Rivers of Life.


Sometimes our dinner conversations were on subjects that demanded the deepest possible thought, and sometimes the subjects were met with a science fiction type approach that bordered on tall dreaming about a world that was still being build. At times it was also centered on actual dreams. Caracas had been a wonderful place for dreaming.

I don't know whether this dreaming was caused by the thin mountain air, or the fact that our hotel was often surrounded by clouds during the night, or whether it was due to the total quietness of sleeping high above the city on a mountain ridge, cradled on scientifically advanced mattresses as the hotel boasted in its advertisements.

Often, elaborate fantasies emerged in my dreams, sometimes with a clarity that was more forceful than a movie or a stage play. The majority of my dreams, of course, were directly connected with the conference, and some were centered on Antonovna.

One of the most extraordinary of these dreams had all trimmings of an oriental mythology. I found myself in a mansion. I was alone. The rooms were brightly lit, but they were empty. I walked from room to room in a dazed bewilderment, searching for someone, or a way out. The rooms were large, elegant, endlessly interconnected, furnished in the finest tradition of a bygone age. The place was deadly silent, except for my footsteps on the carpets.


On the ground floor of the mansion was a solarium. The solarium was much more grandiose than that of our hotel. The solarium in my dream had a courtyard at its center with a fountain. From there, a wide marble walkway led to a door that opened to a garden. The garden was like a miniature park, filled with a profusion of flowering tropical plants, flooded with sunlight. A sweet odor of blossoms filled the air.

Inside, the courtyard of the solarium was laid out in geometric patterns composed of various shades of marble. I noticed a grouping of garden furniture in the middle of the courtyard that matched the color of the surrounding blossoms and blended with the white marble platform on which it stood. That's when I became aware of a girl on a recliner, sunning herself. Actually she noticed me first.

"I'm your cousin Veronica," she introduced herself. She spoke in a friendly, carefree manner, and with the most wonderful smile. She hadn't expected me. She had been sun tanning in the nude. Hastily she dressed. She had the most perfect figure, like a Greek goddess, gently pointed breasts, erect nipples, all of which she hurried to hide.

"Come with me," she asked, and with the same smile as before, she reached out her hand. She opened a pair of brass doors at the end of a narrow walkway that let to a different garden than the one I had seen before. This one was a wide-open garden from where we had a view across the world. Our mansion was built on a high hill. It seemed as though the whole Earth lay before us.

"Come!" she urged me, "I will show you the temple."

I followed without a comment.

At the edge of the garden stood a white marble structure. It featured a domed marble roof, supported by four pillars, which together formed four gates. I marveled at the exquisite appearance of the structure. I stepped inside.

"Come," I gently urged her, please follow me.

"No! I can't follow you. In life's temple one is always alone. In truth there is no separation, we are at one with the whole of humanity. No one exists in isolation, but this must be learned," she said.

I urged her again, to come.

She shook her head. "As individuals we are alone with ourselves. We must be alone. This is the mark of our autonomy."

"Then I don't want to be in this temple," I replied. "I want to be with you."

The moment I had spoken, I realized that the gates were suddenly closed.

"You can't escape life," she said.

I noticed that the gates led to the North, South, East, and West. The garden of life was much larger now. At its center stood the greatest temple to love ever built, the great Taj Mahal. But I couldn't reach it. I was imprisoned in my own temple. I tried every gate. Every single gate was firmly closed.

"The four gates lead to four rivers," Veronica said.

"What good are the rivers if the gates won't open?" I asked.

Veronica had stopped answering now. She had turned and was walking back to the mansion.

I cried, but when I came to the gate to the North, it opened, and immediately I was on a river. Its name was Pison. The name had been inscribed into the gate. I suddenly found myself in a boat that moved silently against the flow of the river. The boat looked like a discarded river patrol vessel from the Vietnam War. Indeed, this type of boat was totally appropriate for the country that I crossed which had the appearance of being a most inhospitable place. Its shores were dark, eerie, cold. The echo of dying birds vibrated through the forest. There was no laughter, no human voice, no sunshine, no life. Oh how I longed for Veronica in this desert of desolation! Her presence would have felt so rich, her love so exiting, her warmth so beautiful. "The forest has a strange name" I heard a voice say within. "It is the forest of the marriage of human beings - the murderer of its brothers, the Adam dream of a woman taken from man."

At one point far down the river I came upon a massive iron draw gate that blocked my way. The structure was linked to a gatehouse built on a rock on shore. The draw gate had a sign on its beam, like a giant bumper sticker. "The love of the good and beautiful, and their immortality" was written on the sign.

A gatekeeper came out to the side of the river and welcomed me. He looked at me with a deeply insightful look and shook his head. He seemed disappointed. He had a pen in his hand to enter my name in a ledger that he carried, that had no entries as yet. He closed the ledger. "This river leads into the great unknown," he explained. "I cannot let you pass. According to law, the land beyond is only for much more complete individuals. It is too dangerous for people who are empty inside, with hearts choked up with too much knowledge that is but false wisdom and embraces deadly illusions. Turn back! Turn back!"

I nodded, but before turning back, I gained a glimpse of the inhabitants of this land; men, women, not walking in pairs. I saw in their gestures their universal embrace of each other; their heads raised with the pride of a divinely royal person; their eyes radiating with a satisfaction that I had rarely seen; their smiles telling of a deep inner peace. I longed to be with them. I was certain I saw Veronica there.

"Turn back!" the gatekeeper demanded for the third time.

As I turned to go back, I found myself in the temple again, bewildered, puzzled by what I had seen.

I was alone as before. All the gates were still closed around me. I looked towards the East, and as I did, the thought of the East frightened me. I saw in my mind the image of the cross, the cross of Calvary, the cross that binds all humanity into solemn union. A way marker said that this gate leads into the land of human freedom, a freedom founded in the highest idea of God. I shook my head in frustration as nothing made any sense.

"Do you want to travel the river?" I asked myself. Its name was Gihon. Uncertain, I took hold of the gate, and immediately I found myself in a barge that was adorned like an oriental pleasure boat, filled with laughter and music. Fine wine was served. But the shores of the river were scenes of chaos, lined with walls of smoke. The smell of burning flesh was in the air. This time there were human voices heard from the land, but they were cries of agony, slavery, hunger, war, oppression, and violence. I shook my head again. I said, "I don't want to be here."

A voice spoke from within; "This is the scene that mankind lives in. It is its home, its treasury, the center and circumference of its being."

"Does mankind see nothing else?" I asked. "Does it know nothing else? Is there nothing brighter that has an impact on its life and its world? Are its eyes blinded by the fire of its rage, and its ears deafened by the thunder of its tumults and the choruses of crying?"

The voice didn't answer me. Perhaps it had no answer for what I saw.

As before, far down the river I came upon a draw gate strung across the water. Its inscription read; "The rights of woman acknowledged morally, civilly, and socially."

As I approached, the keeper of the gate came out and welcomed me.

I asked him, "what is the meaning of woman?"

"It signifies mankind's humanity, the highest form of man," he said, "but I cannot let you pass," he explained. "You are too blind for this land. You can't see your own humanity. This land is too demanding. The baggage that you carry will break your heart. Turn back!" He opened his ledger and entered my name as if it were for a traffic citation. "The law of this land states that only complete individuals may pass beyond this point. I perceive that you are not fully alive. You're dead in mindless obedience and subservience to myths. The land beyond is to complex for you, it would destroy you. Turn back!"

Obediently, I nodded. But before turning back I observed the inhabitants of the land. They were like people who had shed their chains, but not through tribulation. They had their ears and eyes open to the bounty of their own creating. It was a land of Kings and Priests to a higher image of humanity than I had ever seen. They were clothed with the sun, so it seemed, and had on their head a crown of many stars. Nor were they any longer divided by sex. They appeared as if they rejoiced for good reason in their sparkling bright humanity. The people I saw appeared to have been exalted by their embrace of a reality I had never seen. Veronica was among them, but too far for me to reach.

"Turn back!" the gatekeeper demanded for the third time.

I drew away from the gate, and immediately I was back in the temple.

I looked to the South, now. A feeling of serenity came over me. I thought of the warms of a tropical paradise. I could see the Southern Star in the sunlit sky. The river was called Hiddekel. Eagerly I touched the gate. The river took me through a land of cathedrals, gallows, and priestly thrones littered with swords. "What am I doing here?" I wondered. "That's not a tropical paradise," I protested to myself as there was no one to speak with.

I traveled upstream again. I traveled in a stately royal barge, decorated with flowers. I also saw great tables of stone erected on the shore, some cut of white marble with holy inscriptions that should remain for all ages. But the golden lettering had faded. Only the blood beneath them was still fresh. And there were other tables of alabaster that carried the inscriptions of all the abominations of history. The images with the inscriptions had become blurred through the years. One was of the Whore of Babylon riding her scarlet colored beast that was, and is not, and yet is. And at her feet, the kings that worshiped her, who had no kingdom of their own, but received power as kings with the beast from her; and beside her where the merchants who had waxed rich by the abundance of her 'delicacies.'

"No!" I cried. "I don't want to be here!" but the barge went on and I remained in it.

There were other tables of stone that I saw that were still under construction. A lone workman carved the title of one: "The Thousand Year Anniversary of the Christianization of Russia, it read." Beneath it was the scene of an orgy of prostitution.

Next went by a huge tablet of black granite. It carried no picture, only an inscription in gigantic letters carved very deep into the stone and filled with no coloring, except the shine of black pitch: "IMF=death," it read.

Behind the tablet lay the ruins of ancient temples, and the ruins of cities of featureless glass towers surrounded by barbed wire fences that had kept humanity in.

At last I came to the draw gate, almost relieved, but exhausted.

I was puzzled by the inscription on the draw gate. It read: "Divine Science understood and acknowledged."

"We are the light of creation," I reasoned with myself. "We are also the IMF," said a voice within. "We have created death. We must go backwards over our nakedness and rebuild the image of man as the image of the creator of the universe in which we live. We must educate the whole of humanity with the truth, and heal it. The image of our fellow man is our own. We must acknowledge that which is true. This is love..."

The gatekeeper interrupted my thoughts. "There is a law in this land that only more complete individuals may pass..."

I raised my hand to stop him and said that I knew all of this already.

"I cannot let you pass, turn back!" he said in a serious tone of voice as if a teacher failed a child in school for its own good. "I cannot let you pass, because you cannot hear the language of the people in the land beyond. Without knowing the language, you cannot hear the truth, nor discern the path on which you are going. Return to the temple. If I let you pass, you would become hopelessly lost. Turn back!"

I replied that I would go back, but I stalled him long enough to observe the people of the land behind the draw gate. They were a strange people, as of one mind, but in a dialog with each other and with themselves. They were working as a team, but no one was leading them. They were enlarging their tents, their doors opened wide. They called their tents a church, a laboratory of living, and its purpose was to break taboos.

I looked at the gatekeeper and shook my head.

"I cannot let you pass," the gatekeeper repeated. "You have a vision, but your vision is incomplete. This land destroys philosophers who do not wish to think; who prostitute themselves to other people's opinions; who babble out what people treasure, right or wrong; who are empty inside. Be kind to yourself, turn back."

This time I rejected the demand to turn back. "I will not turn back until you answer one question that makes my coming here worthwhile!"

The gatekeeper smiled. "Congratulations my friend, ask away!"

"If I were to turn back, how would I ever know when I am more complete? How can I be complete in something that cannot be defined, and know that I am complete?" I asked this thing in exasperation.

"That's easy," the gatekeeper replied and continued smiling. "You will know that you are not empty of the truth, when your life becomes empty of what it is not. Ponder about what you saw. Where the images true? Or where they but images that you have accepted?"

I turned from him, disappointed and sad and apparently not any wiser. Why did he speak in riddles?

I was intrigued, though, by the people that I saw behind the draw gate, and by what the gatekeeper had said that I could not understand. As I turned back, I found myself in the Temple again.

Bewildered, as at all times before, I faced the gate to the West, the last of the four gates. "This gate leads to the golden shore of love and the peaceful sea of harmony," said its inscription. The river was called Euphrates, and beneath the title was a mile long description that said something about a new kind of science, called divine Science, the science of our divinity that can take us beyond our limitations even while we seem to be bound to it.

I was puzzled. I looked towards the West, but I saw nothing but the empty sky and the sun overhead. I also realized that the West is where the sun sets. Is this the Golden Shore of Love where our love is mirrored in the golden glow of the sunset, when we have lifted ourselves above the fog of Earth-bound living? In this regard the sunset is not so much a portal to the darkness of a night, but a portal to the peace of a well-earned rest.

I found myself pondering if I was prepared to pass through that final gate, for that final journey. Was I ready to face the struggles and agonies along the river, just to be rejected again, and be turned back?

Was I still that empty inside to be stopped once more by the keeper of the draw gate? Was I full of what is not? I paused and looked back across my entire life and examined critically what I had stood for. Was it all emptiness? I answered without hesitation that it was not. In that moment I touched the gate to the West.

Its river flowed through a stormy land. The shores were steep vineyards, towering cliffs with shrines and churches on them, and places marked with crosses and gravestones.

I was on a sightseeing boat. The tourists were laughing, eager to learn, attentive to their guide who told them what to look for, what the sights represented, and how to feel about the country.

"I'm disappointed," I said to a man next to me. "I expected something profound, like on all the other three rivers."

"The tour guide is lying," the man whispered to me. "The churches and temples are the edifices of cults." He said this and nodded as if he had been there. I believed him. His face had the scars of deep sorrows. "Cultism is the most hidden and profound wickedness on Earth," he said. "Communism is a cult, and the West is full of cults of greed, and sex, and power. Their human dimension are all stark coldness and cruelty. There is nothing human in them. Their halls are the halls of fascism."

I protested, but then I cried because I knew the man had dared to open his eyes and seen what I had also seen, an emptiness surrounded by a finity that contained the sword of violence that we were trained not to look at. But I had also seen beyond that. "No! The West is not made up entirely of cults," I answered the man. "The West has been built on science and understanding, on universal principles, on breaking down limits and finity, and improving the status of man."

"Look at the coldness of the temples," the man replied as if it was his mission to convince me. "Look at the blood stained palacious board rooms at the top floors of the glass towers beside the graves of unemployed workers that were discarded the moment they were no longer a resource, but a liability. And look at the coldness of the prisons, and the coldness of the country's secrecy!"

"This is not human," I replied. "This is not love."

The man laughed. "What love?" he said.

"Yes there is love, the kind that this madness cannot conceal," I said. "The tour guide is a fraud. A blind man leading the blind. This whole river journey is a false!"

The man looked at me and smiled. "The river is what you see," he said. "The more you open your eyes, and then your mind, the more beautiful the images become. Science is the gateway to truth. Science is the Christ. This river is your journey of science. It lets you see what no eye can see, if you are willing."

I lifted my gaze up to the steep hillsides again and cried. I cried for the pains of humanity that had no reason for being. Suddenly, the temples and churches were no longer monuments of coldness, but had become palaces of infinity, representing the truth and the power of understanding. They had become palaces of universal knowledge, universities.

At this moment I noticed a fork in the river that I had not seen before. A narrow branch flowed out of a gorge that led deep into the mountains between rock-ribbed walls that echoed the call of wild cranes. I shouted to the captain, "Change course! Follow this path!" I saw that the branch of the river that flowed out of the mountains flowed smoothly, indicating a deep draught while the river ahead was white with shallow waters. But the captain said no. He said the tourist director was in charge and had commanded to go straight on.

"I am the director of myself, I can swim," I replied to the captain. I replied cautiously. At first I replied only to myself, then I began shouting it strongly to the captain; and immediately I jumped into the water. Everyone on the boat shouted, "come back, you can't do that!"

"Hey, I just did," I shouted back, and started to swim towards the canyon.

I swam the entire length of the canyon, effortlessly overcoming the flow of its slow moving current. In fact, I found the swimming invigorating. When the river widened behind the gorge that had opened up into a valley, I saw the familiar draw gate again. This time its inscription read; "Divine Science encompassing the universe and man; metaphysics taking the place of physics."

"Let me pass," I called to the gatekeeper as I climbed out of the water.

He shook his head. "This land has a law..." he started to say, holding his hand up to hold me back.

"I know all that," I interrupted. "You must let me pass, because I have earned my way across, I am no longer that empty inside that I do not know myself as a human being. There is no need for you to hold me back."

The gatekeeper looked at me, surprised, then nodded in agreement. "But you must return to the temple. Whatever love you find in this land shines resplendent only by what you bring to it, within yourself. You require this Inner Light, for the journey is immensely great beyond the gate."

He pointed to the inscription on the gate. "Do you know what divine Science is?" he asked. "It is the science of our divinity as human beings. It is your gate to infinity. You must pass through this gate again and again, and discover your divinity. There is no finity beyond this gate."

I said that I promised to return and do as he had told.

"See that you do," the gatekeeper said. "If you don't, you will be tempted to climb the great mountain for the majesty of the view that it offers, and you will be tempted to write to all the world of its grandeur. But your work will be empty if it is not aglow with universal love and universal sovereignty, and be of no use to anyone, but becomes a prison. An empty philosophy becomes a prison for humanity. You don't want to become a prison keeper, do you? Then people would call on you and demand that you teach them your new vision, and you will shackle and snare them with your dreams that have nothing to do with reality. You will tell them that there is no truth in anything, because without the divinity of love, truth cannot be recognized. You will cripple them with expectations that you deprive them of the means to grasp. And you will find yourself proud to be pushing them in the wheelchairs of your creating. Unless you understand the nature of the science of the divinity of your love for your humanity, you'll be a babbling fool. So go on, but be aware not ever to loose sight of the divinity of love. Its light is your humanity. Go and start climbing to the last step, embrace the toil of your ascend through steaming jungles and across snow fields and ice, scaling tall cliffs, traversing walls of ice and snow...." He stopped.

"Go on," I urged him.

"Unless your experience enables your brother to stand where you stand, turn back. By this alone you will know that your living is incomplete. Then you must go back to the temple. You must conquer every one of the other rivers. Each gate is a science that opens the pathway to new realms of truth. You must travel those rivers again and again, for the land of love is also a land of tireless labor and of great responsibility."

I nodded. I said I understood. At least I thought I understood.

The gatekeeper smiled and laid a hand onto the hand wheel to raise the gate. Creaky and rusty, the old Iron Gate rose to let me pass.

As I plunged back into the river to swim on, immediately, found myself in a cathedral. An usher approached me and demanded total silence.

I looked around. Over the altar of the cathedral hung a series of large paintings, one depicted a lone star shining above a dim night of chaos. The next showed Jesus raising a young woman to life. "This scene is the miracle that will rescue humanity from its tiny marriages," said a voice echoing in my head as if someone had spoken and stirred the great silence.

The next paining in line showed a woman writing in a book; and the next one was that of a Christmas party. Among the guests of the party was a woman despondently absent, reclining in a wheelchair, accompanied by another woman. The wheelchair was pushed by a benign gentleman in black, who leaned over them both. Was I that man? He was shown in a caring manner, having one hand on the wheelchair, the other on the shoulder of the woman who looked longingly into his face.

"Do you understand the death that results from the care of one who has not grown up towards a greater completeness?" that voice from within spoke to me again. "Do you understand the emptiness of the care of a person who seeks to find his completeness from others?"

I looked at my marriage with Sylvia, as it had been along time ago. Had I treated Sylvia that way? Heather was there, too. She had been in the wheelchair with her. I had been pushing that wheelchair, but neither of them had been helped by me in any way, because of my incompleteness. I also knew, that this had been a long time ago. All of that had been changed.

The next paintings depicted a Christmas morning, and the resurrection of woman. I saw a woman clad in white garments, followed by scenes of Christian healing in which the sick person is always a male and the healer that same woman, clothed with sun, so it seemed, that represents our humanity as the gate keeper had revealed. And one of the last images showed that woman again in the form of an angel bidding entrance into the house of humanity with her hands on the door-knocker that resembled a person with folded hands that would hit where that person's genitals would be. The image was titled: Truth versus Error.

"Do you understand the meaning of the pictures?" whispered that voice from within.

I nodded. "I do understand," I replied.

If you do, you are ready to go on, to function in democratic association built on the divinity love that is your divinity.

I closed my eyes, and immediately I was on a river again. But the draw gate past the city of glass towers was open this time. The gatekeeper waved as I swam beyond it, and instantly I found myself in a wide mountain meadow. In front of me stood Anton. She wore a white gown with a golden belt around her waist, and on her feet soft Chinese shoes. I was also aware of yet another person. I looked, and saw Sylvia standing beside me. She smiled, but said nothing. We were surrounded by a vast sea of yellow flowers, ringed in the distance by tall blue mountains. We seemed to match this beauty. We were all beautiful to each other. We loved each other's smile and expression; we loved the way we dressed; we loved the way our hair moved in the gentle breeze, the way we spoke to each other, the way we thought. Our gestures were inviting and reassuring. There was peace in this world and a feeling in the heart that no sexual elation could equal, though it seemed to be an element of it. "This is the sublime," said the voice from within. "This moment will change and uplift your life, and will uplift humanity with it. You have become free."

I reached forward and removed Anton's golden belt and her white dress, and looked into her face and smiled. It was radiating with the loveliest smile that stirred deep feelings in me. I also noticed her breasts, which were the same as those that I had seen in the solarium. I reached out to her. We reached out to each other. We embraced, kissed, I relished her touch, the touch of her body. We held each other tight, and when we let go I felt no loss.

"What heavenly touch has made you so exceedingly beautiful, Anton?" I whispered as we embraced.

"None! I haven't changed," she answered. "But you have grown. You have grown rich. You have become more complete. Your embrace includes worlds upon worlds that you hadn't looked at before."

By then, Sylvia stood afar off, waving to me as Tara had waved to me in Ruggels' lounge. Only the meaning was different. At Ruggels' the people around us had been like props. We alone seemed real. Now our waving to each other was as if it included the totality of all being in a giant embrace. Here, Sylvia, too, was free: free to stand on her own, free to be at my side, free to stand afar satisfied.

We both waved to her and threw kisses. I called out to her that I loved her. We kept on waving as she receded from view, and still, she was as if she were with us. "The rivers have taken your nakedness from you and given us great riches in which we can see what we have never seen before," I heard her call out in the distance. Her voice was carried thinly by the wind.

"In this liberation is bound up the hope of the world," said Anton, "the survival of Africa, the end of violence, a call to enrich the Earth with a new rising of man, even the liberation of Russia, China, and America from themselves, for themselves, and by themselves."

While she spoke, I became aware of another person at my side. I noticed Heather standing beside me; beautiful and proud in her birthday suite. We embraced each other. Then I noticed Sylvia again. She was with us in our embrace, but she was different, somehow. She was like someone who is richly adorned with the gift of love that we had all brought to each other. "There will be war no longer," Anton said with a smile.

Here, I heard the voice from within again, speaking to me in the rhythm of a poem that went something like this:


Oh, joy and peace,

the unknown, the yet to be known,

the fleeting recovered from distant vale

fire of the sublime.


Oh, love divine,

the gold unseen by greed, by toil, the dead,

the eternal overflowing fount,

ruler of the greatest riches.


Oh, life, a communication without words,

reclaimed, cut loose

from iron anchors wedged deep in heavy darkness

daring to be, a sun beneath the rain.


Oh, light, the great science, our power,

beyond the dark homes of the living dead,

the morning dew from heaven's bounty,

it feeds the flower and a world that lives on wings.


Oh, the sublime...

"But what is the sublime?" I heard myself asking. "Is it related to the conference?"

As I couldn't answer, I woke from my dream, though acknowledging with joy that the sublime was already unfolding in the sublimity of our discoveries of the wonders of love.


At breakfast I told everyone about my beautiful and mysterious dream. I told them that I awoke, because I remembered the conference.

"We must all make this journey," said Anton, smiling at me, "it sounds too wonderful to miss, don't you agree?"

I nodded and answered with a kiss. It drew the loveliest smile. Had the rivers been real that I had dreamed about? They reflected what I realized had always existed between us, but had been blocked by me. Or was it all but a reflection of Ross' research, his elaborate theories, and his discoveries of the dynamics of man's infinite Soul?

"You are making this journey," I replied to Anton, "only yours will be different. No one can tell you what you may find in your life."

She nodded ever so slightly.

"These rivers are very real," said Ross to Anton. "I have discovered the concept that is involved, together with Pete. This is not an easy concept to come to terms with, but a profound one when one finally recognizes what it involves. It appears to me, Anton, that we all need to travel these rivers again and again. It seems we need to be involved at every level of human existence, and deal with what we find there, and bring light to it and uplift what can and needs to be uplifted. We must face the depravities, explore the paradoxes, and raise our axioms that have created the paradoxes and opened the doors to depravity.

"We also need to be involved in the moral domain. We need to embrace the good that we find there, that we find in our humanity, and embrace that good to fullest extend possible, and so drag it up with us as we seek higher ground where we can cherish it more and honor one-another more in the flow of it. Then we live the principle of sovereignty, so that it becomes impossible for us to slide backwards into depravity. The rivers are upwards flowing by design.

"In addition, we also need to embrace the scientific element that we find in our journey, in each every river. We need to utilize these 'gates' to reality, these gates that science provides in so many ways. By developing our scientific understanding of the universal principles of the universe, we give ourselves far greater freedoms than we ever had before.

"We also need to dwell in the land beyond the gate that scientific understanding gives us access to. That's the land of the great universal good that all the great thinkers throughout history have associated with human freedom, boundless capabilities, with love, life, truth, even God. Isn't it interesting, Anton, that God and Good are both linked to the same word in English, with just a small difference is spelling. Maybe it is that small difference that we need to erase.

"Maybe this is what the rivers are all about. I think we need to travel these rivers again and again, because there are so many beautiful things to be found at every level, if we open ourselves up to them, even sexual things."

Ross' comment earned him a kiss on the cheek from Anton, and an embrace, and a great big happy smile as if he had just confirmed to her what she had always felt in her heart to be true, but had never had the courage to acknowledge. I never saw her smile that way before, not to me, with a smile powered by such a great inner joy.

From: The Lodging for the Rose - Episode 6A - Endless Horizons

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Writings by Rolf A. F. Witzsche, presented by Cygni Communications Ltd. (c) 2008 public domain