Silence seals the lips of the Disciple. He had found happiness in himself; nothing else matters. His life is consecration to the Beloved; unquestioning obedience to His Will, waiting for the best wisdom to ripen when it ripens. The Disciple’s heart is a sharp that shivers with music of being, touched by His winds, His waters. His Light, His Flowers, His Beauty in Creation and its variety of Color. Day and night, the disciple suffers from the illness of love, aching for what it knows not. Pain has lost for him its anguish and pleasure its excitement; calm like Bodhisattva but excited like a new blownflower swimming in the light-floods of the dawn. Humanity is in giving away, and the disciple is he who gives himself away. Life is identified with distribution and death with conservation. The disciple recks not, so abundant is the gift of the Giver-genius to him. He distributes His ripened life and love and labor
unconditionally to man, bird and beast. He is the symbol of God. He represents God and so must be God like, feeding all, giving light to all, sustaining life, illumining the breath of man with the inspiration of Nam. There are natural emanations of goodness, forgiveness and freedom from the masks of
worldliness. The Disciple’s presence is enough revelation of the moral Beauty of the Universe. Truly humane, he is the best of men, His religion is that of the sun, the rivers, the snows, blessing all by his very sight.