Alba

De Naturae Sensu

(The Sense of Nature)

It is a long journey before one attains awakening, before one’s consciousness gradually realizes, grabs, and fixes the more or less frequent hints and the sudden, unexpected echoes, through the use of memory. The range of these hints and echoes is various and infinite, ever new and full of wonder. I am talking about events in our ordinary life, things that surround us and occasion a series of thoughts and inner experiences, mysterious voices that arise from the depth of one’s being and emerge to the conscious level. Then one experiences them as the fluttering of wings that attempt to take off toward the light.

There are two very wide fields that offer an inexhaustible harvest of such echoes: our own soul, and nature.

Let us look around ourselves: the world is man’s book, provided he is able to see and hear the voices of things and feel the relationship existing between his life and theirs. For there is life in plants, in water, in the wind, in fire, in the stars, in the thousands of visible and invisible beings that are everywhere. There is life and spirit, too, in what we do not see but which surrounds us: Hades, the invisible.

Look at the earth: nature is the fertile mother, inexhaustible, even in the most elementary form of life, even in mud. The wind has blown seeds on rooftops, among the ruins of an ancient tower. These seeds find a bit of earth between a couple of stones and establish a way of life: soon a tuft of grass is born and lives on.

The earth, this immense quantity of matter that is transformed, spins around its axis, crumbles and reassembles, producing countless lives through countless and continuous transformations: it is none other than the symbol of our own body and our own flesh. This can be easily be understood by realizing the analogy between our physical life and nature, or between our body and the life of a tree, for example.

Observe some trees that have only a part of their roots in the earth, while most of the roots lie exposed, apparently lacking nourishment, and yet are alive thanks to the vital juices coming from the depths of the earth—then feel that in those naked roots and the rough trunk of the tree flows a vital lymph similar to that which feeds our bodies. Then vegetative life will no longer be a dead and meaningless notion. Bend down to observe a fragile green leaf, and feel with your fingers its thin fibers: smell the luscious smell of a rose, conscious that tomorrow all that may be left of it is the naked stem surrounded by scattered petals: and yet for a short time nature has smiled in the flower, happy to grow under the sun, transmitting to you her joy of a fertile mother, never tired, always inexhaustible. In the evening, some trees emanate an acute fragrance; you may not see them, but their smell is like a clarion call: become aware of that voice, the mute language of friendly beings, and feel the closeness of the great shadows in the shadow, living in their stillness in closer contact with the earth. The trees also communicate the impression of this contact with earth, vibrating in the breath of the leaves. The snow, covering everything with its whiteness, conveys a sense of sadness similar to that which emanates from the naked and barren trees during winter, because at that time we feel nature shut off in lethargy, and isolated in her concentration.

Observe the continuous flowing of a river; feel the water flowing in the earth, like blood in the veins—like the warmth of the sun giving light and life; like the warmth of the body. Or, on the shore of a lake, staring at the water, feel a living and real something, rising from the lake and getting closer. It is not necessary to have a vision or to evoke the Genius; it suffices to understand how the body of waters, which we can study from a chemical and scientific point of view, is the manifestation of real, yet invisible, spiritual intelligences.

The earth, the air, fire, and all the elements are constantly in our sight, in their various manifestations, and yet we fail to understand them. We seldom pay attention to air; we do not think about it, and we do not feel its fluid essence surrounding and penetrating all things.

In order to understand the deep meaning of the air, pick an evening, during spring, and try to focus your perception on the contrasts. When you walk, surrounded by the deafening murmur of a street enclosed between tall buildings, feel the multiform crowd swarming about, trapped in the fog of everyday concerns, afflicted by physical and moral ailments, as the evening slowly descends on the city, the first lights are being lit and the blue sky is still bright. A sudden feeling, almost a sense of discomfort, penetrates us, accompanied by a yearning for liberation. Then realize in one’s being the sense of the earth’s heaviness, contrasting with the impalpable air. Lastly, proceed to solitude and to meditation.

A wave of vivifying purity pervades the soul before the light and the warmth of a flame; a prayer is more fervent and noble if performed by candlelight. Today we have almost lost the possibility of being near fire; we no longer have fireplaces lit by great burning logs, but the electrical current, which suddenly dissipates the faint crepuscular light.

Feel the sun, in a hot summer, as if you had become a lamp shining with a glowing light; the Sun is me, its light and warmth are in me—think this as you abandon yourself to the feeling of luminous joy, as you experience your body to be light and carried upward; feel the birth in you of adoration for the bright star, the Light, and recall the ancient cult of the fire-worshipers.

The wholly spiritual experience of light, of the sun in us, expresses the desire to ascend, while the feeling of physical well-being that comes from the sun’s warmth causes an élan of exaltation, of expansion of the physical life.

We all have the possibility, latent or developed in varying degrees, to hear these voices coming to us from things, from nature, from within ourselves. These voices come to us through sensations and impressions that we did not create or will; they come when we least think of them, at a time of mental relaxation or at a time of inner peace. They are always preceded by an arcane sense of wonder mixed with anticipation, as our glance shifts to a plant, to a tree, or to a landscape. The will does not operate directly on them; the will and even the thirst for knowledge have only the task of organizing the experiences and developing them in a harmonious way, lifting them onto planes of realization and further adaptations.

Thus, having begun to know what vital force, similar to ours, is in everything that surrounds us, from a grass blade to an invisible atom, from the drop of dew to the luminous energy of fire, it is easy to come to realize the deep meaning of all things; that which is visible and real to us is nothing but the shadow cast by that which exists equally, but invisibly. The two planes are connected by symbols. That which is outside of us is in us under a different aspect. To feel in harmony with the life of things is the realization of this law.

The Earth is our flesh; Water is the purifying strength that it needs; Air is what is between Heaven and Earth, body and spirit. The spirit is the Fire that vivifies and enlightens everything, dispersing the shadows of matter, aiming upward.

Not only our physical existence is symbolized in nature, but we find in its various aspects deep analogies with our states of mind. We have the calm, the melancholy, and the violence of the sea; the ephemeral nature of grass; the aridity and fertility of the countryside; the fantastic whirling of the wind. In the diamond light of the stars, so far away from the earth, we have the isolation that sometimes is in us, in the abysmal and inaccessible depth of the Self.

In nature we constantly and clearly see the manifestation of the law of duality and of equilibrium that emerges from the ongoing contrasts of strength and weakness, of plus and minus. Among the cyclones, the storms, and the infinite grace of a small flower; mosses, frail grasses, and inviolate rocky mountains that seem to heave their heavy mass toward higher spheres with a tenacious effort, the refuge of eagles and butterflies.

Man appears as a creative, violent, and absolute force; woman as a comprehensive, receptive capacity that develops and reflects this force.

The sun and the wind: strength and violence.

The earth and green pastures: absorption and fertility.

For a gradual development of the sense of nature, it is necessary first to try to reverberate its various voices in us, following their unfolding in the annual cycle, from its blossoming in the spring, to its maturity and fullness in the summer, to its decline and its brief and apparent lethargy in the winter, which is profound concentration and preparation. Thus, begin to observe the environment in which you live.

Every object has, in its form, a particular imprint that bespeaks its deepest meaning and can cause an endless development of ideas, impressions, inner experiences that vary from individual to individual, depending on their particular attitudes.

Notice, for instance, that we do not perceive the color, but the form of some colored objects; a first idea of formless color may be suggested by the fluttering of colored veils, even though the image is still very inadequate to convey the transcendent reality of color.

It is helpful to remember how much the spectrum of colors affects the spirit: the sense of rest that helps one concentrate may be induced by light shades of blue and green, not by red or white. There are various aspects of landscapes in different seasons and regions: an icy lunar landscape, a vast land, a boundless desert do not occasion the same feelings as a green valley during spring, or fields rich with harvest, or placid mountain lakes. The temperament of the inhabitants of a region varies with the region itself: poets often feel certain landscapes, which are actually inner states of being, and translate them in their poems.

In many cases, people’s physical appearance, their profile, or smiles give away their nature, virtues, and vices. When we observe our own physical appearance in a mirror for a long time, we may be amazed that through this particular face and body we know ourselves and are known to others. The hand has a deep expression, just like the eyes, and it can reveal whether a person is spiritually close to us or not. Some people have the possibility of deeply knowing another person only after a few instants or hours of conversation. Then something wonderful and simple may occur: in a crowd, somewhere, a person suddenly feels somebody else’s essence, who naturally is totally unaware of this at the time; the feeling one has in such a circumstance is as spontaneous as it is real. The human voice may also reveal much: one is happy to listen to a song in which a voice displays its various tones and inflections; if the song or voice is our own, we may experience a division, as one person speaks and acts and the other listens. This does not usually occur, because when we speak we follow our own line of thought, without paying attention to our voice.

In some privileged spiritual occasions, in perfect solitude, invisible lives beyond that of the human reveal themselves. The spirit may take notice of them, but not always, nor is everyone able to. Sometimes, as we are alone in a room reading or writing, all of a sudden we may sense we are no longer alone. Sometimes the presence of the approaching entity is so clearly perceived that we feel compelled to look in a direction, where we feel an invisible somebody watching us. Sometimes we may feel like bowing, as we realize we are in the presence of a higher being; then wonder is followed by a sense of peace, profound inner peace, and stronger resolution. The spirit appears to be elevated, pushed forward by the fluttering of invisible wings. We feel these presences suddenly, unwillingly, though they are almost always preceded by a period of great purity of life, both inner and outer.

Sometimes one may even hear one’s name being called, both when one is awake and asleep. Who is calling?

We may also experience the presence of different beings from the ones I have mentioned: these beings are very close to man, and they can communicate to him sudden fears, or different and weird impressions. Sometimes we may feel big laughing mouths around us, in a frightful attitude of mockery, belonging to beings that are not invisible, but are not perceived through the physical eye.

The invisible world may at times communicate with us as a wave of sudden terror, the depths of the abyss yawning under our feet; the icy fear of darkness; the sense of loneliness in a deserted place; the horror of sudden awful visions: these are all manifestations of the world of Fear, existing beyond the limits of human consciousness. At those times, either the spirit is so strong as to remain unshaken, strong, dissipating all fears, or Fear itself, as a fire fed by a mighty wind, crashes onto a person with various serious consequences.

Sleep is but a break, a shadow between the light of falling asleep and of rising up. One wakes up rested in the body, but often with the feeling of having been separated from life for hours, without remembering a thing, except for the chaotic images of one’s dreams. At other times, we reawaken serene, feeling different; in those cases we can say that we have not slept at all, because as we stayed with our eyes closed, a life was in us. We have two lives that take us away from the ordinary state of wakefulness: in the first life, the body rests and the spirit, trapped in matter, rests. In that case, one experiences falling asleep as a sense of abandonment, or of a descent into nothingness. The second life, as the body sleeps, carries the spirit farther, toward a light, through infinite spaces; then the body has a sense of restful freshness, despite any previous sense of physical exhaustion. It is in this state of consciousness, which is not wakefulness, nor sleep in the ordinary sense of the word, that various visions appear. They may be bright shapes, shining with untold beauty, or horrible monsters, or ordinary human shapes, who are bent on performing strange tasks and who suddenly stop to stare at us, giving us an eerie feeling that startles us. Thus, until we reach a certain harmony through the rhythm of Ritual, we will have mainly chaotic and disconnected visions, which gradually coordinate and arrange themselves in visible manifestations of a living and lucid symbolism. Their deep meaning, shining forth, explains many things and many inexplicable mysteries of the human mind.

In such zones the weaker spirit struggles, passes vertiginously from one state to another, falls into bottomless abysses of darkness, only to return by long, tortuous paths to the light that penetrates it and encloses it in itself, whereupon the whole spirit is transformed into a luminous body.

In some rare instances, people who are still alive and who are close to us through spiritual affinities may appear to us under a different guise. More ordinarily we perceive a doubling: it appears as a vision of ourselves reflected in a mirror or in a thin sheet of glass. Sometimes the vision is very clear and the form is completely exteriorized. Sometimes the face assumes a highly spiritual countenance; at times our double stares at us with wide open eyes. At that moment our inner core is pervaded by an icy shudder. At other times visions and symbols are explained to us by the invisible Unknown, which guides us and talks to us. By going further, one realizes that visions and symbols appear as a harmonious development, with an incredible connection between them, often in relation with events of one’s past or future life. There are also many bright, external, and inner perceptions. Countless sparks, suffused light, luminous globes, until one attains the view of the astral eye, which is large and bright red—when staring at it, one loses entirely the perception of being a separate entity, and comes to see and feel the universe within oneself, beyond the limits of time, space, and things.

Among the most noteworthy signs are the mysterious voices that arise from the deep, at times of distraction, or when we least expect them, as we converse or work. From one’s deepest depth of being sudden flashes occur, shedding light on a world once known but long since forgotten. They arise as words and voices whose meaning we do not understand, but whose sound seems to make us happier and better people. The soul listens to this distant music, becoming intoxicated with it, as the mind hopelessly chases questions with no answers, within the inviolable limits that only the spirit can transcend.

When listening to these voices, one sometimes wishes to create an absolute inner silence, to even still the heart’s beats, so that the elusive harmonies of the cosmic spheres may be perceived. One may even listen to the sound of one’s own heart.

Sometimes when no sounds are perceived, one hears in the surrounding silence a Silence; then the heart shudders as if its beating were due to the sounds in the air. These are brief moments: the silence that emerged from the deep has for a brief time detached us from life: once every external sound and every thought has ceased, we sense the solitude and the freedom at the center of the universe. Then, as we come back into ourselves, we shudder as we feel the flowing of time and of the wave of life. It is a heartbeat of eternal life in contrast to our mortal life.

Sometimes we may feel as fluid as a wave: we experience fixations of thought, during which something sweet and tenuous rises from deep within, emerging at the surface of our sensibility. What we experience then is similar to the sensation of one who, lying on the water, abandons oneself, slowly feeling its coolness.

Sometimes the sense of detachment is sharper: one feels as if flying through infinitely open spaces, without any other sensation but of ascending, being suspended in the air, completely free from any bodily bond—a feeling of relief, like a long sigh following an oppressive situation. Then one’s being, having left behind the bonds that tie it to the earth, is free in its own kingdom, in the realm of the spirit. Then the state of luminous joy pervading the soul is indescribable.

Haec ad magicam mysterii portam aperiendam claves. (These are the keys for opening the magic door of the mystery.)

At times we feel not living but dreaming, as if the very essence of life were destroyed in us, while the distant thought watches us live, observing us as if we were somebody else. This often happens in sudden bursts of yearning for liberation, which is found by inwardly isolating oneself. But one needs to be capable of this inner act; otherwise, due to the aggravating contrasts between real life and this sense of dreams, a state of tension and acute suffering sets in. We recall the deep, unexplainable sadness of adolescence, when, at the end of physical development, the spirit seems to awaken: then feelings of skepticism or mysticism ensue. These are real tests that lead to the victory of the spirit if the latter knows to have faith in a faceless and nameless Light, which it establishes within itself.

In general, we are well aware of living and existing, but not of being. We can affirm this only when we really feel a flame of the sacred Cosmos ignite within us: then we shall feel like a luminous, bright spot in the Universe. Only then will we safely overcome the spiritual crises that will unavoidably arise in us, similar to waves chasing other waves, wider and taller, against which an increasingly stronger resistance must be erected, lest we be submerged by them. The Ghosts of the dark sense of being lost, of the soundless Void, of icy Isolation, and of the total absence of value, will bar our path. They will appear frightening and unexpected, arising all of a sudden without a logical connection with the events of everyday life, sneaking in between joy and pain. We need to create a strength in ourselves that is invincible by virtue of itself; then every ghost will vanish as soon as it is formed.

This strength consists in the constant determination to remain calm and steady, to be able to dismiss every shadow of sad or evil thought projected by the denser element; in being able to master our own and other people’s nervous waves; in having been able to create in us a serenity that sometimes we can derive from solitude, from the countryside, or from our inner world. Over joy and suffering, over the alternating of good and evil, the unconquered spirit must shine, as over the flow of human generations, ever unchanging and cold, shines the light of the stars.

In this state of spiritual calm countless calls will issue forth from nature, from our inner world: they are voices, impressions, presences, visions, and states of mind that can manifest themselves in different degrees of clarity to various individuals over any period of life. These at first obscure messages, which are eventually deciphered by the spirit, reveal to us a new, real world existing around us and in us. This knowledge will give us a double life, whose continuous and wonderful becoming will put us in contact with other planes of existence.

These calls, which are almost always sporadic and chaotic until the Rite has harmonized them with its rhythm, reach us so that we may awaken spiritually, no longer slaves, but masters of the flesh: so that we may become fully aware that the spirit that animates us is a spark of the great Fire that lives in the universe and whose igneous nature constantly aims upward.