LETTER I
THE GENIUS OF AMERICA
February 3, 1917.
I WANT to write of America, land of my latest birth, land of the future.
Great is the road that the Genius of America may travel, and her feet have already passed the early stages of it.
The Genius of America!
Each land is watched over and its children guided—guided and moved—by a Genius.
Would you feel the Genius of America, go alone into the woods at night, watch and listen and invoke. Perhaps the answer may come, its recognition of you, your recognition of it.
If you are one of those who can hear the words which the Great Ones speak in the silence, perhaps you will hear something with the ears of your soul. If so, do not hasten to divulge the message, but treasure it in your heart; for that which is treasured in the heart can sometimes be felt and understood by the hearts of others.
If you are one of those who will serve willingly, the secret of your heart may be shared in silence with those who can hear in the silence.
The hour approaches when the mission of this land may be manifested. The hour approaches when the Genius of this land shall force its will upon this land. That will not be an easy task. So many wills have sought to wrest the reins from the guiding hand; so many eyes, looking in so many directions, have seen so many goals. But there is one will so strong that it can, when its hour is come, gather up the wills of men as a strong wind gathers a mass of loosely-lying straws and sweeps them along.
You know not the power of a will that has God behind it. You know not the power of a purpose that has God behind it and the future before it. Those who get in the way of the Genius of this land will be broken, like straws that would resist the wind.
I have watched from my unseen place the labors of many. I have helped unseen with my faith to strengthen the hearts of many. I shall wait now unseen till the act of destiny is accomplished.
You who have followed me from my first gropings in the twilight of the new life, before the clearness came; you who have followed me on my journeys among the battlefields, both in and above the world, follow me yet a little further, with your minds ajar for the entrance of the truth I have to tell you, the advice I have to give you. For my advice is disinterested as the rain, and my truth is offered as freely as the light.
I have come a long way since I laid down my body a few brief years ago, years of a crowded brevity, in which the world has moved as fast as I, and sometimes with more pain. For he who knows the purpose of his pain can bear it better than the child who knows only that he suffers.
I should have spoken to you before, but you would not let me. Child! Would you stand in the way with your personal wishes, and your shrinkings that are also wishes of a negative kind?
Blocked by your will to avoid this labor, I sought another entrance; but it was too much encumbered by prejudices and preconceived ideas, and all the litter of mental fragments that had accumulated through years of residence in a creed-bound place. You who have dwelt but briefly in many tents have no obstructions at your door, save such as are placed by your will, and those I now sweep away.
I shall pass in and out, and speak to you as I choose.