Theos-Talk Archives (May 2009 Message tt00259)

Thanks.
I like that very much.

I find that something good occurred today. This "immense peace". Am I wrong when saying that my odd - sometimes unreliable - eyes was catching a glimpse of the Old Lady at Adyar in her astral?

Some at Adyar must have seen something.


  ----- Original Message ----- 
  From: Pedro Oliveira 
  To: theos-talk@yahoogroups.com 
  Sent: Friday, May 08, 2009 6:05 PM
  Subject: Theos-World White Lotus Day at Adyar





  Today at 8.30am many residents gathered at the Headquarters Hall for the White Lotus Day celebration. The President opened the meeting speaking about the gratitude we all owed to Madame Blavatsky for her life of continuous service. She then explained the meaning behind the expression "White Lotus". The lotus flower, she said, is a symbol of evolution for it is born in the deep mud, rises through unclean waters, progresses to clearer water and emerges into the airy space, opening its heart to the sun. She reminded us that it was Col. Olcott that had instituted that day and gave it its name.

  The Vice-President gave a short talk on HPB's life and work, which was followed by readings from The Voice of the Silence, The Bhagavad Gita (both in Sanskrit and in English) and The Light of Asia. At the end of the meeting those who wanted offered a flower in the alcove were the Founders' statues are located.

  This year White Lotus Day practically coincided with the Wesak Full Moon, a sacred date for Buddhists everywhere. In the evening one could see the beautiful moon rising over the Bay of Bengal and later on shedding its radiance over Adyar and all the surroundings. The estate was pervaded by a palpable feeling of immense peace.

  Because she lived here for many years, it is only appropriate to mention on this day some fragments of Annie Besant's Autobiography in which she remembers, with tenderness, her teacher, HPB. (PO)

  ""Can you review these? My young men all fight shy of them, but you are quite mad enough on these subjects to make something of them." I took the books; they were the two volumes of "The Secret Doctrine," written by H.P. Blavatsky. 

  Home I carried my burden, and sat me down to read. As I turned over page after page the interest became absorbing; but how familiar it seemed; how my mind leapt forward to presage the conclusions, how natural it was, how coherent, how subtle, and yet how intelligible. I was dazzled, blinded by the light in which disjointed facts were seen as parts of a mighty whole, and all my puzzles, riddles, problems, seemed to disappear. The effect was partially illusory in one sense, in that they all had to be slowly unravelled later, the brain gradually assimilating that which the swift intuition had grasped as truth. But the light had been seen, and in that flash of illumination I knew that the weary search was over and the very Truth was found."

  "I wrote the review, and asked Mr. Stead for an introduction to the writer, and then sent a note asking to be allowed to call. I received the most cordial of notes, bidding me come, and in the soft spring evening Herbert Burrows and I - for his aspirations were as mine on this matter - walked from Notting Hill Station, wondering what we should meet, to the door of 17, Lansdowne Road. A pause, a swift passing through hall and outer room, through folding-doors thrown back, a figure in a large chair before a table, a voice, vibrant, compelling, "My dear Mrs. Besant, I have so long wished to see you," and I was standing with my hand in her firm grip, and looking for the first time in this life straight into the eyes of "H.P.B." I was conscious of a sudden leaping forth of my heart-was it recognition?-and then, I am ashamed to say, a fierce rebellion, a fierce withdrawal, as of some wild animal when it feels a mastering hand. I sat down, after some introductions that conveyed no ideas to me, and listened. She talked of travels, of various countries, easy brilliant talk, her eyes veiled, her exquisitely moulded fingers rolling cigarettes incessantly. Nothing special to record, no word of Occultism, nothing mysterious, a woman of the world chatting with her evening visitors. We rose to go, and for a moment the veil lifted, and two brilliant, piercing eyes met mine, and with a yearning throb in the voice: "Oh, my dear Mrs. Besant, if you would only come among us!" I felt a well-nigh uncontrollable desire to bend down and kiss her, under the compulsion of that yearning voice, those compelling eyes, but with a flash of the old unbending pride and an inward jeer at my own folly, I said a commonplace polite good-bye, and turned away with some inanely courteous and evasive remark."

  "And so it came to pass that I went again to Lansdowne Road to ask about the Theosophical Society. H.P. Blavatsky looked at me piercingly for a moment. "Have you read the report about me of the Society for Psychical Research?" "No; I never heard of it, so far as I know." "Go and read it, and if, after reading it, you come back -well." And nothing more would she say on the subject, but branched off to her experiences in many lands."

  "On receiving my diploma I betook myself to Lansdowne Road, where I found H.P.B. alone. I went over to her, bent down and kissed her, but said no word. "You have joined the Society?" "Yes." "You have read the report?" "Yes." "Well?" I knelt down before her and clasped her hands in mine, looking straight into her eyes. "My answer is, will you accept me as your pupil, and give me the honour of proclaiming you my teacher in the face of the world?" Her stern, set face softened, the unwonted gleam of tears sprang to her eyes; then, with a dignity more than regal, she placed her hand upon my head. "You are a noble woman. May Master bless you." 

  "Very tender was H.P.B.'s heart to human suffering, especially to that of women and children. She was very poor towards the end of her earthly life, having spent all on her mission, and refusing to take time from her Theosophical work to write for the Russian papers which were ready to pay highly for her pen. But her slender purse was swiftly emptied when any human pain that money could relieve came in her way. One day I wrote a letter to a comrade that was shown to her, about some little children to whom I had carried a quantity of country flowers, and I had spoken of their faces pinched with want. The following characteristic note came to me:

  "MY DEAREST FRIEND, - I have just read your letter to - and my heart is sick for the poor little ones! Look here; I have but 30s. of my own money of which I can dispose (for as you know I am a pauper, and proud of it), but I want you to take them and not say a word. This may buy thirty dinners for thirty poor little starving wretches, and I may feel happier for thirty minutes at the thought. Now don't say a word, and do it; take them to those unfortunate babies who loved your flowers and felt happy. Forgive your old uncouth friend, useless in this world! 

  Ever yours, 

  "H.P.B." 

  (Source: http://www.anandgholap.net/Autobiography-AB.htm#CHXIV)



  

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