All is impermanent in man except the pure bright essence of Alaya. Man is its crystal ray; a beam of light immaculate within, a form of clay material upon the lower surface. That beam is thy life-guide and thy true Self, the Watcher and the silent Thinker, the victim of thy lower Self. Thy Soul cannot be hurt but through thy erring body; control and master both, and thou art safe when crossing to the nearing "Gate of Balance." Be of good cheer, O daring pilgrim "to the other shore." Heed not the whisperings of Mara's hosts; wave off the tempters, those ill-natured Sprites, the jealous Lhamayin (elementals and evil spirits) in endless space.

Hold firm! Thou nearest now the middle portal, the gate of Woe, with its ten thousand snares. Have mastery o'er thy thoughts, O striver for perfection, if thou would'st cross its threshold. Have mastery o'er thy Soul, O seeker after truths undying, if thou would'st reach the goal. Thy Soul-gaze centre on the One Pure Light, the Light that is free from affection, and use thy golden Key. . . The dreary task is done, thy labour well-nigh o'er. The wide abyss that gaped to swallow thee is almost spanned. . .

Thou hast now crossed the moat that circles round the gate of human passions. Thou hast now conquered Mara and his furious host. Thou hast removed pollution from thine heart and bled it from impure desire. But, O thou glorious combatant, thy task is not yet done. Build high, Lanoo, the wall that shall hedge in the Holy Isle (The Higher Ego), the dam that will protect thy mind from pride and satisfaction at thoughts of the great feat achieved.

A sense of pride would mar the work. Aye, build it strong, lest the fierce rush of battling waves, that mount and beat its shore from out the great World Maya's Ocean, swallow up the pilgrim and the isle – yea, even when the victory's achieved. Thine "Isle" is the deer, thy thoughts the hounds that weary and pursue his progress to the stream of Life. Woe to the deer that is o'ertaken by the barking fiends before he reach the Vale of Refuge – Dnyan Marga, "path of pure knowledge" named.

Ere thou canst settle in Dnyan Marga (Path of pure knowledge) and call it thine, thy Soul has to become as the ripe mango fruit: as soft and sweet as its bright golden pulp for others' woes, as hard as that fruit's stone for thine own throes and sorrows, O Conqueror of Weal and Woe. Make hard thy Soul against the snares of Self; deserve for it the name of "Diamond-Soul." For, as the diamond buried deep within the throbbing heart of earth can never mirror back the earthly lights; so are thy mind and Soul; plunged in Dnyan Marga, these must mirror nought of Maya's realm illusive.

When thou hast reached that state, the Portals that thou hast to conquer on the Path fling open wide their gates to let thee pass, and Nature's strongest mights possess no power to stay thy course. Thou wilt be master of the sevenfold Path: but not till then, O candidate for trials passing speech. Till then, a task far harder still awaits thee: thou hast to feel thyself All-Thought, and yet exile all thoughts from out thy Soul. Thou hast to reach that fixity of mind in which no breeze, however strong, can waft an earthly thought within. Thus purified, the shrine must of all action, sound, or earthly light be void; e'en as the butterfly, o'ertaken by the frost, falls lifeless at the threshold – so must all earthly thoughts fall dead before the fane. Behold it written: "Ere the gold flame can burn with steady light, the lamp must stand well guarded in a spot free from all wind."

Exposed to shifting breeze, the jet will flicker and the quivering flame cast shades deceptive, dark and ever-changing, on the Soul's white shrine. And then, O thou pursuer of the truth, thy Mind-Soul will become as a mad elephant, that rages in the jungle. Mistaking forest trees for living foes, he perishes in his attempts to kill the ever-shifting shadows dancing on the wall of sunlit rocks. Beware, lest in the care of Self thy Soul should lose her foothold on the soil of Deva-knowledge.

Beware, lest in forgetting Self, thy Soul lose o'er its trembling mind control, and forfeit thus the due fruition of its conquests. Beware of change! For change is thy great foe. This change will fight thee off, and throw thee back, out of the Path thou treadest, deep into viscous swamps of doubt. Prepare, and be forewarned in time. If thou hast tried and failed, O dauntless fighter, yet lose not courage: fight on and to the charge return again, and yet again.

Act then, all ye who fail and suffer, act like him; and from the stronghold of your Soul, chase all your foes away – ambition, anger, hatred, e'en to the shadow of desire – when even you have failed. . . Remember, thou that fightest for man's liberation, each failure is success, and each sincere attempt wins its reward in time. The holy germs that sprout and grow unseen in the disciple's soul, their stalks wax strong at each new trial, they bend like reeds but never break, nor can they e'er be lost.

But when the hour has struck they blossom forth. But if thou cam'st prepare, then have no fear. Henceforth thy way is clear right through the Virya gate, the fifth one of the Seven Portals. Thou art now on the way that leadeth to the Dhyana haven, the sixth, the Bodhi Portal. The Dhyana gate is like an alabaster vase, white and transparent; within there burns a steady golden fire, the flame of Prajna that radiates from Atman (soul). Thou art that vase. Thou hast estranged thyself from objects of the senses, travelled on the "Path of seeing," on the "Path of hearing," and standest in the light of Knowledge.

Thou hast now reached Titiksha state (a state of supreme indifference). O Narjol thou art safe. Know, Conqueror of Sins, once that a Sowanee ("he who has entered the stream") hath cross'd the seventh Path, all Nature thrills with joyous awe and feels subdued. The silver star now twinkles out the news to the night-blossoms, the streamlet to the pebbles ripples out the tale; dark ocean-waves will roar it to the rocks surf-bound, scent-laden breezes sing it to the vales, and stately pines mysteriously whisper: "A Master has arisen, a Master Of The Day". He standeth now like a white pillar to the west, upon whose face the rising Sun of thought eternal poureth forth its first most glorious waves.

His mind, like a becalmed and boundless ocean, spreadeth out in shoreless space. He holdeth life and death in his strong hand. Yea, He is mighty. The living power made free in him, that power which is Himself, can raise the tabernacle of illusion high above the gods, above great Brahm (Creator of the Indian Pantheon) and Indra (king of devas). Now he shall surely reach his great reward! Shall he not use the gifts which it confers for his own rest and bliss, his well-earn'd weal and glory – he, the subduer of the great Delusion? Nay, O thou candidate for Nature's hidden lore! If one would follow in the steps of holy Tathagata, those gifts and powers are not for Self.

Would'st thou thus dam the waters born on Sumeru (Mount Meru, the sacred mountain of the Gods)? Shalt thou divert the stream for thine own sake, or send it back to its prime source along the crests of cycles? If thou would'st have that stream of hard-earn'd knowledge, of Wisdom heaven-born, remain sweet running waters, thou should'st not leave it to become a stagnant pond. Know, if of Amitabha, the "Boundless Age," thou would'st become co-worker, then must thou shed the light acquired, like to the Bodhisattvas twain, upon the span of all three worlds.

Know that the stream of superhuman knowledge and the Deva-Wisdom thou hast won, must, from thyself, the channel of Alaya, be poured forth into another bed. Know, O Narjol, thou of the Secret Path, its pure fresh waters must be used to sweeter make the Ocean's bitter waves – that mighty sea of sorrow formed of the tears of men. Alas! when once thou hast become like the fix'd star in highest Heaven, that bright celestial orb must shine from out the spatial depths for all – save for itself; give light to all, but take from none.

Alas! when once thou hast become like the pure snow in mountain vales, cold and unfeeling to the touch, warm and protective to the seed that sleepeth deep beneath its bosom – 'tis now that snow which must receive the biting frost, the northern blasts, thus shielding from their sharp and cruel tooth the earth that holds the promised harvest, the harvest that will feed the hungry. Self-doomed to live through future Kalpas (cycles of ages), unthanked and unperceived by man; wedged as a stone with countless other stones which form the "Guardian Wall", such is thy future if the seventh gate thou passest.

Built by the hands of many Masters of Compassion, raised by their tortures, by their blood cemented, it shields mankind, since man is man, protecting it from further and far greater misery and sorrow. Withal man sees it not, will not perceive it, nor will he heed the word of Wisdom . . . for he knows it not. But thou hast heard it, thou knowest all, O thou of eager guileless Soul. . . . . and thou must choose. Then hearken yet again. On Sowan's Path, O Srotapatti, thou art secure. Aye, on that Marga (Path), where nought but darkness meets the weary pilgrim, where torn by thorns the hands drip blood, the feet are cut by sharp unyielding flints, and Mara wields his strongest arms – there lies a great reward immediately beyond.

Calm and unmoved the Pilgrim glideth up the stream that to Nirvana (highest paradise) leads. He knoweth that the more his feet will bleed, the whiter will himself be washed. He knoweth well that after seven short and fleeting births Nirvana will be his. . . . Such is the Dhyana Path, the haven of the Yogi, the blessed goal that Srotapattis crave. Not so when he hath crossed and won the Aryahata Path. There Klesha (the love of pleasure or of worldly enjoyment) is destroyed forever, Tanha's the will to live, that which causes rebirth roots torn out. But stay, Disciple . . . Yet, one word. Canst thou destroy divine Compassion? Compassion is no attribute.

It is the Law of Laws – eternal Harmony, Alaya's Self; a shoreless universal essence, the light of everlasting Right, an fitness of all things, the law of love eternal. The more thou dost become at one with it, thy being melted in its Being, the more thy Soul unites with that which IS, the more thou wilt become Compassion Absolute. Such is the Arya Path, Path of the Buddhas of perfection. Withal, what mean the sacred scrolls which make thee say? "Om! I believe it is not all the Arhats that get of the Nirvanic Path the sweet fruition." "Om! I believe that the Nirvana-Dharma is entered not by all the Buddhas".

"Yea; on the Arya Path thou art no more Srotapatti, thou art a Bodhisattva. The stream is cross'd. 'Tis true thou hast a right to Dharmakaya (a body of the Buddha, composed of the Buddha’s teachings) vesture; but Sambogakaya (a body of the Buddha, a body of bliss) is greater than a Nirvanee, and greater still is a Nirmanakaya – the Buddha of Compassion. Now bend thy head and listen well, O Bodhisattva – Compassion speaks and saith: "Can there be bliss when all that lives must suffer? Shalt thou be saved and hear the whole world cry?" Now thou hast heard that which was said.

Thou shalt attain the seventh step and cross the gate of final knowledge but only to wed woe – if thou would'st be Tathagata, follow upon thy predecessor's steps, remain unselfish till the endless end. Thou art enlightened – Choose thy way. Behold, the mellow light that floods the Eastern sky. In signs of praise both Heaven and Earth unite. And from the four-fold manifested Powers a chant of love ariseth, both from the flaming Fire and flowing Water, and from sweet-smelling Earth and rushing Wind. Hark! . . . from the deep unfathomable vortex of that golden light in which the Victor bathes, All Nature's wordless voice in thousand tones ariseth to proclaim: Joy unto ye, O men of Myalba (Earth). A pilgrim hath returned back "from the other shore." A new Arhan (Savior of mankind) is born. . . . Peace to all beings.