# Candle of Vision/Slave of the Lamp

London: Macmillan and Co.
BECAUSE I was a creature of many imaginings and of rapid alternations of mood out of all that there came to me assurance of a truth, of all truths most inspiring to one in despair in the Iron Age and lost amid the undergrowths of being.
I became aware of a swift echo or response to my own moods in circumstance which had seemed hitherto immutable in its indifference.
I found every intense imagination, every new adventure of the intellect endowed with magnetic power to attract to it its own kin.
Will and desire were as the enchanter's wand of fable, and they drew to themselves their own affinities.
Around a pure atom of crystal all the atoms of the element in solution gather, and in like manner one person after another emerged out of the mass, betraying their close affinity to my moods as they were engendered.
I met these people seemingly by accident along is country roads, or I entered into conversation with strangers and found they were intimates of the spirit.
I could prophesy from the uprising of new moods in myself that I, without search, would soon meet people of a certain character, and so I met them. Even inanimate things were under the sway of these affinities.
They yielded up to me what they had specially for my eyes.
I have glanced in passing at a book left open by some one in a library, and the words first seen thrilled me, for they confirmed a knowledge lately attained in vision.
At another time a book taken down idly from a shelf opened at a sentence quoted from a Upanishad, scriptures then to me unknown, and this sent my heart flying eastwards because it was the answer to a spiritual problem I had been brooding over an hour before.
It was hardly a week after my first awakening that I began to meet those who were to be my lifelong comrades on the quest, and who were, like myself, in a boyhood troubled by the spirit.
I had just attempted to write in verse when I met a boy whose voice was soon to be the most beautiful voice in Irish literature.
I sought none of these out because I had heard of them and surmised a kinship.
The concurrence of our personalities seemed mysterious and controlled by some law of spiritual gravitation, like that which in the chemistry of nature makes one molecule fly to another.
I remember the exultation with which I realised about life that, as Heraclitus has said, it was in a flux, and that in all its flowings there was meaning and law; that I could not lose what was my own; I need not seek, for what was my own would come to me; if any passed it was because they were no longer mine.
One buried in a dungeon for many years could not have hailed sunshine, the sweet-smelling earth, and the long hidden infinitude of the skies more joyously than I the melting of that which had seemed immutable.
It is those who live and grow swiftly, and who continually compare what is without with what is within, who have this certainty.
Those who do not change see no change and recognise no law.
He who has followed even in secrecy many lights of the spirit can see one by one the answering torches gleam.
When I was made certain about this I accepted what befell with resignation.
I knew that all I met was part of myself and that what I could not comprehend was related by affinity to some yet unrealised forces in my being.
We have within us the Lamp of the World; and Nature, the genie, is Slave of the Lamp, and must fashion life about us as we fashion it within ourselves.
What we are alone has power.
We may give up the outward personal struggle and ambition, and if we leave all to the Law all that is rightly ours will be paid.
Man becomes truly the Superman when he has this proud consciousness.
No matter where he may be, in what seeming obscurity, he is still the King, still master of his fate, and circumstance reels about him or is still as he, in the solitude of his spirit, is mighty or is humble.
We are indeed most miserable when we dream we have no power over circumstance, and I account it the highest wisdom to know this of the living universe that there is no destiny in it other than that we make for ourselves.
How the spirit is kindled, how it feels its power, when, outwardly quiet, it can see the coming and going of life, as it dilates within itself or is still!
Then do we move in miracle and wonder.
Then does the universe appear to us as it did to the Indian sage who said that to him who was perfect in meditation all rivers were sacred as the Ganges and all speech was holy.