in a few common sense words with more ordinary "visions" of, for instance, angels and spirits, in which Yepes seems to have little faith.

* "Beyond all words." This is the universal experience.

concisely within certain limits, so far as my subject requires it.* This kind of vision is not the same with the intellectual visions of bodily things. It consists in comprehending or seeing with the understanding the truths of God, or of things or concerning things which are, have been, or will be. It is most like to the spirit of prophecy, as I shall perhaps hereafter explain. This kind of knowledge is twofold: one relates to the Creator, the other to creatures. And though both kinds are most full of sweetness, the delight produced by that which relates to God is not to be compared with aught beside; and there are neither words nor language to describe it, for it is the knowledge of God himself and his delights [203: 205].

In so far as this becomes pure contemplation, the soul sees clearly that it cannot describe it otherwise than in general terms which the abundance of delight and happiness forces from it. And though at times, when this knowledge is vouchsafed to the soul, words are uttered, yet the soul knows full well that it has in nowise expressed what it felt, because it is conscious that there are no words of adequate signification [203:206].

This divine knowledge concerning God* never relates to particular things, because it is conversant with the Highest, and therefore cannot be explained unless when it is extended to some truth less than God,* which is capable of being described; but this general knowledge is ineffable. It is only a soul in union with God that is capable of this profound loving knowledge, for it is itself that union. This knowledge consists in a certain contact of the soul with the Divinity, and it is God Himself who is then felt and tasted, though not manifestly and distinctly, as it will be in glory. But this touch of knowledge and sweetness is so strong and so profound that it penetrates into the inmost substance of the soul, and the devil cannot interfere with it, nor produce anything like it—because there is nothing else comparable with it—nor infuse any sweetness or delight which shall at all resemble it. This knowledge savors, in some measure, of the divine essence and of everlasting life, and the devil has no power to simulate anything so great [203: 207].

Such is the sweetness of deep delight of these touches of God,* that one of them is more than a recompense for all the sufferings of this life, however great their number [203: 208].

* An attempt to indicate the radical difference between the knowledge which belongs to the self conscious mind and the consciousness of truth proper to the Cosmic Conscious mind. To indicate also the joy of Cosmic Consciousness and the impossibility of expressing in the only language we have (the language of self consciousness) either what is seen or what is felt in the Cosmic Conscious state. "When I undertake," says Whitman, "to tell the best I find I cannot, my tongue is ineffectual on its pivots, my breath will not be obedient to its organs, I become a dumb man" [193: 179].

* Compare Behmen: "Spiritual knowledge cannot be communicated from one intellect to another, but must be sought for in the spirit of God" [97: 56].

* And Whitman's dicta: "Wisdom is of the soul; cannot be passed from one having it to another not having it" [193: 123].

* "For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory that shall be revealed to usward" [19: 8: 18].

These images, thus imprinted on the soul, produce whenever they are adverted to,* the divine effects of love, sweetness, and light, sometimes more, sometimes less, for that is the end for which they are impressed. He with whom God thus deals receives a great gift, for he has a mine of blessings within himself. The images which produce such effects as these are vividly grounded in the spiritual memory [203:275].

The way of proficients, which is also called the illuminative way,* or the way of infused contemplation, wherein God himself teaches and refreshes the soul without meditation or any active efforts that itself may deliberately make [203:55–6]. I went forth out of myself, out of my low conceptions and lukewarm love, out of my scanty and poor sense of God, without being hindered by the flesh or the devil. I went forth out of the scanty works and ways of my own to those of God; that is, my understanding went forth out of itself, and from human became divine. My will went forth out of itself, becoming divine; for now united with the divine love, it loves no more with its former scanty powers and circumscribed capacity, but with the energy and pureness of the divine spirit [203: 67].

Now this is nothing else but the supernatural light* giving light to the understanding, so that the human understanding becomes divine, made one with the divine. In the same way divine love inflames the will so that it becomes nothing less than divine, loving in a divine way, united and made one with the divine will and the divine love. The memory is affected in like manner; all the desires and affections also are changed divinely according to God. Thus the soul will be of heaven, heavenly, divine rather than human [204: 111].

It was a happy lot for the soul* when God in this night put all its household to sleep—that is, all the powers, passions, affections, and desires of the sensual and spiritual soul, that it may attain to the spiritual union of the perfect love of God "unobserved"—that is, unhindered, by them, because they were all asleep and mortified in that night. O how happy must the soul then be when it can escape from the house of its sensuality! None can understand it, I think, except that soul which has experienced it [204:113]. It is, therefore, plain that no distinct object whatever that pleases the will can be God; and for that reason, if it is to be united with Him, it must empty itself, cast away every disorderly affection of the desire, every satisfaction it may distinctly have, high and low, temporal and spiritual, so that, purified and cleansed from all unruly satisfactions, joys

* Whenever they are adverted to: Compare Bacon:

* He tells of the passage from self consciousness to Cosmic Consciousness and what it is like to be in the latter condition.

* As Dante says, this is being "transhumanized into a God" [72: 4].

* Further allusions to the necessary subjugation or even obliteration of the old self conscious mind before the cosmic conscious mind can emerge.

and desires, it may be wholly occupied, with all its affections, in loving God [204:534].

This abyss of wisdom now so exalts and elevates the soul—orderly disposing it for the science of love—that it makes it not only understand how mean are all created things in relation to the supreme wisdom and divine knowledge, but also how low, defective, and, in a certain sense, improper, are all the words and phrases by which in this life we discuss divine things and how utterly impossible by any natural means, however profoundly and learnedly we may speak, to understand and see them as they are, except in the light of mystical theology. And so the soul in the light thereof, discerning this truth, namely, that it cannot reach it, and still less explain it by the terms of ordinary speech, justly calls it secret [204: 126].

The spirit is now so strong, and has so subdued the flesh, and makes so little of it, that it is as regardless of it as a tree is of one of its leaves. It seeks not for consolation or sweetness either* in God or elsewhere, neither does it pray for God's gifts through any motive of self interest, or its own satisfaction. For all it cares for now is how it shall please God and serve Him in some measure in return for His goodness and for the graces it has received, and this at any and every cost [204: 134].

But if we speak of that light of glory which in this, the soul's embrace, God sometimes produces within it, and which is a certain spiritual communion wherein He causes it to behold and enjoy at the same time the abyss of delight and riches which He has laid up within it, there is no language to express any degree of it. As the sun when it shines upon the sea illumes its great depths and reveals the pearls and gold and precious stones therein, so the divine sun of the bridegroom, turning towards the bride, reveals in a way the riches of her soul, so that even the angels behold her with amazement [205: 292].

I have said that God is pleased with nothing but love.* He has need of nothing, and so if He is pleased with anything it is with the growth of the soul; and as there is no way in which the soul can grow but in becoming in a manner equal to Him, for this reason only is He pleased with our love. It is the property of love to place him who loves on an equality with the object of his love. Hence the soul, because of its perfect love, is called the bride of the Son of God, which signifies equality with Him [205:333].

Before the soul succeeded in effecting this gift and a surrender of itself,* and of all that belongs to it, to the Beloved, it was entangled in many unprofitable occupations, by which it sought to please itself and others, and

* Yepes resembles Buddha and Paul in despising and contemning the old self conscious life. Jesus and Whitman reached a higher level—they saw that all life is good, all divine.

* "What do you suppose," says Whitman, "I would intimate to you in a hundred ways but that man or woman is as good as God and that there is no God any more divine than yourself" [193: 299].

* Antecedent self conscious state. Compare Whitman: "Trippers and askers surround me, people I meet, the effect upon me of my early life or the ward and city I live in, or the nation, the latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old and new, my

dinner, dress, associates, looks, compliments, dues, the real or fancied indifference of some man or woman I love, the sickness of one of my folks or of myself, or ill doing, or loss or lack of money, or depressions or exaltations, battles, the horrors of fratricidal war, the fever of doubtful news, the fitful events; these come to me days and nights and go from me again, but they are not the Me myself" [193: 31–2].

it may be said that its occupations at this time were as many as its habits of imperfection [205: 236].

It is not without some unwillingness that I enter at the request of others upon the explanation of the four stanzas,* because they relate to matters so interior and spiritual as to baffle the powers of language [206:407]. All I say falls far short of that which passes in this intimate union of the soul with God. That love still more perfect and complete in the same state of transformation [206:408].

I entered, but I knew not where,* and there I stood not knowing, all science transcending.

I knew not where I entered, for when I stood within, not knowing where I was, I heard great things. What I heard I will not tell; I was there as one who knew not, all science transcending.

Of peace and devotion* the knowledge was perfect, in solitude profound; the right way was clear, but so secret was it, that I stood babbling, all science transcending.

I stood enraptured in ecstasy, beside myself, and in my every sense no sense remained. My spirit was endowed with understanding, understanding nought, all science transcending.

The higher I ascended the less I understood. It is the dark cloud illumining the night. Therefore he who understands knows nothing, ever all science transcending.

He who really ascends so high annihilates himself, and all his previous knowledge seems ever less and less; his knowledge so increases that he knoweth nothing, all science transcending.

This knowing that knows nothing is so potent in its might that the prudent in their reasoning never can defeat it; for their wisdom never reaches to the understanding that understandeth nothing, all science transcending.

* Expressions by which he tries to suggest mental states that cannot be represented by language.

* In this short poem John Yepes has tried to state the essential facts of the entrance into the Cosmic Conscious state. He says he entered it, but (having so done) he did not know where he was. He heard great things, but will not (cannot?) relate what. He found (in that state) perfect peace and knowledge.

* "Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and knowledge that pass all the arguments of the earth" [193: 32].

The right way (the right course of action), too, was clear (Whitman says the new sense "held his feet" [193:32]. Yepes, like Whitman and all the rest, became filled with joy. He then goes on to describe Nirvâna, even to the use of the word "annihilation."

Finally he pronounces the word which all the illuminati utter each in his own way. He says this profound wisdom consists in a sense of the essence of God. It is the Cosmic Sense—a sense, intuition, or consciousness of the Cosmos. The birth of the faculty which alone can comprehend God. It is that new birth through which only can a man see the kingdom of God.

This sovereign wisdom is of an excellence so high that no faculty nor science can ever unto it attain. He who shall overcome himself by the knowledge which knows nothing will always rise, all science transcending.

And if you would listen, this sovereign wisdom doth consist in a sense profound of the essence of God: it is an act of His compassion, to leave us, nought understanding, all science transcending [208:624–5].