Part Two - 13 February 1951, 9:00 PM
Ron was right. He was unusual.
How? I don't know, really.
There was something around him, in him, that stopped you feeling
the way you felt just before. It was — I still vaguely recall
the sensation, a very strange one — as if the whole of me paused
for a split second. For a moment it was all quiet, blank. Then,
it must have been my imagination, or was it a foreknowing of what
came to pass? I could feel a queer pain inside of me, very deep
inside; a yearning . . . "Oh, if only it were possible!" How to
explain it? But it was real. It is real. I can feel it now. Now,
it seems more acute, more poignant. And yet, there is also, yes,
a hope. All is not lost . . . Within the pain there is a murmur.
Emerald's voice? "Try to believe! Try to feel. Try, please!"
I heard no voice then, of course. Emerald was there. I was
touching her. She seemed very still. Mr. Ramar helped her with
her coat, after Ron had introduced us. He had Old World manners.
His body moved like that of a man in easy control of all his
muscles. He was obviously strong, well-built, probably in his
late forties. Most startling were his eyes. Under arched eyebrows
they glowed strangely, gold-brown, luminous. Immensely kind too,
I was attracted to him; yet, very uneasy. I glanced at
Emerald, as she turned toward a large mirror with the typical
feminine gesture, straightening her hair over her high forehead.
She did not meet my eyes. She seemed to be feeling for something
Ron was talking, as we moved from the small entrance hall to
a fairly large studio. A fire was burning in a tall fireplace.
Over the mantle hung a rather large disc of what seemed like
gold, with conventionalized flames of slightly darker metals;
several metals, obviously some sun-symbol. It was fascinating. I
asked about it, admiringly. Mr. Ramar smiled and said he had
found it Peru some twenty years ago while on a mining expedition
on the site of an old ruin, Inca presumably.
What attracted Emerald's attention, however, were two large
Tibetan scroll-paintings on either side of the fireplace. One
showed, if I remember it right, a group of Buddha-like figures on
clouds; the other, some great dragon hovering over a solitary
man, in mediation on the rocky ledge of a tortuous mountainside.
As she spoke animatedly with our host about the paintings, I kept
looking around the studio. The furniture was simple, unobtrusive.
A large table and chairs on the side opposite the large studio
window, which must have been facing north-east, the way the house
was built; an old chest under the window, probably Spanish; and
facing the fire, under the lowered ceiling a large alcove with
leather chairs and a low table. Over the back of the alcove hung
a heavy drapery of some material embroidered with colored metal
Mr. Ramar presently led us to the alcove
and offered Emerald
a chair. The three of us sat down while he moved to the table, on
either side of which I noticed, on small shelves, light brown
glasses with gilded edges and a few flasks of cut glass. On the
table stood a strange modern sculpture of what seemed to be
bronze and ivory. Atop its geometrical masses, held by a spiral
coil of gold-like metal, a large crystal sphere shone faintly,
gathering light from what I supposed to be a tiny spotlight in
Mr. Ramar suggested we might like to taste some quite rare
wine made from grapes grown in Greece, on the slopes of the
famous Mount Olympus. This seemed to appeal greatly to Ron and
"Wine from the gods' vineyard?" she asked in a slightly
excited voice. "Made by Dionysian Maenads, I imagine."
Our host nodded and bent to pour a deep golden liquid in a
long-stemmed glass for Emerald. "I trust you will find it free of
deleterious effects one usually expects from wine." Turning to me
he enquired, "And for you? Do you prefer Scotch, or Cognac,
"How do you know?" I snapped back. For some reason I felt
irritation in my voice.
Mr. Ramar smiled. "Tastes differ, after all."
I couldn't tell if he had read in thoughts my usual dislike
for sweet wine. "Scotch would be fine," I said. He reached for
another flacon, opened a side panel of the table from which he
took a large glass, water and ice.
"I shall taste the wine." Ron was all eagerness. I could
feel him bubbling with expectancy. This was the kind of meeting
he had been longing for, ever since his mind had become caught
into the glamour of what he called "higher knowledge."
"It is indeed real nectar." Emerald sounded thrilled. And
turning to me, "You don't know what you are missing."
The Scotch was excellent too. This was a find.
"And now," said Mr. Ramar, after having briefly raised his
wine glass to his lips, "We should come to what seems to be the
object of your visit. Space-travel, interplanetary adventures,
isn't it? Our young friend told me this morning that you were
eager for new angles. I must say I do not know too much about
your science fiction magazine, but I have read a few issues, a
couple of anthologies. I recall a story by you, Mr. Probeck. It
was very interesting. Very "exciting," should I say also? People
must have excitement. Especially today when our everyday kind of
excitement is so limited, so brutal, coarse even, perhaps."
"But that's it," interrupted Ron. "We have carried this same
kind of atmosphere into so many of our story plots — only in a
magnified, more colossal form. We zoom through space in rocket-
ships just as we would love to be able to speed on our super-
highways in our continental sport cars. We have interplanetary
wars and earth cataclysms to dwarf all our past wars and our puny
earthquakes or tornadoes. It is still so much the same — and
often more hopeless! Return to barbarism. Total extinction; or a
mechanized future, which seems to me devastating. I really feel
that people are getting tired of it all. They don't know what
else they want, of course. That the editor's problem. What else
can we give them? With excitement too, but something different."
"Ron seems to have implicit faith in your ability to start
him on a new track," I added.
And I remember well how Ramar looked at me searchingly and
said, "You have no such faith, I gather?" I was taken aback. I
mumbled something about anything being possible; I was always
ready for new ideas . . .
Of the conversation which followed I can, of course,
remember only what impressed me most.
Ramar's voice was strangely
convincing and I could feel my companions spellbound by the
thoughts expressed. Not all of them were new to me. Ron had read
me excerpts from writers, ancient and modern, which accepted the
same premises. But as Ramar stated the ideas they certainly
seemed peculiarly alive, real. Yet, for some reason which I still
do not understand, something in me fought against the whole
situation. Perhaps it was resentment; perhaps it was fear.
Perhaps the man was indeed weaving a hypnotic spell and I did not
want to give in. I certainly thought so afterward.
But now . . . now, what do I really believe? If only I were
The main points Ramar made were that our modern civilization
has placed far too great an emphasis upon machines and the use of
gadgets. Modern man has come to think of "power" as something
produced by means external to himself, and depending for its
release upon some kind of machine. Yet, he pointed out, these
machines, however complex, are not comparable in refinement,
adaptability and potentiality for growth to the amazingly varied
and subtle structures of the human body.
Besides, he said, the human organism actually extends into
regions of vibrations transcending the crude realm of molecular
matter. We have only recently come to understand the biochemistry
of the human body, but even in that field what we do know really
about endocrine glands and nerve action? We have just begun to
detect electric currents in the heart, the brain and all tissues.
But we see them as disconnected fragments, and under average
conditions. We do not know man as an organization of forces. Are
we blind to the fact that this organization is — or can become
— attuned to the infinitely vaster organization of forces
playing through the whole solar system, not to mention the entire
Ron broke in, enquiring, "This is the idea of the relation
between the little unit, man, and the vast whole, the universe,
isn't it? Paracelsus' idea, was it not?"
"Paracelsus was a great mind and he had a truly 'cosmic'
realization of man's whole nature," answered Mr. Ramar, "but the
ideas he expressed were not merely his own."
"Paracelsus?" questioned Emerald.
"He was a great German thinker, and one of the greatest
physicians Europe has known — and much more," Ramar went on.
"This Western civilization would have been different, indeed, had
the men of the seventeenth century accepted his picture of man
and the cosmos. But it was not yet the time. Mankind had to
concentrate upon the development of its intellectual faculties,
and it meant becoming focused altogether upon matter and material
energies. It meant analysis, experimentation, a narrow, rigid
logic — instead of Paracelsus' cosmic sense of actual identity
of man and the universe."
"Microcosm and macrocosm," muttered Ron.
"All very fine," I retorted, as a philosophical ideal.
But . . ."
"Not practical, I suppose?" Ramar interrupted.
"I mean, it is a theory which no one can prove. Science
proves its facts. It builds machines that work, demonstrating
that our knowledge of laws of nature is true."
"True as far as it goes, assuredly. But how far does it go?"
questioned our host.
"Well, we are getting ready for flights to the Moon. Soon we
shall travel to distant planets."
"Actually? Or in science fiction?" Ramar laughed softly.
I could not suppress a growing sense of irritation. He seemed
so sure. Did he really have an extraordinary knowledge, or was it
just talk — "occult" talk, as Ron had at times rattled on to me
from books he had read?
"Fiction or no fiction," I replied, "what is wrong with our
travelling to planets? The very best scientists of the day say it
can be done sooner or later."
"Don't you think we will travel to Venus?" queried Emerald.
Ramar looked at her with great fixity for a moment, then
softly said, "You are Venus."
"I am?" she was startled.
"Unless I am much mistaken, you were born sometime in May,
were you not?" he went on.
"May 10. How did you know?"
He shrugged his shoulders slightly. "There are several kinds
of 'knowing.'" He paused. "And there are various kinds of
traveling too — including travel to planets!"
Ron straightened up in his chair. "Other kinds of space-
travel? Here is the story you were after, Dick."
I laughed, but my laughter sounded a little forced. No one
else laughed. There was a queer sense of expectancy. A silence.
"Won't you tell us?" said Emerald softly.
Ramar appeared to hesitate a moment.
I was sitting tense, for no particular reason. I happened to look at the crystal
toping the modernistic sculpture in front of me. It seemed to
shine with a stronger glow, a golden color I had not noticed
Ramar started talking. What I remember of his words is
probably incomplete and perhaps incorrect. But I recall well the
way he began. "Men are very strange. They try so hard to travel
to the planets, when the planets are within man."
"Within man?" said Emerald in a startled voice.
For some reason, a sentence of the Gospel ran through my
mind. "The kingdom of heaven is within you." A mystic statement
obviously, but planets?
Ramar explained what he meant — if it could be called an
The total organism of man, he said, could be considered a
miniature solar system; not literally so, yet "in essence and in
power" — these were his words, I believe. The solar system, he
stated, quoting Paracelsus to support his position, was a kind of
cosmic organism, an organized — and in a broad sense, a living
— whole. The planets, as they moved around the sun, defined
electro-magnetic zones, each of which had a rhythm of its own,
and characteristic energies streamed from these fields directed
by the motion of the planets themselves. The human body is also,
he claimed, and electro-magnetic field, somewhat centered around
the heart. If we could see this field — he called it the true
"aura" — we would notice in it vortices of energies, and streams
of forces circulating in a complex, yet basically simple, manner;
not only from head to feet, but reaching quite far above and
somewhat below the body. These circulating streams of energy
were, he claimed, the very substance or foundation of organic
life. And they were related to the few basic functions of the
body — like breathing, blood circulation, muscular activity,
digestive metabolism, reproductive functions.
This, I could more or less accept with a stretch of my
imagination. But what stopped me was the statement that these
basic circuits of energy in the human body were so closely
related to the electro-magnetic zones defined by the orbits of
the planets, that it could be said truly Mars or Venus actually
were within us. The relation was not only general and symbolic;
the planetary zones and their energies were actually and actively
expressed in the human body. So much so, Ramar said, that if a
person could completely focus his consciousness upon the Mars-
type of energy in his body, he would be at once in perfect
attunement to the planet Mars. He could experience, if he wished,
all there was to experienced on, and in, Mars!
I think the three of us grasped a little
as Ramar made, simply and as a matter of fact, this last point. Here was indeed
a new way of traveling to the planets! Traveling inside of one's
own body! How much simpler; and, of course — I am a practical
person after all! — much cheaper.
Silence had fallen, rather heavily. I felt Ramar watching
us, our reactions.
I broke the silence. "A most fascinating idea. But . . ."
"A fact also," Ramar interrupted.
"But a fact must be proven, or at least provable, if it is a
fact," I exclaimed.
It is provable. . . under certain conditions."
"What are the conditions?" Ron hastened to say, with obvious
"For one thing, your readiness, my friend." Ramar's voice
seemed to take on a solemn quality. It was soft, but so direct,
so precise, that you felt it went through you — a challenge. I
stood up and took a few steps. Uneasiness mounted up inside of
me. I felt tense, disturbed — I couldn't have told why; except
. . . yes, that was it. A challenge. The man challenged us to
something. But what was involved? One just did not go foolishly
into a blank unknown. Was it a joke? We did not know anything
about the man, after all.
Ramar looked at me, and standing up asked, "Some more
By God, yes; Scotch would feel good. It was excellent
Scotch. I drank quickly. Then, an idea suddenly flashed into my
head: What if the drinks were doped?
I looked at my two companions. They were drinking some more
of the "wine of the gods," as Emerald had called it. I wished I
could have warned her, stopped her. Did Ramar get my thoughts? He
came to me, and placing his hand on my shoulder, asked,
"Everything all right?" I felt ashamed of my thoughts; yet my
irritation kept increasing. His very kindness annoyed me.
"Well," I said rather rudely, "what proof can you give that
your theory is a fact? We have the right to ask that, haven't
Emerald looked at me with wide open eyes. She seemed to say,
"Oh, please! Please!"
I insisted, almost angrily, "Is there no way you can show us
something? What is the price of the trip to Mars?" I tried to
laugh, but it did not come out.
Copyright © 2001 by Leyla Rudhyar Hill.
All Rights Reserved.
Illustation ("Dynamic Equilibrium" by Dane Rudhyar, 1946)
Copyright © 2001 by Leyla Rudhyar Hill.
All Rights Reserved.
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