THE GOLDEN GATE

At the first flush of dawn the pilgrims began arriving. Like so many bits of colored glass in a toy kaleidoscope, they kept making an ever-changing pattern; a riot of color, as if an artist had fallen asleep and the paint on his palette had run wild. Tension, excitement - breathless anticipation - vibrant expectancy.

It was Passion Week in the Holy City. They were again to watch for the miracle - the second coming.

"Why seek ye the living among the dead?" still went unanswered. The crowd increased and jostled one another in the narrow way. They entered through the Jaffa Gate into the teeming streets of the city. A camel train laden with merchandise and hung with rich stuffs and silks rubbed against the passers-by as they pushed up the hill. The call of the donkey boy was heard as he tried to direct his completely indifferent beasts. The hypnotic beat of the tom-toms and soothing insistent notes of the pipes made a strange eerie decor. Every eye searched each passer-by. Perhaps that might be He - who knows? He will rise again - He will come again.

Over by the Jaffa Gate sat the Arab, enfolded in his soft camel's hair burnoose - near him a pile of golden oranges. He was unconscious of the picture he was making as he sat motionless, oblivious to the excitement of the passers-by. He neither called his wares nor offered them for sale. Above his head the budding branch of a slender tree was making a network of shadow mosaic on the wall; growing darker the while as the sun rose higher in the cloudless heavens. He, too, seemed to be waiting. He seemed to have been waiting there for eons - waiting, waiting, waiting.

One unhurried golden moment after another slipped noiselessly by like streams of wax that ran down from lighted candles in the temple - incense - the throb of distant chanting; mute - hypnotic - then disturbing-hateful. The wax from the candles kept flowing - the moments kept slipping soundlessly by into a dulcet oblivion - silently they passed like bare, perfumed dancing feet over the silken pile of a prayer rug. Time did not matter. That (time) was the illusion, the pilgrims had so little of. They were in such a vapid hurry to get out of it all they could.

When the Arab opened his eyes and let his gaze travel in a circle upon the people about him, it was like the opening of a fan. Those upon whom it rested felt the gaze, as they might have felt soft feather tips brush them ever so lightly. The gaze came from hidden places, fathomless depths, luminous darkness, accompanied by mute throbbing tones.

There was an infinite wonder and pathos in his gaze almost a pity - and the eternal question, "Why seek ye the living among the dead?" He is risen! He is coming at the precise moment you are willing to receive Him.

It was all so confusing in a way - "If I go ... I will come again" and, "I will never leave thee" - as if some hidden password or secret was given for those who had ears. How could it all be that way? Going - and yet not going - and yet coming again in the flesh.

If you followed the gaze of the Arab, it led to blinding heights of Light. There was hidden in it a wisdom which somehow might change the whole pattern of man. It was that very wisdom which made the other Arab fold his tent "and as silently steal away." It was that something akin to discovery and appropriation at the same instant.

Conception is ever silent - deep, fathomless stillness, where Stygian darkness shuts out curious human thought and reasoning, and the fearful working out of Salvation takes place. The least flutter of human thought would drive it into oblivion leaving a great void. An exquisite sensibility enfolded everything - swept it all upward as if born by angel wings into a breathless second of eternity.

And then as a crystal being shattered into a thousand pieces, the jangling noise of the Pilgrims broke the golden silence. They were fighting among themselves, trying to get into a place where they could better see Him, who would say unto them "love one another." They would not see Him even if He appeared, for they had already gone down the wrong road again. They would miss Him for they would be looking for a miracle worker. They would be looking for a man in purple and fine linen, surely not for one washing the feet of the weary. They would only know Him by His robes glistening with jewels and power - by His authority and glamour.

If I do not get in, I may miss Him. "The race is not to the swift" meant nothing, the more physical effort they put forth the nearer the possibility of personal gains. If they could get near the man who increased the leaves and fishes, this time they would find out how it was done. When HE was here a single word would do it, a single touch of His robe would accomplish what the wise physicians could not do nor understand.

Ever and anon an excited word would go forth that He had come and was giving the Secret of His Power again, but presently the excitement died down, and the whining voices of the deceived went up with a wail.

The Arab was not concerned as he heard the exciting news again and again of His coming. He was resting leisurely at the elevation of "No chance." He did not have to pursue anything; he did not have to win anything. Having to WIN was the out picturing of a consciousness which believed in limitation and in a God who was a respecter of persons. The very thought of this law of no-chance to many stimulated the greedy human thought to a point of frenzy. "Stillness" was impossible in such a seething cauldron of excitement and greed. A million sensuous dreams passed through the mind as a whirlwind on the desert flings waves of sand at the Sun.

It all seemed foolishness. If He was "coming again" why did He not come? and if He was a God of love, why would He permit war? Why would He permit the evil to have riches and the good to have nothing? Why? and why? and why? - until the whirlwind again enveloped him. And presently through the terrific noise, the machinery of desire blacked out everything.

The Arab arose, shook out the folds of his burnoose and passed through the gate leaving no one in charge of his stock in trade. His gaze had taken care of everything, just as the gaze of Jesus took care of everything upon which it rested and revealed all sorts of laws which were self-operative without the aid of human thought. As he went up the hill, he passed through the crowd with little difficulty. Something seemed to be making a way for him, though he was silent and asked for nothing. It was just that they automatically moved aside.

He went over to the Mosque of Omar - the Dome of the Rock (that beautiful jewel dropped down in the center of the Compound) - and disappeared through the door. It was dark inside except for the halo of varicolored lights cast by the band of heavily jeweled glass in the cupola, which kept changing the while as it lay upon the rock, a thing alive. No word was spoken - only silence throbbing, soft, enfolding. His white robe was smudged out by the velvety darkness. Only his eyes could be seen. He knelt and touched his forehead to the floor. Now the silence seemed strong enough to break the thin walls of the ear a tremendous and awful sound of the Presence - as if an infinite number of angels attended him.

The whir of the wings of the Heavenly Host as they dosed in near formation sounded: this was the elevation of miracle - pure revelation! This was the place of breathless adoration, wherein the silence became real - and the "BE STILL AND KNOW THAT I AM GOD" was effortless, an INFLOW OF POWER, an ENTERING LIGHT. This was the restoration of the soul - like the perfect reassembling of quicksilver that had been scattered. There was no seam or jointure - there was only ONE. The soul was not joined, mended or corrected - it was ONE again as it always had been; it was restored, with all faculties alerted for the Second Coming.

And then after what seemed many eons of time, which was only a moment, he left the soft incense-laden darkness and went to the far side of the Compound and stood near a walled-up gate. Presently you were at the gate too - still, silent, waiting - waiting for the eyes to touch you again with revelation, if you could stand it - if you could stand it.

And finally the eyes opened, the flood of LIGHT came, "This is the Golden Gate. It is walled up and will not be opened until He comes again. At His coming, the stones will crumble and He will pass through." As he said the unspoken words, the stones began to fall away and the Golden Gate was filled with Light and Fire - and HE came through the Golden Gate of your consciousness. He came again in the flesh - Your flesh - and now you SAW HIM and experienced the stones of human belief and limitations fall away - and the GLORY OF GOD revealed.

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