The Inner Life

For a moment he lay thus, and then, again, he was conscious of being called. But he knew now that he heard not with his physical but with his soul’s ear.

And so,—and so,—if he could dissociate himself from this person, this Lincoln,—if he could think of Lincoln as Lincoln thought of his foot, or of his hand,—then Death, O where is thy sting?

The soft patter of the rain, the enchanting odor of the lilacs, the thrilling melody of the robins,—all so old, so very old, so natural, so primal,—Life,—and how much more than life! For it expressed the eternal force which he too expressed—which he WAS.

This call, heard with his spiritual ear, what was it but the awakening knowledge that he was not Abraham Lincoln—save for this moment of existence. Actually, he was one with all life forever. The call—did it not mean that that larger segment of himself which dwelt afar, far beyond the outposts of human thought, was putting itself in communication with that infinitesimal segment known as Abraham Lincoln, telling Lincoln that all was well! ALL WAS WELL!

He lay without motion, while a flood of peace rose in his soul, overflowed his mind, and saturated his body. It was a sensation absolutely unprecedented in his whole life experience. There was an inexpressible sense of harmony, of serenity, of happiness possessing him to the exclusion of every anxiety. And with increasing wonder he realized that for the first time since conscious thought began with him, he was not lonely. NEVER TO BE LONELY AGAIN! That which was imprisoned in the poor frame of Abraham Lincoln had envisaged its real identity—had sighted its true home. HAPPINESS!—this then was Happiness! Its other name was GOD!”