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Part Five - 20 February 1951, 8:00 AM
Ron's letter came — air mail, special delivery — two
addressed to my home and postmarked San
Francisco. So, they had flown West! It was a long letter.
This is very difficult to write. But I must . . . for my
sake and Emerald's — as much as for yours. I must try to
tell you candidly, honestly, what happened, omitting nothing
of which I am aware. You have the right to know. I feel it a
solemn duty to do all I can so you can understand why we left
— and left you, so suddenly, so discourteously. All I can do
now is to write you, not as an apology, but as a gesture of
sharing. Perhaps some day I shall be able to do more, granted
that I understand correctly the meaning of the events of the
last few days and what should be ahead of us, provided we are
all strong enough.
I can't be sure of what you were able to observe, and
even more to feel, when we were together at Mr. Ramar's
studio. I remember you seemed irritated, even hurt in some
way; but everything was so strange, so incredibly strange,
that I could not follow your reactions. I only seem to recall
that in some way, for a while, you were linked with me; I
could feel you remotely . . . your agitation, your mind's
questioning. But perhaps I imagined it. What I did not
imagine, I am sure, is that extraordinary sense of expansion
and elation which seized me when I put on the metal chain Mr.
Ramar gave me, and his eyes held mine as a magnet of light. I
don't know exactly what happened. Emerald did not know
either, she told me later, but she must have felt the same,
judging from her description.
How can I explain it? It was if my body was a throbbing
magnet with myriad electric wires humming. All my muscles
ached; they seemed filled and bursting with power, with
speed. Yet, I could not have moved and inch — I did try!
Power! I don't think we know usually what power is. It is not
doing things, feeling big and strong, virile and whatnot. I
felt all that . . . in a way, but in an amazing way. A way of
extraordinary stillness . . . perhaps I should say, an
inevitable manner. Inevitable power — power you do not seek,
but rather which seeks you, pervades you, possesses you. It
is you, and you are it. There is no conflict, no striving. It
is peace; yet enormous activity, movement. . .
I suppose I closed my eyes. I was no longer aware of the
room, or anything in it — only of waves of power, of a
dance, a rhythm . . . perhaps a tone, I am not sure. Emerald
said she was completely absorbed in one immense tone;
immense, yet extraordinarily pure and still. I don't think it
was quite the same for me. There was a sense of vast
movement, and consciousness — it hardly seemed "mine" in the
ordinary way — speeding along with a tide that had no shore.
Then, there was a shore, I entered into something. I was
something, moving, swaying. Slowly, I could feel myself "it,"
more precisely, more deliberately. A form of motion, a
reaching out. A "desire," a will . . . such words seem so
How could I explain? I can only say that gradually
consciousness became focused. I distinguished what seemed
"myself" from other moving forms that whirled on. There was
rhythm, flow, intelligence. An awareness of solidity as
steadiness of movement. When water is whirled around very
fast, it becomes solid to a bullet which rebounds upon it.
Well, this was something like that.
You may ask: Did you know you were on the planet Mars?
How did you know?
It is difficult to answer. I was somewhere in a place
totally different from the ways of earth existence. It was a
place. It had form, solidity, extension. There was power
streaming upon it. I tried to reach out to that source of
power; but it was almost shattering. Perhaps I should say
"blinding." It blinded whatever was consciousness, "I."
In retrospect, I would say it was the light of the sun.
It pervaded everything. All the moving forms — of which I
was one — were flooded with it. I do not recall any
sensation of heat; but tremendous acceleration as I tried to
"look at" it. Whether I had "eyes" or not, I could not say.
But something "saw." Seeing, however, was not objective, as
we know it here — it was more like "resonating" to forces;
but these forces were intelligent. They were beings with
will. I sensed communication between us, but of what nature,
I could not say.
It must all have been so brief! I felt gradually as if I
was letting go, as if I could not hold the awareness, so
strong was the power, the movement, the waves of desire . . .
which were somehow "me!" Then, there was a call. A great
sound came from above — perhaps from the sun. It took me,
whirled me around, until all was light . . . golden, blinding
light! Not only a sound, but a word — a name, perhaps —
reverberated through my consciousness. I seem to change.
Other forms, to, appeared different; more distinct, more
Then I was sucked outward, as every form surrounding me
fell back. I seemed to race in space, but I could see nothing
— only movement. And, suddenly, I stood; I, but not I — far
more than I. I stood, very tall, very brilliant, is seemed.
And beside me . . . Oh, beside me, she stood!
How can I describe the indescribable! She was light and
she was beauty. Her body was a song of shimmering color, more
flowing than the most vivid Northern Lights. Here eyes were
vast, like the sun-drenched sea, as the tropical sun plays
upon the multitudinous waves. A body, did I say? Not a body,
but a moulded light, radiant light.
She stood. And I knew. I knew with a certainty that
nothing can dispel, nothing could dismay. She — and I. A
dream? Oh, what reality could ever have been so vivid, that I
had ever seen and called real!
Then, darkness — constriction — weight. I saw Ramar
holding you. I saw Emerald. I saw . . . within her eyes. I
knew that she, too, had seen the I that I am, as I had seen
her, the essence, the self of light.
Forgive me, if I could not talk after we left the
studio. How could I? How could she? I knew you liked Emerald
very much, perhaps loved her. I could not tell. I could not
bear hurting you, if you did. I hadn't the courage to talk to
you, to tell you in words what I have now written. I could
not bear the thought of your arguing, doubting, fighting
back. I knew it was inevitable.
I found out you were out of the office, the next day.
And I came. Perhaps I still had a few doubts. Perhaps she
would not remember — maybe she was not ready — whatever
But I saw her; and I knew she knew, she would never
forget. And I begged her to come with me.
Obviously, she could not work any more that day. And
there seemed to be urgency; so much to say, to try to
understand together, to consolidate. I had to know what she
had felt, seen, while I experienced the strange world which I
must call "Mars." Did she have the same realization? Had she
seen me as I had seen her, afterwards? And so we went to her
I can't try to write down all that she told me; I hope
she will some day. The world she experienced was indeed
different from what I had observed. It seems that it was
filled with oval-like shapes of exquisite beauty and
perfection, within which could be seen an intricate web of
geometrical forms, changing into one another, upon which
played iridescent light. She thought it was like an undersea
world, for there was a substance which filled the whole space
in which the beautiful shapes — "bodies," no doubt — seemed
to float and move. But it was not water, not even clouds, she
said — rather some kind of magnetic fluid, which was energy
even more than substance. Perhaps it is what our telescopes
record as an "atmosphere of clouds?" How can we be sure that
what our physical eyes see is what is in terms of an other
Emerald said that she felt able to move within this
fluid by altering consciously her magnetism, by playing a
music of light. Everywhere there was sound. Every shape had
its characteristic hum — soft, high or low, but
extraordinarily intense, haunting.
As she talked, I sensed myself caught into a strange
power that drew, drew irresistibly. She was standing, trying
to describe the motions, the feel of this magnetic space . . .
And the room seemed to vanish. She and I, we stood. Oh, the
beauty of it. The immense beauty!
And she became luminous. Her clothes were translucent.
Her body no longer stood . . . only radiance, shimmering lights
bending upon one another to become form, curved lines of
light. It was so beautiful, I feel on my knees before her.
Perhaps I sobbed, I don't know. How could I remember anything
but that beauty?
The light condensed. I reached to her, as she bent
towards me, very human, it seemed — and yet! She took my
hands, and we stood, face to face. It must have been a long
time. There was nothing to say, nothing to do — only, to be.
A vast light seemed to enfold us, stronger and denser between
us. Power indescribable, joy, peace. It was so strong, I
could hardly stand it.
I saw her sway. . . overcome, perhaps. I took her in my
arms, carried her to the sofa. I bent over her, on my knees.
I could barely hear her whisper, "I am all right. Don't
worry." I bent over her face, oh, so beautiful. And then,
then it was as if some extraordinary force had caught me, was
holding me motionless, frozen. I could only stare at Emerald,
so near, so near; yet I could not move. I watched her whole
body relax, as if she had gone out of it. I saw her eyes
close, infinitely peaceful. "No, no! I couldn't be!" I was
frightened. Yet, I couldn't move. Space, vast spaces swayed
between us. I shivered. I was cold.
With an enormous, desperate effort I cried out, "Mr.
Ramar, help us! Oh, help us! Please!"
I struggled to move. My head fell across her breast. I
lay still — totally still.
How long, I don't know. Then I felt a hand on my
shoulder. I straightened up, turned. Ramar was standing
"You, here?" I muttered, stunned for a moment. "How did
you come in?"
He smiled, very gently. He took my arm. "Get up. She is
all right. Human bodies are not adjusted to stand so much
power and retain consciousness. She is resting now. She will
return soon. You need not be afraid."
I didn't know what to say. I tried to feel my arms, my
legs, to move about — simply to assure myself that I was not
dreaming. Ramar did not appear to notice me; he was carefully
fingering a small Tibetan bronze Dorje which stood on a table
— a symbol of power and authority used by high Lamas in
ceremonies, and once give to Emerald's father. She remained
absolutely still; I could not see her breathe at all. I
paused, wondering . . . waiting for something.
Finally, Ramar turned to me and looking intently said,
"And now, Ronald, now that you have met your greater love —
can you stand the greatness of it? Can you love as planets
do, as the cosmic tides of power love . . . the love that is
. . . that does not spend itself in small gestures, within
the narrow borders of materiality? Can you accept that love,
and what that love points to, reflects, prefigures? Can you
take your love as a path upon which you and she will come to
know . . . shall I say God? The God that is not made in man's
image, to suit man's small yarning — but the cosmic God of
Whom you are the image and likeness, if you choose to be so!"
My heart was pounding. I sensed before me space,
infinite space. No familiar shape to recognize, nothing to
orient myself to, only space! It was so still. Frightening
still. I tried to think, but I knew very well it was not a
matter of thinking. What was asked of me, then? Will, faith,
As if answering my thoughts, Ramar said softly, "All
this, and more. It is You. Can you experience You? The true,
the real You?"
Some power seemed to seize me, to straighten me up like
a rod; like a throbbing, flaming rod. My lips moved, and I
heard the words they pronounced, slowly, distinctly, "I am."
Ramar's eyes grew until they seemed like vast suns in
space. His lips smiled. And, beyond myself, beyond my
thoughts and even my will, I smiled back.
And then a wave that was feeling, thinking, pain and joy
all in one, raced through me, and I cried, "But Emerald? What
of her? She must . . ."
"She will." Ramar's voice was firm, intent. "It was your
move, for you kept awake. She will follow you. It is for you
to awaken her."
I bent over the sofa. With the whole of me, with far
more than I knew myself to be, I called, "Emerald! Emerald!"
I saw her stir. "Wake up! Arise! I am here. Do you hear me?"
Her eyes opened. She saw me. She smiled. "What happened?" she
whispered. "Where am I?"
"In your apartment. Mr. Ramar . . ." I turned. There was
no one in the room.
I returned to my place on Long Island before midnight.
It's a wonder I found my way. I was still dazed. The next
morning, the mailman woke me up. A special delivery letter.
It read: "If you choose to join me at the airport Sunday at
2:00 PM there will be two reservations on the plane for San
Francisco, Eastern Airlines, in your names. Decide as you
both see best. You are entirely free. Should you come, do not
expect an early return. Peace be with you. R.M.R."
It was then that I phoned you. What could I have said? I
knew at once there could be only one answer. I knew also
that Emerald should be free to make her own decision. I came
to her that afternoon, as you had sent her home. I was afraid
she was ill. But she seemed all right. I showed her the
letter. She became very pale, then said, as she looked
straight into my eyes, "If you go, I go."
"We shall go, then." It was inevitable. It was also
There was the excitement of what to do next about the
multitude of details of our complex living today. What to
pack, what to do about our apartments and things — and what
to tell you, above all. I wanted to phone you, to explain.
But what could I have said in a few minutes? I knew what you
probably would have told us — arguments, entreaties, hours
passing away. We were both in no condition to discuss, to
persuade, or answer your logic. Of course, everyone we knew
would think us completely insane. You might have done
anything to stop us, to stop her, anyway. It simply could not
be. There was no other way. I am sorry. I can only hope this
letter will help you to understand and, if need be, to
We met Ramar at the airport. He greeted us simply with
these words, "I am glad you came."
I am closing this long letter. What is ahead? I cannot
We shall not forget you — if only because you brought
us together. Destinies weave themselves into strange and
wondrous patterns. Only the Great Weaver knows the purpose —
and only That within us which is He, in human form and
limits, can decide what shall be the end. We go in faith. We
have nothing else, absolutely nothing.
Please think of us kindly. We will need your support,
because in a sense you are part of us. And I know we shall
return. This is not the end, Dick. This is the beginning.
You, to, are in this beginning. Do not fight it. One can
never fight facts. One can never change the inevitable, the
Always your friend,
The same day an official letter came from Ron to the
office, stating that a close relative had suddenly died on
the West Coast and he was obliged to go and remain. He
therefore had to give up his position as my assistant.
Copyright © 2001 by Leyla Rudhyar Hill.
All Rights Reserved.
Illustation ("Warrior of Light" by Dane Rudhyar, 1952)
Copyright © 2001 by Leyla Rudhyar Hill.
All Rights Reserved.
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