TO TRY to put this into words seems futile, for no words can describe it. Either your soul understands, or it will all be meaningless.

It was not a dream—it was a deep slumber. A dream is a series of pictures, but these were not pictures. Neither was it thinking; yet it was always conscious, almost super-conscious. It was more nearly like feeling, or being merely in a state of extreme awareness, and the feeling, or being, was of indescribable bliss.

All that is beautiful and good and true that ever happened between man and woman since time began, happened between us, dear one. And yet nothing really happened—we just were! There was no “me,” no “you,” only “us,” and this “us” in turn, complete in itself, was but a drop in a great ocean of Being, or Mind, or God, whatever you want to call it.

There were bodies, but Oh so different! All the dross and heaviness burned away—so light, so graceful, and so responsive to our slightest wish were they; with form, and yet without form, we could float in air or be transformed into thought. Oh, I cannot say what these bodies were, but they were unimaginably sensitive, delicate instruments of our thought and being.

I saw your beauty as through a cloud of gauzy blue matter, and yet there was nothing between us. There was love without end, for loving was resting, and we moved within and without each other with the utmost joy and freedom. There is no analogy except the physical, yet it was so so much more beautiful that there is no comparison; since there was only an “us” it did not matter the least which of us was within the “us,” for I could be you and you could be me, at will.

You knew the mystery and the joy of it by taking, as well as by being taken; you could come into me as well as I could come into you; and in some mystical way it was not just a part, but all of us. We could flow into each other and rest there as easily as thinking; and this ability to trade bodies and being automatically eliminated all inharmony and misunderstanding, because it would have been just like being hurt by or angry with oneself. For I was you, and we were merely parts of an “us.”

There were kisses, or what would be called kisses in the outer; and they were so gentle I thought of peach blossoms drifting on an April breeze.

All this by analogy, but there was one tiny physical expression I felt was human—I do not know why. It was rubbing our toes and our feet together. It was such delicious joy to rub the soles of our feet together. This seemed to be actually of earth—all the rest was in heaven, and I have not even suggested the beauty and glory of it, its infinite duration, and our blessed oneness with each other and with God.

But what thrilled me most was this: I have often awakened from some dream of passion with my pulses pounding, sweat on my forehead, my body rigid with desire and longing. But when I awoke from this blessed vision, my pulses were as quiet and regular as though I had listened to some matchless music; my body was peaceful and relaxed, and my soul was calm with infinite beatitude.

I know now that passion and jealousy destroy, burn up, tear to pieces, and that it is only this passion beyond passion that can bring peace. It is like the vibrations of a sound that become so intense the human ear cannot hear them, and so the sound becomes silence. So passion raised to the intensity of this heavenly environment passes into peace, and the pulses are calm; and love no longer consumes, but nourishes and rests.

This is the joy and the lesson I learned. Can you wonder that I want no earthly passion, that this night in Heaven has burned away what I thought was unquenchable in me as long as I lived?—E. M. D.

THE AWAKENING of Faith is bound to come. On the unimpeachable authority of Holy Scripture, we are told that no word of God shall return unto Him void, but that it shall accomplish that for which He sent it forth. The greatest word of God is the Logos, even Jesus Christ. What God has spoken through Jesus must be fulfilled before it returns to Him.—John Maitland.