Forewordxa.yimg.com/kq/groups/27065299/118130897/name/Secr… · · 2011-06-30Messages from the Cathedral of the Soul A Secret Meeting in Rome ... a foreword to be included immediately

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ForewordIntroductionMahaAmsterdamThe Secret SealViennaLisbonMadridInterludeThe Great Vigil at Lisbon Conclusion

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Messages from the Cathedral of the SoulA Secret Meeting in RomeSecret Houses of the Rose-CroixStrange Encounter

Interview with Raymond Bernard (video)

Forward

The thousands of copies of this manuscript sold till now, the quotations which have been made with great success in writings or heard in lectures, and above all the numerous letters received from my readers, have been for me very encouraging and moving evidence. However, some of my correspondents have been led to such erroneous conclusions that it seemed necessary for me to write a foreword to be included immediately in this work and in all those which treat of similar subjects, with the purpose of preventing any further tendency to misleading interpretation or simply misunderstandings.

The fundamental purpose of this manuscript is to transmit certain knowledge of particular subjects of mystical tradition, which nowadays, particularly in France, continue to exercise a strong attraction upon whoever is interested in great questions beyond the limits of a non-sensical item in the popular press. It is enough, to be convinced of this, to notice the considerable success met with from the general public, by books dealing with these subjects. Now, most of these books are not built on any foundation. They do not have any basis OF TRUTH for meditation and reflection, and they lead their readers towards false and even dangerous conclusions.

It was also necessary to show the importance of the Rosicrucian Order AMORC in the world, and this manuscript is indeed to put it in its rightful place, that is first, regarding its objectives, its worldly activities and the number of its members. In spite of the great tolerance of our Order and its extreme liberalism, it has sometimes been necessary to show strict severity with regard to those who, deceived perhaps by their own errors, risk deceiving others and leading them into terrible ways which have no aspect of psychic equilibrium. To warn is a duty, especially if one such advertisement is directed to one who is on the sure and truthful path offered by the Rosicrucian Order AMORC. To stray from this path of certainty after assuming it, is incontestably to retrogress. My aim has been that my Rosicrucian readers may avoid committing this regrettable error of seeking elsewhere that which they will always find at the most opportune moment, the most efficacious for them, in the teachings of the Rosicrucian Order AMORC.

Such were the reasons which induced me to write this manuscript and some others. The manner chosen to communicate this knowledge is important. To understand certain subjects, it is not enough to read them, one must experience them, and that is why I adopted this form of writing. The result is that this manuscript is PARTIALLY ALLEGORICAL AND PARTIALLY ALSO IT RELATES FACTS. It is based on SYMBOLISM, for the SYMBOL is, in essence, a language, which each understands according to his development and which the Rosicrucian understands better than most. Thus, through ALLEGORY, through SYMBOL and through FACTS, subjects of the highest interest are examined, and this examination will lead you to an understanding more vast more useful and more true, of the great questions which tradition, past and present, has applied itself in solving.

My dearest wish will always be that this lecture may be for you a source of inspiration, and a constant encouragement to carry on your efforts within the Rosicrucian Order AMORC towards greater light and Peace Profound.

RAYMOND BERNARDDomaine de la Rose-Croix,Friday 17th October, 1969

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Les Maisons secrètes de la Rose-Croix • tradition-mystique.net

Introduction - I 1 2

Raymond Bernard is one of the leading esoteric philosophers and mystics of our time. Now completely retired, he was formerly an international leader and Grand Master of the Rosicrucian Order AMORC, and a founder of sacred initiatory and traditional school of mysticism (Rosicrucian, Martinism, Templar) for French-speaking countries. As an Elder Brother and mystic, Raymond has traveled extensively all over the world, to initiate and encourage seekers from every kind of background and denomination to help them find their own personal way of expressing the divine goodness in human nature. His books have been translated in many different languages. However, most of them have now been out of print . Very kindly Raymond Bernard gave me his authorization to gather and upload on to the internet

the entire collection of his written mystical books in French and the ones that have been translated in English. Apart from Raymond's enriching and illuminating books and messages, I will be adding official biographies written by Serge Caillet andFrançois Goche and will also add my own testimony of a man and a mystic that I call my dearest friend... a friend that I had the privilege of being initiated by and later invited to become one of his closest disciple.

In my autobiography, I describe Raymond Bernard as "an Invisible Master" whom I refer to as 'John'. John is actually a pseudonym that I gave to Raymond Bernard to protect his identity from curious intruders. However, I am now allowed to use his real name.

According to the Tradition, there are invisible masters who appear when the seeker is ready, attuned and in resonance with the master. An invisible master is an enlightened person who gradually reveals himself to seekers. To the outside world, of course, Raymond is simply the charming and good human being that he in fact is.

I am grateful to Raymond for urging and encouraging me to upload his first English translated book on the internet, which is entitled :

"Messages from the Cathedral of the Soul" .

It is important to understand that the wisdom in all these 'messages' goes beyond the Rosicrucian Order AMORC, or any other mystery school...or hermetic organization, because what Raymond has to say is his way of expressing pure Wisdom, which is the same in all authentic traditions; moreover, the Source of Wisdom belongs to no tradition in particular, it is open to the pure in heart and mind, simply because Wisdom is the Source of Being and Consciousness and from its center all the different traditions unfold and develop their expressions so as to illuminate and awake all seekers of Truth.

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Alice Ouzounian

To Readers who are not members of the Rosicrucian Order, AMORC

This book, originally published in installments, was written for members of the Rosicrucian Order, AMORC. It has now been revised for wider circulation and, although the text has been neither modified nor adapted, some specific changes had to be made for readers not belonging to our organization. If they have no valid information on our Order, they may ask for literature, especially the free booklet entitled The Mastery of Life. That will help them to avoid hasty conclusions, and to understand better the terminology sometimes used by the author.

The Rosicrucian Order, AMORC, is neither a sect nor a religious organization. It teaches no dogma. It proposes instead, solutions and bases for reflection. Its members always and in every regard retain their freedom, especially in thought and action, according to their own conceptions. Truth is one under many and diverse aspects. This book offers one of these aspects, and for some, it will be a step toward the truth buried in the depth of each being. For others, it will be the road toward the Rosicrucian Order, AMORC. For all, it is the simple attempt of an author to be obedient to the fundamental rule of the organization of which he is one of the highest officers, this rule being — to serve.

Raymond Bernard served as Grand Master of the Rosicrucian Order for France and French-speaking countries during the writing of this work. In his references to the Grand Lodge, he is speaking of the headquarters for that area. In later years he advanced to the office of Supreme Legate of AMORC for Europe.

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Maha

Painting by Gilbert Williams

I have met Maha again, and during our meetings in Amsterdam and in Vienna, I could not help, as I listened to him, thinking of the voluminous correspondence received from the readers of the "Strange Encounters". Maha had created an impression on them and I felt, in reading many of the letters, the certainty that if my description had even in some small way been able to convey the unforgettable impression which emanated from this extraordinary Being, this description alone was sufficient to communicate to others the emotions which I had felt myself. It seems that at the moment of reading it, a subtle link had been established between the readers and Maha. For many it was not only true; it became THEIR TRUTH — that which is buried deepest within each being, and which suddenly under the unexpected stimulation of the story rose up gloriously, before a dazzled consciousness. Truth is one, under the many aspects manifested in the phenomenal world, and it is almost a platitude to say that it is within each one of us. So Beings such as Maha live on the plane of pure truth and this plane has a universal permanence which man ever carries within him. Also I was not at all surprised that some stated that they did not find Maha to be a stranger, but on the contrary, let us say, a known idea or memory, found with tremendous force and vigour in themselves, as if, suddenly the words, the phrases, the story made them conscious of a link which had never been broken. Moreover, the planetary mission of the High Council of A ... concerns every man. It is no wonder that some were able for a brief moment, to communicate with such representatives and to put themselves in harmony with the highest among them . . .

I have met Maha again and with this very memory, his image seems to be near me. I feel the unique impression of his presence and my being quivers with the usual emotion, never blunted by this exceptional contact.

I do not know if you have noticed, in the "Strange Encounters" that he seemed to me to be about forty years old in the portraits that I had seen at Copenhagen and Lisbon. When I saw him in person for the first time, I supposed him to be about fifty, and this impression remained in Istanbul. However being uncertain, I did not change my account. In Amsterdam he seemed to be younger, and in Vienna, older. I do not know how he will appear next at Lisbon, at Madrid and a little later in Athens. Perhaps when I reach the end of these new meetings, what I have to say will make this seem a wrong description. I can only give you my own subjective impression. If anyone asks me to describe Maha I should be tempted to reply: "He has eyes" and I cannot truly even now, speak with more precision without risking giving you a wrong impression. I believe that the eyes of Maha reflect a world, a universe. He can communicate by his look alone and in

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of his clear eyes a different expression, in such a way that according to circumstances he appears either more or less aged. This, it seems to me is the explanation of the impression he gives as to his age. Moreover, how do such notions as physical aspect or exterior carriage apply to such beings! To them, would they require any other unalterable memory than to have been in their presence, in their magnetic vicinity, and to have heard THE message!

I think it would be useful here to mention something which was implicit in the" Strange Encounters" ... There was, round about the time of the last world war andafterwards until the year 1950, a bizarre person who called himself "Maha Choan". He was spoken of in the United States and in France, where the press devoted some ironical articles to him. This pseudo "King of the World" claimed nothing less than to lay his hands upon authentic traditional organisations for reasons difficult to understand. He was quickly unmasked, and sent back to his futile imaginings, but strange though it may seem, he kept certain deluded disciples. Of him, in any case, we need say no more. There is naturally no kind of common communication between the pseudo Maha Choan and the true Maha. The "King of the World" certainly seeks no publicity and he would not expose himself before fools on a platform to the backing of articles and communiqués. Few people have met Maha knowing him to be Maha. The head of the High Council hides his identity and his true function. He does not advertise his holy office as that adventurer in the occult did, pretending to magical powers and receiving from others as reward for his audacity nothing but reprobation — ridicule.

I have met Maha again . . . Maha alone and suddenly, I shall renew again the contact of Amsterdam, then that of Vienna and await soon Lisbon, Madrid, and Athens . . .

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Amsterdam 1 2 3 4

Amsterdam is a strange city where hovers the shadow of Rembrandt, where historic canals grow old without ageing, where the obstinate sea pits itself against the equally obstinate humans. It is a city of tradition where one past Grand Master of the Rosicrucians, Gustav Meyrinck, traveled in his memories. Never can the cosmopolitan flux of daily affairs efface the history which impregnates the ancient walls and old quarters, and even if one sad day, angry nature should engulf thee in the tortuous waves of the enemy, the wise would perpetuate thy memory in the holy sanctuaries of secret wisdom. You are a noble town, which is sad with those who are sad, happy with those who are happy, chain to the slave and free to the free man. You take to your heart the aspiration of your visitor, and you even know how to deceive him who wishes to be deceived! Oh, how I would that the true adept, here and now, could scan the eternal presence of all those who have left within thee the imprint of highest wisdom. For thou dost not keep thy secrets for the lone clairvoyant, who with one look can efface the pervading modern to better see behind it. For me,

you have already given riches in opening your coffers full of happy alchemists. Now you have yet more for me, because in future I shall associate Maha with your memory.

The Hotel Carlton of Amsterdam is close to the centre of the town and it stands on a busy road with side arcades, of which, one asks the reason. On my arrival, I learned that, contrary to the assurances of my agent, no room had been reserved in my name. Owing to the importance of the meeting arranged at this hotel, I asked to be put through by telephone to my agent in Paris. I wished to speak to them, and after an hour of waiting, I hardly had finished, when the receptionist hurried towards me to tell me that the reservation had been found and that a room would be at my disposal . . . tomorrow! My meeting is fixed for five o'clock. I said nothing and the concierge easily found me a room for the night at the Hotel Suisse in the Kalverstraat. I am not even waiting to open my cases, I am in so much of a hurry to return to the place of the awaited meeting. The next day at midday I am installed in the Hotel Carlton and at 4.30 I was sitting in the little hall, eyes fixed on the door through which soon Maha would appear.

He is here! I see him pass through the great glass door... He is there, before me and I am before him, standing up, without even remembering the effort of getting up. How moving it is to feel suddenly that one is somewhere yet without being there, that a world surrounds us and we can perceive nothing more, nothing, except eyes of an extremely light color in which all our being is lost not to forget, but to know and to LIVE! And that smile of infinite kindness ... an encouragement, a call for confidence, for humility and simplicity! In those few seconds there poured into my consciousness memories of the past: Lisbon, ISTANBUL, the shining crypt. All was one. How long did this state last? Some seconds, perhaps less . . . yet I know and after all, what does it matter? What signifies such notions as time and space compared to the eternal, symbolized by him who is here!

He makes no movement and does not give the sign which I have noticed several times before. I

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conclude that our meeting is not to follow the same plan as previous meetings where certain explanations were given me on the work of the High Council of A ... Therefore I hope for some new revelation. The domain is so vast that only an enlightened guide can define the contours. But I do not show any particular, curiosity for the STATE transcends our miserable intellect.

"The place is not convenient for the object of our meeting" said Maha after a few moments. "Come." Without a word I followed him. He walked to where, at the edge of the pavement, a car waited a few steps away, and hardly were we seated than it departed silently towards its destination. I recognize certain canals, then the Leidersplein; we passed the theatre on the right and the imposing American Hotel, then we crossed the bridge, bore to the left and ... I knew nothing more than that I was completely lost. I know Amsterdam well, but very much less its suburbs. Anyway I remember the splendid house at which we arrived. Some dwellings are too rare to be forgotten.

This one is not very big. It is situated at the heart of a green park, to which, colored shrubs gave brightness and its structure OF CLEAR brick give it a likeness to certain buildings on the outskirts of London. We walk several steps from the car to a small flight of steps leading to a large vestibule almost unfurnished. No pictures are on the wall, in a corner a Chinese cabinet finely engraved, in the centre a low table and two elegant armchairs, nothing else which could particularly attract attention. On the left is a large glass door and a small living room, as bare as the vestibule. Maha leads me in and we sat down face to face on each side of the elegant rectangular table. Maha seems to be waiting for me to speak. I am

surprised but I make up my mind and say:

"A relatively short time has passed since you afforded me the inestimable privilege of permitting me to make your acquaintance and to learn of the existence of the High Council. According to your instructions I have given out a part of the revelations which were given to me, to those whom my own responsibilities give me the right. I have made no distinction between them, but have given to all of them the message I received. I would even say that some were waiting for it and for others it was the awakening of an indefinable knowledge that they sensed within themselves. Of the reaction of some, very rare, you had warned me implicitly during the course of our meetings that..."

Maha interrupted me with a smile; "It is well that men should demand WHY, before certain phenomena and before events which do not fit into their normal comprehension. A judicious WHY can open for him the way towards transcendent knowledge — and that which is beyond the limitations of his intellect and register at the level of the permanence of the actual. But such a WHY, even though expressed to another, is really put to himself, and the reply of another, is never satisfying. Therefore this reply often must be avoided. As you well know, the "WHY" can be raised by egotism or favored by a clever suggestion, of which, the true motives are always very clear to one who knows how to analyze them. Everyone must therefore determine the real nature of his WHY before asking it. It will draw out a decisive knowledge of self and of others."

I admire the absolute wisdom of my teacher. Every word of his struck my consciousness with piercing light. The simplest things become a lesson on the value of a word such as WHY, so harmless in appearance. Words are without life until they are brought to life by the one who pronounces them. They are nothing in themselves, but spoken they are charged with the personality of him who speaks



Painting by Francine Hart

them. Does not that also apply to a phrase ... A WORD, which can better reveal the inner self than all the analysis of a psychology without depth?

Maha by his brief interruption has diverted my train of thought in all human conduct, in complex argument of daily facts; I am ever raised with him towards the simplicity of new heights. Most Excellent Master, he has, at the most opportune moment, interrupted the subtle play of my mental associations and going straight to the core of my remarks, he has unravel the tangled skein of a reasoning too well constructed by a remark which carries in itself the solution of everything. I feel no more need to speak. Of what use would it be? Someone capable in a few words of expressing a response which forms the solution to all questions raised directly or indirectly by a single curiosity, Would he not always know the CAUSE, or the motive for actions, or even the thoughts of a being occupied with human conditions and firstly with his own ego? Suddenly I realize again who Maha is and what he represents not only by his incomparable responsibilities but above all in HIMSELF and I felt ridiculous, almost ashamed, of not having kept silent. Maha who was looking at me kindly, shared in my mute reflections. I gave myself up to the privilege of his presence and immediately, I felt the immensity of his vibratory contact from which I had removed myself by my fault, by living on the limited plane of 'reason' alone. I saw by his look that he did not refuse me, and peace descended upon me, enveloped me and filled my being. All the time that he was speaking I was, as it were, out of myself. It was no longer Maha and myself, but simply a powerful vibratory flux, in which I shared, knowing all, without distinguishing if this all had really been said in words which sprang up in myself, or if they came from outside in the voice of Maha.



THE SECRET SEAL

In my previous encounters, strengthened by the measure of the esteem of the members of the High Council for the Rosicrucian Order AMORC, and happy to know that it is appreciated and recognized by the highest jurisdiction of this world, I dared to ask some questions, and, to my great surprise, not only were they answered, but ALSO with precise details which I had not asked. In "The Strange Encounters" I mentioned the recognition and the appreciation of the High Council but I was not authorized to tell the details of enthralling conversations which I felt nevertheless would have carried certainty

and conviction to my Rosicrucian readers. Seeing that it is permitted to do so today, some fundamental explanations are necessary in the first place.

The official monographs of our Order, the works published under the authority of, our tradition, the articles and conferences of our beloved Imperator as well as my own writings and explanations, repeat without ceasing that the Rosicrucian Order AMORC gives to its members the means of visible initiation which permits them one day to reach the invisible brotherhood. In other words it is often said that the Rosicrucian Order is the authentic VISIBLE way towards the INVISIBLE brotherhood of the Rose-Croix. The work, zeal and perseverance leads the sincere member to the state of initiatic understanding required for admission among the adepts of the Invisible Fraternity where THOSE WHO ARE READY are received. One can understand as a consequence that the invisible fraternity of the Rose-Croix IS CONCERNED with the activities of its outer organization -The Rosicrucian Order AMORC — both collectively and by the progress of each of its members. This progress is evaluated not by the mass of monographs studied, but by the TRUE development realized by the Rosicrucian and above all if a member knows how to USE the visible methods confided in him by the outer Rose-Croix, and if, in consequence, he has built an inner structure of sufficient value to show THAT HE IS READY. Then he can be assured that the doors of the inner Rose-Croix will be opened when the right moment comes. The responsibility of his own advancement is thus left to each member. He will inevitably reap by sincere work, immeasurably more understanding and efficiency and in the last analysis his life will be better, more orderly and happier. But the way of initiation is a hard school of patience and if the Rosicrucian accepts the lessons and obstinately follows his path, the Rose-Croix finally will not be to him only a simple emblem. IT WILL BE ALSO AN INNER STATE, thanks to which, he will take his place among THOSE WHO REMAIN SILENT, amid the SILENT ONES of the invisible fraternity of the Rosy Cross. That is, one understands, the vigilant aim of the visible organization which is the Rosicrucian Order AMORC and it infuses to this end LIFE, LIGHT AND LOVE, as it at the same time stimulates the directing officers towards more RIGOUR and SEVERITY if the necessity collective or individually arises.

There are then in the world the true ROSE-CROIX. An author declared some decades ago, that they had retired not long since to the Orient and that was true for a long time but, even in the Orient they continued to fulfill their role in connection with the authentic Rosicrucian Order. NEVER have they ceased to do this, and they TOOK PART in 1909 at the inauguration of the new cycle founded by Dr. H. Spencer Lewis under the title of the Rosicrucian Order AMORC. Besides, they have always kept

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and passed on to their successors the houses that they occupied of old. Therefore at a relatively recent date they left the Orient for Europe and they pursue their mission from the traditional places and in some NEW PLACES, which nowadays as heretofore, were known to accepted adepts under the name of "Secret Houses of the Rose-Croix".

It was of these SECRET HOUSES that reference was made in the course of certain conversations with those responsible persons belonging to the A ... and what they told me has completed the information that my office authorized me to know already, that a new light has been given to me concerning the Rose-Croix in its marvelous ensemble and the Rosicrucian Order AMORC in its unique importance at the heart of the physical world, and the new cycle which they outlined. Moreover, as the High Council ordered me to do, I have waited for the time that was prescribed, and all BEING READY, I have been received into a Secret House. I am allowed another THREE visits, but at the time of writing these lines, I can only tell of my reception in the first, simply because the three others will not admit me for some weeks. My pilgrimage will come to an end, anyway, on the 3rd of January next, and I will complete the present manuscript after my return. However nothing changes what I have told you already before my stay in the first secret house of the Rose-Croix. I invite you to follow me to Vienna, in Austria, to open the secret seal to a thrilling discovery.

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Vienna 1 2 3 4 5 6

Like all large towns — and some smaller ones — Vienna, for the natives and the emigrants from the provinces, or from foreign countries is their daily bread. For the tourist, and even the hurried traveler, Vienna means the games of the Prater, and the nonchalance of Schoenbrunn. For everyone, natives, emigrants, tourists and travelers Vienna is the smiling capital of the music and cult of Strauss. I arrived in Vienna at the height of the great musical festival of June 1967. In the taxi which drove me from the aerodrome to my hotel, the fragrance of a waltz charmed my path and hardly had I arrived when another

waltz accompanied me from the mass of trees which face the Hotel Continental. After a quick pause, time to fill in the formalities at the reception desk and be led to my room, a new waltz filled the universe, because the first act of the porter was to turn on the radio. It was to music that I opened my bags and made the acquaintance with my temporary home. I had asked for a quiet room, and actually, I did not notice the noises of the town in the distance, thus finding the place quite satisfactory. However, glancing out of the great bay window, I saw in the square right underneath, arranged in squares, several rows of seats with a ring in the centre. I thought — I “want“ to think — that these were the empty places from a past sporting event, when later in the evening, returning to my room after a meal, a maddening clamor lured me to the window, and for a few minutes I am the clandestine witness of a of the contortions of a match of ... catch!! ! Such is the sight which upset my thoughts…THE THOUGHT of the experience which I will live here. The day J, the hour H? Oh no! I know that it is TOMORROW and that the meeting will take place at 9 o'clock in the morning. I know that I must wait in my room for the call of the concierge and that it is in front of his desk that the meeting will take place. On the surface, therefore, there are no foreseeable surprises. But, foremost of these human conditions, there is ALL THE REST, a “rest” that until now has been for me like for so many others VIRTUAL, but soon, it will become REAL and ACTUAL. My heart feels a pang of hope and of impatience. Oh! How time is an illusion and how much hold it has on us!

I wake up at 6.30 and I am surprised, for my physical constitution is such that, as the saying goes, I am not a "morning" person. I often work at writing articles, my talks or I meditate, till two or three o'clock in the morning, without being the least tired. But if in the morning I get up too early, my efficiency is considerably retarded. What a strange constitution is mine in this incarnation! No intense cold, or any morning hours. . . One must know these exigencies and adapt oneself to them. It requires a kind of mastership to know oneself so well. Certain people at times tell me, "How much you must regret not to know each day, the beauties of the morning, when all nature awakes in explosions of joy!" I can only reply, "It is a pity on your side you cannot know the splendors of the night when everyone is asleep around you and the talkative sky has only you to whom to tell its secrets!"

I am ready in a few minutes. I am about to go to the window when the telephone rings ... IT IS THE TIME, HE IS WAITING ... I hurry towards the lift, I rush towards the lift . . and am in the hall … then I come up to the desk of the concierge. HE IS THERE! I WOULD HAVE KNOWN HIM AMONG THOUSANDS! The height, the noble face, the overwhelming calm of the whole appearance, the brilliance of light grey eyes under the amazingly thick white eyebrows thrown at random on the

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forehead . . . the burning magnetism which emanates from his whole BEING to such a point that THE ONE WHO KNOWS could, touch him with his sensitive fingers. HE IS THERE, ROSE-CROIX, A ROSE-CROIX, An ENLIGHTEN BEING. What could one do? What could one say? What would you have done, or said? I approach him and without ostentation, lightly bowed my head in a sign of profound respect and intense devotion; I put the left hand on my heart and murmured "TO SERVE!" A smile answers me and without a word being spoken, I follow him to an immense black car marked with a diplomatic plaque. The chauffeur drives without a word and is stiff and serious. He drives the car along a route known to him towards its destination. On the way, I throw a glance at the crowded thoroughfare along which we are passing, then on the opera house, then . . . but a hand lays affectionately on mine, as if to say, "Peace, patience, confidence!" and these three feelings, at the same moment I AM LIVING THEM. A little sooner, a little later, what does it matter! An experience such as the present one, is it not in itself A MYSTICAL EXPERIENCE? I remembered that a wise man, met during a journey I had undertaken in search of the vestiges of an ancient initiation, had said to me: "Repeat the word God for five minutes, living it each instant as you speak. If you can do this you will be God yourself!" He wished in this way to show that the initiation had the effect of being conscious of each instant, in making each moment a perpetual PRESENT. In truth, it is what I am feeling at this moment, while this blessed hand rests on mine, ready to receive whatever one decides that it is worthy of sharing.

The journey proceeded to… I know not where. It seemed of little importance to mention it. I was not unaware of where we were, I KNOW WHERE WE ARE, strangely, I had already come one day by chance to this place, during a walk, but I may not give here any indications of precisely where it is. This house of the Rose-Croix, like the others which we would visit later is SECRET, and this is for reasons bound up with the same idea of INITIATION and TRADITION. Besides, if I told in these pages that this house is on such a street, and one gets there in such a way; how many in their mystical enthusiasm would come running to these doors, not to know more of what I am going to tell you, but to SEE more and perhaps to perceive for an instant the shadow of an enlightened being. So this would be the end, the breaking point, the collapse of a world of tradition, for it is true that the noblest desire engenders sometimes the most dreadful catastrophes.

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Les Maisons secrètes de la Rose-Croix•tradition-mystique.net

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Few know that Lisbon was once called Ulissipo, then probably to simplify, Olisipo. Many do not know that it was a town of the Roman Lusitanian and in 375 it was already a Bishopric of which the Moors took possession in 711 and that it was not reconquered until 1147 by Alphonso 1st, Henry and the Crusaders. It becomes in the thirteenth century the residence of the Kings of Portugal. Its fabulous prosperity acquired during the 15th Century disappeared with the Spanish conquest in 1580 and definitely annihilated by the destruction of the Indies, which is little remembered. One speaks even yet with anguish of the trembling of the earth in 1531 and with terror of the devastating earthquake of 1755 followed by gigantic fires and tidal waves which destroyed the major part of the town. It was the port and centre of commerce for the spices exported from the Indies to European Atlantic ports. It was the place of arrival for ships from Brazil ... It languishes today on the beaches of the "Sea of Straw", dreaming of its past, surveying the future and its uncertain promises, caught up in the hopes of its people, smiling sadly, maintained by daily labor and century’s old perseverance . . .

As for me, on the terrace of my apartment at the Ritz, in the pleasant coolness of that 13th November, soon after my arrival, I thought I could see in the very far distance below, one of the most beautiful harbor of the world. I salute the river Tagus, that exile from Aragon that grew in Castile and is accompanied from Aranjuez by its sister Jarama, shining in the sun of Toledo, Talavera and Alcantara before springing into Portugal and going through the splendid gorge of the Portas de Rodas. It is charged with history to pursue its winding way through the calm of the plains and after many false tracks to come, after the majestic fall at Villa Franca. There to play in the superb bay of Lisbon and to die exhausted in the Atlantic Ocean...

Lisbon and its rare ruins, its ancient churches, its tower of Belem and its monastery of Jeronimos... Lisbon and the Tagus, Lisbon and its “Ritz” and Lisbon and MAHA! . . . Days have run into months and here old memories meet again in the passing present. The same places, the same hope! For tomorrow, the same wait...

I go inside and sit down. With closed eyes I try to calm the disordered flow of thoughts in which are mixed the nostalgia of yesterday with present impatience. All will begin tomorrow; of what good is it to imagine now what may happen next. The time is not far off when the facts will be written in the time which is prepared for them. The concierge has given me a brief message: "Someone will come tomorrow at 10 o'clock." How useless always are assumptions of "perhaps".

Nevertheless, had not Maha told me in Vienna to hope for another meeting with him in the towns where I would find myself in for the visits to which I was invited? Indeed, who am I to hope that such a being or even one of his assistants would dream of including me in the immensity of his task or even a

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few minutes of his precious time! Come now, I must not entertain such dangerous illusions, I am already confounded by the unique privilege to be granted me tomorrow ... I must not prolong the thought of Maha. What took place with him here in this hotel; remind me constantly of his image. Well! Let us suppose! So much for the uselessness of "perhaps"!

However, Maha is, or will be, in the next few days visiting Lisbon, a little later in Madrid and I will be there also, and then later in Athens. Lisbon, Madrid, Athens . . . three places of authority, three countries which do not follow the rhythm of the world despite the aspirations of their people. I follow this political thought. After all things follow their natural course and nothing can change it. Nothing? I remembered what I had learned during the course of the previous meetings. After all, I KNOW that "they" watch and evaluate the state of a nation in relation to general normal requirements and take into account the lessons to be learned and stages to be attained. These are certainly known perfectly. Since I had access to this knowledge

thanks to the light received from the most competent authorities in these matters, I have no problem. A little reflection allowed me to size up events, large and small, in their admirable universal context.

Painting by Peter Celeste

Maha could not, therefore, be in Lisbon for one of the periodic reunions. There are four which coincide, within one or two days with the beginning of a new season. In Vienna this could have been the case, in Athens this would certainly be the reason for the presence of Maha next December, but in Lisbon there is nothing of the sort. I remember after all that my first meeting with Maha had taken place here in November also, and I never pretended to believe that he had made such a journey only to meet me. A "meeting" has taken place here. It could be that it will turn out to be an exceptionally important meeting, but Maha, at the same time of the year will come again to Lisbon. This could not be a stroke of good luck. Is Lisbon of first importance for the High Council? After the last meeting with Maha in this town, there have been important events in the world, but how could one find the direct relationship between the two facts, although ... I refuse to follow this assumption further. Did Maha live here? No! The answer jumps with such immediate certainly into my sub consciousness that I abandon this idea. Then what should one conclude? That if the situation requires it, a special reunion is always held in Lisbon, but in this case why November? Events do not wait . . . unless NOVEMBER IS A MAJOR MONTH EACH YEAR IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD, PERHAPS THAT OF THE BALANCE SHEET, WHERE APPROACHING EVENTS ARE FORESEEN AND THE MANNER OF FACING THEM IS EVIDENT.

I begin to understand. Maha had truly said that what had been revealed to me would become the KEY explaining ALL conditions. So the time of the meetings, their dates and their places ARE THEY NOT



IN THEMSELVES A REVELATION?

The four annual reunions could be, if my reasoning is right, those of ACTION AND DECISIONS, the others, those of EVALUATION. As to Lisbon, this could be the town of the ANNUAL STOCKTAKING before the GREAT MEETING of the winter. What of the other towns, Amsterdam and Vienna? I think that I can guess: Athens is close to Istanbul, less than an hour by airplane. So another town would be Istanbul, that of the last great meeting. The listing is incomplete. I know of ALL the meetings, general and private, of Amsterdam, Vienna, Lisbon, Athens and Istanbul. I remember Copenhagen where I UNDERSTOOD a reunion had taken place. Of London, I was not so sure, except that members of the High Council certainly never travel uselessly. SEVEN towns in total, and not only am I ignorant of the eighth, but it would also be conjecture to say where the important meetings take place and where the secondary ones meet. A part from Istanbul, Vienna and perhaps Copenhagen . . . What does it matter after all? Is not the essential thing that such meetings take place? I reproach myself for my human curiosity. I get up and unpack my luggage. This evening I will go to bed very early. Decidedly I have to admit that time counts and that age flies away: my old friend the airplane, it also tires me...

In the car which drives me this morning to a new "secret house of the Rose-Croix", I review over the events that have happened during the last hour, and the similarity to those which happened at Vienna strikes me. Firstly, the messenger who brings me a few minutes before ten o'clock, when I am waiting by the telephone in my room for a ring from the concierge, a sealed envelope containing a minute card with only the words, in a beautiful slanting handwriting "I am here J.C." Next, my arrival in the immense hall with a look at the place which, previously, stood Maha, but his place is empty, silent, then someone is coming towards me. He is tall, slim, and splendidly upright in an old age which he carries with a youthfulness that radiates from his grey eyes, in the luminous silver of his abundant hair. Pale? Yes, but the pallor is due to the contrast of his fine face with his extremely dark blue suit on which rests a white tie lost on a shirt of the same color. "Come" and again confident with absolute certainty, I am a stranger going to a new discovery. Perhaps, I ought to say something about the car which awaits us, of the chauffeur who without a word, takes the road which he must know well? It seems that I have nothing more to add to this story. There are many cars and drivers in all my meetings without my knowing if one or the other had been in service of those whom they carried with me, or whether they were "lent" by some unknown supporter. Anyway, of what good is it to think of this kind of problem? The anonymous role of these devoted helpers honors them in the perfection of their accomplished mission..

The car drives rapidly and I dare not break the silence. My companion seems withdrawn in a profound meditation, I close my eyes and force myself to join his vibratory level, but quite quickly, I sense that HE IS LEADING MY MEDITATION TOWARDS AN INDESCRIBABLE STATE OF COMMUNION to which I abandon myself entirely. When I recover consciousness again the car has left the sea on the left and is following a wide and well tended road. This is leading towards a large building of which nothing can hide the view, and most probably neither the natives nor the tourists, following the road which we had taken, COULD FAIL TO SEE. Thus far, this building resembled a monastery and it must certainly intrigue the curious, unless the idea that it is a convent, that one could not visit, puts an end to all desire to know more . . .



Madrid 1 2 3 4 5

Painting by Martine Jacobs

Lisbon proclaims her sadness in the lamentations of a fado. In order to forget her sorrow, Madrid calls it love and to make it sociable, the city skips, shakes from the clacking castanettes and stamping feet, stealthily at first then in the thunder of rhythm without ceasing, more accelerated, which soon will die in the languor of a deceptive victory. Fado or flamenco, two proud people, at the sound of a guitar, singing their unhappiness and their hope! The one bows the head and resigns itself, but it is under a manly pride that the other conceals its weakness. See that dancer with the gorgeous finery. The woman? Perhaps and indisputably the sorrow to surmount, the happiness to conquer . . . from the heel, the Spaniard will scan his desire in a voluptuous artifice to which the prey will only succumb in appearance. She and it finally will remain in a tragic face to face. No surrender! It is tomorrow and shortly, the cycle will resume itself racing towards insatiable felicity!...

I experience an exceptional predilection for Madrid, I feel myself at home there and my Madrid friends have always welcomed me as one of them, never as a stranger. There is much more besides, the surroundings that respond to my profound nature. There is no need for me to go down there, to the others and the others do not have to come to me. We each make, by chance, half of the road; we meet and continue our path together. No effort is required. My soul combines itself at the very outset with the Spanish soul as if the harmony between this country and me was, let us say, pre-established. However, to describe Madrid would be for me an arduous task with pitiful results. This city has nothing different, it is just a city . . . but it only takes the touch of an expert artist’s brush to combine the colors and blend them to its history, then, we see the picture of a city that comes to life and on its background of blood, dignity stands erect, the pride, and perhaps the arrogance of the whole Spanish people. "To die for Madrid"? Why? It suffices to live there.

Joseph Kessel loves the night and delights in the slums of a town. It is there, says he, that he experiences the true contact with man and his profound nature. Joseph Kessel is certainly one of our most perceptive writers and of authentic purity. When he underlines his taste of risk, I believe that he draws above all his love of life. But to live, to my way of thinking, is not to differentiate humanity into distinct compartments. HUMANITY IS ONE, ONLY HYPOCHRISY MAKES IT MANY. For me, a city is not only the beautiful parts, some historic monuments, but also shady sectors, where the pretended "respectable thinker” takes offence in words whilst, with eyes closed, he dreams of going there to see… A city is a whole where each one shows forth his own nature. To content one by seeking out the low quarters is as great an error as wishing to ignore them. Might we not have lived there formerly, in some life? Will not our fanaticism establish for us the hard obligation to have one day such an experience, in some future life? Since to learn is to know and the inescapable law demands that we learn. In spite of everything and no matter where he is, man is always in search of himself in everything he does and everyone he knows. A city in its diversity offers its experience to us. Joseph Kessel gathers it only in certain quarters; that is his right, as regards to me, I gather it from everywhere. From the rich as well as the poor, the prodigal as well as the miserly, the humble as well

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as the proud, the saint and the sinner, the pure and the degenerate, all have something to give, an experience to share, a warning to give, all have something to receive, some council to solicit, a smile to collect. That is humanity, it is THE CITY, and Madrid is a city and why shut our eyes on the world which is OUR world, a world of which we are the replica, the microcosm? Everywhere it is sufficient to be ONESELF, to teach oneself, to share, to SERVE . . .

Painting by Martine Jacobs

So, I shall not say anything of Madrid, but if, one day, your steps lead you there; do not neglect certain narrow and secret streets. They are filled with a rich history, for behind the misery, you will recognize mankind and you will discover YOUR SELVES. On a table weathered by the years, a horrible rusty iron box, from which sprouts a bright rose, whose stem is lost in fetid water: what a simple picture, what a wonderful picture!

I have never understood the reproaches that certain people have raised against the Hilton Hotels. What can there be in common between a technical way of running a hotel technique and the buildings where it operates? If the same hotel was called Durand or Dupont would it offer more appeal? Of course, in all the "Hiltons" of the world, one discovers a monotonous uniformity, but precisely, this uniformity, is the certainty of a satisfying comfort, of an efficient service and a discrete tranquility. Can one wish for more? The hotel is a shelter after the fatigue of a day of persevering labor or of urgent visits. Hilton, until

now, has offered me its guarantee and I have never regretted it. This is why in Madrid; I reside at the Castilian Hilton.

I have arrived there at the appointed hour, and after a moment, I make acquaintance with my apartment. I also make acquaintance with the thoughts which assail me. Where can a secret house of the Rose-Croix be found in Spain? "Sancti Spiritus"? It is a city in Cuba but it is also one in Spain. But it is in Madrid where I am expected. After all, "Spiritus ubi vult spirat" as well as "Spiritus flat ubi vult" means the "spirit breathes where it wishes". Then it is Madrid... or perhaps elsewhere?...

The rendezvous is fixed for Saturday, the18th of November at an hour later than customary: 13 o'clock. It is true that in Spain, one gets up later, but I do not think that this may be the reason for the time chosen for this meeting. I have learned never again to ask any precise questions in relation to these exceptional experiences to which I have been privileged to be invited. The answers which I might be able to imagine would have little chance of being proved correct. I have better things to do. I must get ready. It is only after tomorrow when the new hour will strike. Therefore, I only have this evening and a full day. I decide on a relative fast: vegetables, fruits, no meats, no coffee but plenty of water. In short, it is a preparation for a high mystical experience. I add to it the "spiritual shower" known to advanced adepts. Further, I suggest to myself to commune with the Celestial Sanctum every three hours during the day until midnight. I will also go for one hour in the morning and in the evening to my little chapel in Madrid always so forgotten and yet so powerful in its vibratory note. Why a chapel? In Istanbul it was a mosque, elsewhere it was a temple, in other places a synagogue, sometimes a tree near a babbling river. In Madrid, in the very Catholic Spain, is it not natural that it may be a chapel that welcomes me? I meet my solitude while I commune with my soul. I shall



rigorously observe this program and during the time of waiting, my being little by little, will free itself from the corporeal chains in order to live on "its" plane, taking with it, in order to annihilate it in the sublime abandonment, all notion of time and every impression of space . . . The evening comes, then the day and once again the night. . . The Sabbath approaches . . . my brother, it is the hour! A few moments more and the nothing which I am will unite its nothingness to the greatness of all. This sacred Saturday sanctifies each gesture, each step towards the One who now awaits me and towards which I approach — at last — I in this pretentious hall which its presence fades...

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interlude

Today is the 2nd of December and not having reread my account until today, of my visit to the "Secret Houses of the Rose-Croix"; I feel that this account calls for some commentary. In fact, having chosen to write this manuscript as soon as possible after each of the events it describes, it becomes more or less a private diary to which I confide my thoughts as they occur. As a result, this story contains much of "me", perhaps too much. Another consequence is that if, for any reason whatever, an unforeseen hitch happens or if there is a change in the proposed journey, the pages written carry in them a hope which the facts do not confirm. Now in Madrid, I learned precisely that the last phase of my journey towards the light was changed. Instead of the Parthenon, it is the Tagus which, once again, will welcome me. My first inclination was to revise my texts, to adjust it to the course of events and to render it thus more coherent. Then I decided to do nothing, for in attempting to make the story uniform, I would have perhaps removed the life which the inspiration of the moment breathed into it, when coiled in my memory, I was projecting the scene in words. But how can I explain it? THE MOOD I found again in the images

flowing to my consciousness and in the emotions renewed by them is hard to put into words.

I did not see Maha again at Madrid. Should I for that suppress what He had given me Himself to understand in Amsterdam? I cannot allow myself such a liberty. Besides was he truly absent? HE KNEW that I would be in Madrid and he knew the place where I was awaited and the moment of my visit. . . "Our routes will cross" he had assured me. Basically, that need not signify that there would be a meeting. He was already in Athens, but he might also have been in Madrid without judging it necessary to see me. After all, it is enough to see Maha once, never to forget him. Afterwards he is with you and you live with him. And yet, I have had the privilege of many meetings. I was not expecting them and my gratitude is infinite for this happy experience.

For the Great Vigil, well, I prepare myself. The great teachings of the Rosicrucian Order AMORC have opened to me the unique treasure of their profound wisdom and, curiously, it is the Neophyte Degrees which have appeared to me as the most appropriate, in the circumstances. It is true they conceal much, perhaps ALL, but one does not perceive it until the time comes after many years…

Here, in the domain of the Rose-Croix, strange as this may seem to my readers, the silence is profound with regard to my visits to the "secret houses". It is necessary so that the written account record the happening before any question or commentary, and guard in its entirety the essence of the remembrances. My wife, discrete, active, always anxious to keep from me the daily worries, keeps silent, while I confide to my manuscript the "secret", l feel ocasionally, regarding me, the questioning look of Pernelle . . . she awaits as the Grand Secretary Serge Wahart waits, that silent, hard working, efficient and indispensable friend, vvhose comforting presence and affectionate attention, each day make me fear l have been a little egotistical when l chose him to be at my side.. . As to my son, in Sagittarius blended with Scorpion, he remains attached to legality and order and profoundly devoted to rule and formalism, bides his time patiently for the moment will come, he knows, to attempt, through

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the text, to get an inkling of what he calls my "other secrets".

Here is where we are in the journey which, soon, will end . . . this morning, my air ticket has arrived; Air France, flight 503 of 26th December, hour of departure 11.40 return T.A.P. 400 of 5th January, hour of departure 9.35. Between these two dates the GREAT VIGIL ... Ouickly! What will make the interlude shorter ... l will have here, with my own, my family Christmas and down there l anticipate, a moment of light when my soul will ring out the peal of Christmas..

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Since my visit of last month, a flood swept through the city of Lisbon in the night of Saturday, the 25th of November. It lasted only a few hours, but brought with it sadness, blood and tears and tortured the courageous people living there. The noble city has wept, still weeps, but all in silence; like when the tears of misery of an even greater misery, tightens its grip on an all embracing, kind person and she weeps. The poor have their absent ones and the rich have theirs, for the earth has retaken that which the water has yielded. The Tagus is less brilliant, the sea less captivating, yet how can one scorn them. My heart aches for them! l cannot hate them but l think of their dead and my joy of being here is darkened with sadness. l do not know yet what will be the promised awakening. l anticipate the sublime . . . then O God, may the work accomplished here break forth in a feast of peace, of comfort and consolation for the mourning city. May l profit nothing from it, if it be not for all, like the forerunner of a beatitude once given to the world of sufferers by HIM who, for us, yesterday, once again was born; Blessed are they that mourn for they shall be comforted..

My reservation had been made, as was customary, at the Hotel Ritz, but some days before my departure, a brief note recommended me to plan nothing. Trustingly, l had asked the hotel to cancel my apartment. Meanwhile, as no precise indication had been sent me, my reasoning was instilling doubt in me. The picture was depressing. l saw myself arriving in Lisbon and wandering, worried sick, in the airport, then in the city, my luggage in my hand, in search of the impossible and the unknown. The idea was nonsense and l was ashamed of it. However, it also gave place to the certainty of a thoughful preparation to the last detail which the events confirmed. "The guide" in fact was there, and once that the custom formalities ended, l hurried towards him for a warm embrace and in a compelling motion coming from the depths of myself and he received me with moving fondness. Since our first meeting at the Hotel Ritz, not much time had passed, but even if it had been ten years, l would have recognised him immediately.

l was then taken back to the same place of my reception in November, to the Rose-Croix installed in this country, that is to say to their "Secret House", and it is there that l am presently. l have my cell here and l consider it a distinguished privilege to occupy the thirteenth one, because of what it symbolises for this supreme hierarchy. So, is it because the last must be first and the smallest must appear as the greatest? The "word" manifests in all occasion here. I have to learn to observe the smallest details. For in the Rose-Croix, each gesture contains a particular meaning . . .

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The thirteen cell ... l think of the thirteenth figure of the Tarot: DEATH, and l remember the interpretation given to this arcanum by Oswald Wirth . . . the SILENT arcanum of the painters of the middle ages. . . “The profane must die to be reborn to a higher existence which, initiation confers. If he does not die to his state of imperfection, he blocks all initiatic progress, so to know, how to die is the great secret of the initiate, for in dying, he frees himself from that which is inferior, by raising himself through sublimation . . .

The true sage constantly forces himself to die in order to live better. That does not imply on his part a practice of sterile asceticism, but if he wants to really conquer his intellectual autonomy, must he not first break with his preconceived ideas which are dear to him, so that he is born to the freedom of thinking? Indeed, in order to be born to the freedom of thought, one must find freedom in dying, of all that which is opposed to the strict impartiality of judgment. Thirteenth

cell, arcanum thirteen — The Holy Spirit of the Gnostics and I am in a "House of the Holy Spirit"! Arcanum thirteen, the consolatory Paraclete which frees the spirit from the bondage of matter. Liberation, spiritualization, DEMATERIALISATION and perception of the reality, stripped of every tangible ornament, initiatic death, then complete initiation...

Because THEY are twelve, my meditation stops at the twelfth TAROT CARD, which is THE HANGED MAN. In the tarot deck there are fourteen picture cards and in the “House of the Holy Spirit there are fourteen cells and the fourteenth picture card is TEMPERANCE…Ah… Then UNDERSTANDING dawns, and all is clear to me. LIVING, I KNOW why I am here, I KNOW why, alone in this thirteenth cell. I am here for several days, face to face with myself in an introspection which only the communal meetings and the meals shared in common will break.

A chair, a table, a bed, a tiny cupboard and a wash basin, there, that is MY cell. My heart furnishes it with the most precious riches; my waiting fills it with HOPE. I have FAITH and they grant me CHARITY. On my knees on the uneven floor, my head resting on the edge of the table, I fold my hands and I pray . . .

The great moments of my life - the good and those which are not so good — thoughts, words, acts, omissions, those which were just and those which were not, all that came to my lips in a Kyrie Eleison that occasionally my hand beat my breast to the rhythm of a torturing "mea culpa". In these moments, the good accomplished, even though others have judged it great, is swallowed up by the enormous whirlwind of the error, perhaps serious or only slight, for which the conscience laments, until warned by the spiritual sadness and the "mortal" regret' of the soul, the angel of pardon makes amends and touches with its dazzling wing, the heart which repents. Oh! intense purification, the SUM TOTAL of these blessed hours, thou leavest me dying of inward exhaustion, empty, naked, suddenly penetrated by an unknown irradiating force. Thou art the time of the passion of the annunciation of celestial Easters. The golden dawn has



followed the dark night, for if thou crucify us, immediately afterwards thou make us rise again.....

The Great Vigil! I was waiting for an exceptional evening, within a few hours of the unique events of which I would be filled with wonder and I had prepared myself to the best of my ability before my arrival, because that was the order received and ACCEPTED. Yet, my preparation had for its real motive, to prepare a far greater one, a prelude to something else of which I MUST NOT THINK. I have by an IMPERATIVE ORDER, TO CONCENTRATE MY ATTENTION ON THAT WHICH I DO EACH MOMENT, whether it is to meditate on the THREE words which had been communicated to me and to use them while moving, rising myself, sitting or while eating. In the BEGINNING it was extraordinarily difficult, but perfection was not demanded. It sufficed to get as near to it as possible. THE EFFORT BEING MORE IMPORTANT THAN THE SUCCESS as Father Rosencreutz insistently repeated to me while easily leading me to my cell when I first arrived.

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Conclusion

Today is the 6th of January, 1968, the day of the Epiphany. "The Secret Houses of the Rose-Croix" are finished; the time has arrived for a necessary conclusion before which my pen, alas, is lazy. It knows however, that basically NEVER AGAIN shall such tales be given to it to write. This is, perhaps, why it trails along slowly in the pursuit of words, reflecting the nostalgia which overshadows my soul at this moment. NEVER AGAIN! This final ending was foreseen, unavoidable. It crept, treacherous, on the sacred soil of the high holy places, where the unknown unveiled its mystery to my dazzled gaze. It was concealed behind the days which have passed, the days and then the hours and here it is, victorious, invested with its "NEVER AGAIN"!

Yes, the time of similar discoveries is past for me, but it has impregnated my being to the point that the memory can at any time relive and shout. It will "ALWAYS" be with me! At will, the CLOUD OF KNOWLEDGE can recover again my inner heaven and shine with its own sign — which is the Rose and the Cross.

Painting by Rohrig Carl W.

Other accounts, certainly, will later see the light of day just as I am inspired, but they will be legendary, VISIONS and my readers will know it. They know it already by this conclusion. Nevertheless, TRUTH remains constant in that which concerns the MESSAGE, and if the imagination then works in the circumstances related, in the SETTING the argument will remain AUTHENTIC and the knowledge conveyed in this manner, will be real and permanent, coming at times from "other places", from previous meetings or even more recent ones, although less exceptional in appearance and only by comparison. We will thus have new discoveries to make together and when the time comes, I will inform you of it.

It is possible that "The Secret Houses of the Rose-Croix" themselves may be placed by some in the series of these future stories where reality will be allied with legend. SUCH IS NOT THE CASE, but what does it matter! The result alone is what matters and this manuscript stripped of its descriptive and the emotional reactions of its author, retains nevertheless, valuable testimony, or if one wishes a thesis whose ideas can lead him who meditates on them to

fruitful conclusions.

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My role is finished; I was going to write "my mission". Yours now commences. "The Secret Houses of the Rose-Croix" no longer belong to me BUT TO YOU. I transmit them to you as a great truth which has been precious to me and which my memory will ever cherish. If this truth meets with YOURS, if it goes to the heart of your inner self, it will then have attained its objective and, who knows, rediscovered in you, its dwelling place, its "secret house", from which springs the flux of "your" universe, of "your" world, of "your" reality. This trust which I have received, I now entrust to you. It was a privilege for me, what shall it be for you? It is up to you to decide - although egoistically, I dream, I hope, I would wish that your heart beats in harmony with mine on the PATH which together we travel with our invisible guides who SO CLOSELY work for us in the SECRET HOUSES OF THE ROSE-CROIX.

Domain of the Rose-Croix94 Villeneuve-Saint-GeorgeSaturday 6th January 1968

Day of the Kings

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