T wo Talks—Continued from p. 8

My mind cannot grasp even a hint of the Beloved 's infinitudes and my heart cannot bear the wound which a mere reflection of his glance has made in it. On one and the same breath I praise his Silence and his Word—for they are the same thing: his Word is the movement of his Silence and his Silence is the stillness of his Word. His Word is his limitless compassion and his Silence is the ocean of his love-being.

His love is eternal, and this present time is a season of his compassion; and his Silence has broken into the Word which lives in our hearts. He who is always a stranger in the world is our friend, our new-life companion. We long to be the dust at his feet each time he comes, singing to him when- the breath of his mood blows, and to wash the travel stains from his feet with our cool tears.

Now there are only hundreds. Soon there will be thousands, and then millions setting out in their little boats, leaving the dead to rule a world which died when the beautiful God-Man spoke his eternal Word in the hearts of his lovers.

What greater Word could God ever speak than that which slays an old world and begets a new one? What greater , glory could he manifest than the heart of each lover becoming a sun with a thousand petals?

Maybe these sun-flowers will not blossom for a long time yet. Maybe our children 's children 's children will be the New Humanity. But what are generations to us? We will also be the children of our children 's children—sun-flowers waiting for beloved God-Man 's again Earth-coming, waiting to be so many little carpets for his beautiful feet.

II: Given at Meher House, Beacon Hill, on the 13th Anniversary of Meher Baba 's stay there on his firstvisit to Australia in August, 1956.

I have come back to Australia after living with Meher Baba the beloved God-Man for 10 years; and I have brought no message which you have not already received —for the only message that beloved Baba gave was: I am the Ancient One who is your eternal Beloved. And I have nothing to teach anyone—for the only teaching our Beloved gave was: Love me. And when your loving becomes complete and perfect you will know me as I really am; and as I really am, you ultimately will be.

All I can do is to tell you about the Beloved I know—the same Beloved which each of you knows. But my experience of him is different to yours—it is different in each one. The picture of him each has is the same—Eternal-belovedness—but in a different frame; the jewel each keeps in his heart is the same—Ever-lovingness—in a different setting. To talk about the Beloved to other lovers of his, to sing his praise, drives out the strangers we have allowed to infest the rooms of our hearts, making a clean, empty house for him to live in. These strangers sustain themselves on unlove and separateness and cannot endure the sound of his Name. But the Beloved on his daily walk down Love Street, when he passes a house from which his name is being sweetly sung says to himself, there is a door on which I must soon knock; there is a lover nearly ready to receive the Word of my Glance.

And so I go on talking about him and singing songs of his Name, knowing that one day in some life he will stop and knock on my door, and I will run quickly and open it and bring him in.

Beloved Baba, God-Man Meher Baba, is what each one of us ever was, what each is now at this moment and what each will ever be—the unique Self of each. But in us as we are consciously he is both knowledge and ignorance, free and imprisoned, fulfilled and prevented; the seeker and the seeking and the sought.

Because he is all these things he is an easy Beloved to love but an impossible Beloved to please. He says, Love me.—And when you answer, But I do love you, replies, Love me, not what you think I am.— He entices you to take a certain step, and when you take it says, Where are you going? That is not the way to me.

He has been with you for millions of lives— as your life, as your breath, as your intelligence, as your loving, but you have not known him because you covered him with your longing for him. And if he had allowed but a ray of his glory to shine in