Four Mystery Plays. Rudolf Steiner

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СКАЧАТЬ man may find his being’s source

      Which springs to life and fulness in himself.

      Thou too shalt follow her to spirit-realms,

      And see her in the Temple of the Sun.—

      Within this circle there is formed a knot

      Of threads which Karma spins, world fashioning.

      My son, since thou hast now attained thus far,

      Thou shalt still further pierce beyond the veil.

      I see thy star in fullest splendour shine.

      There is no place within the realm of sense

      For strife, such as men wage when they do strive

      And struggle after consecration’s gift.

      The riddles which arise in worlds of sense

      Must find solution through man’s intellect;

      From all that sense engenders in man’s heart

      Whether of love or hate, whate’er its source

      And howsoever direful its results,

      The spirit-seeker needs must stand aloof,

      Whence he may cast his glance all undisturbed

      Upon the fields where such contentions rage.

      For him must other powers unfold themselves

      Which are not found upon that field of strife.

      So didst thou need to fight to prove thy soul

      In combat such as comes to him alone,

      Who finds himself accoutred for such powers

      As do belong unto the spirit-worlds.

      And had these powers found thee not ripe enough

      To tread the path of knowledge, they needs must

      Have maimed thy powers of feeling, ere thou daredst

      To know all that which now is known to thee.

      The Beings, who can gaze into world-depths,

      Lead on those men, who would attain the heights,

      First to that summit whence it may be shown

      Whether there lies in them the power to reach

      To conscious sight within the spirit-realms.

      And those in whom such powers are found to lie

      Are straightway from the world of sense set free.

      The others all must wait their season due.

      But thou, thou hast preserved thy Self, my son,

      When Powers on high stirred to its depths thy soul.

      And potent spirits shrouded thee with fear.

      Right powerfully thy Self hath fought its way

      E’en though thy very heart was torn by doubts,

      That willed to thrust thee into darksome depths.

      True pupil of my teaching hast thou been,

      First since that hour, so fraught with fate for thee,

      When thou didst learn to doubt thy very self,

      And gavest up thyself as wholly lost,

      But yet the strength within thee held thee fast.

      Then might I give thee of my treasured store

      Of wisdom, whence to draw the strength to stand

      Assured, e’en when mistrusting thine own self.

      Such was the wisdom which thou didst attain

      More steadfast than the faith once given to thee.

      Ripe wast thou found, and thou may’st be set free.

      Thy friend hath gone before and waits for thee

      In spirit-worlds, and thou shalt find her there.

      I can but add this guidance for thee now:

      Kindle the full power of thy soul with words

      Which through my lips shall grant to thee the key

      To spirit-heights, and they will lead thee on

      When naught else leads, that eyes of sense can see.

      Receive them in the fulness of thy heart:

      ‘The weaving essence of the light streams forth

      Through depths of space to fill the world with light;

      Love’s grace doth warm the centuries of time

      To call forth revelation of all worlds.

      And spirit-messengers come forth to wed

      The weaving essence of creative light

      With revelation of the souls of men:

      And that man, who can wed to both of these

      His very Self, he lives in spirit-heights.’

      O spirits, who are visible to man,

      Quicken with life the soul of this our son:

      From inmost depths may there stream forth for him

      That which can fill his soul with spirit-light.

      From inmost depths may there resound for him

      That which can wholly wake in him his Self

      To the creative joy of spirit-life.

      A Spirit-Voice behind the stage:

      To founts of worlds primeval

      His surging thoughts do mount;—

      What as shadow he hath thought

      What as fancy he hath lived

      Soars up beyond the world of form and shape;

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