Mind replied, “I am enormously busy gathering
things and building towers. I have no time to
answer such questions.”
Meekly I went back to my work.
When things were grown to a pile, when seven wings
of his palace were complete, I said to Mind, “Is
it not enough?”
Mind began to say, “Not enough to contain—”
and then stopped.
“Contain what?” I asked.
Mind affected not to hear.
I suspected that Mind did not know, and with ceaseless
work smothered the question.
His one refrain was, “I must have more.”
“Why must you?”
“Because it is great.”
“What is great?”
Mind remained silent. I pressed for an answer.
In contempt and anger, Mind said, “Why ask about
things that are not? Take notice of those that
are hugely before you,—the struggle and
the fight, the army and armaments, the bricks and
mortar, and labourers without number.”
I thought “Possibly Mind is wise.”
Days passed. More wings were added to his palace—more
lands to his domain.
The season of rains came to an end. The dark
clouds became white and thin, and in the rain-washed
sky the sunny hours hovered like butterflies over an
unseen flower. I was bewildered and asked everybody
I met, “What is that music in the breeze?”
A tramp walked the road whose dress was wild as his
manner; he said, “Hark to the music of the Coming!”
I cannot tell why I was convinced, but the words broke
from me, “We have not much longer to wait.”
“It is close at hand,” said the mad man.
I went to the office and boldly said to Mind, “Stop
all work!”
Mind asked, “Have you any news?”
“Yes,” I answered, “News of the
Coming.” But I could not explain.
Mind shook his head and said, “There are neither
banners nor pageantry!”
The night waned, the stars paled in the sky.
Suddenly the touchstone of the morning light tinged
everything with gold. A cry spread from mouth
to mouth—
“Here is the herald!”
I bowed my head and asked, “Is he coming?”
The answer seemed to burst from all sides, “Yes.”
Mind grew troubled and said, “The dome of my
building is not yet finished, nothing is in order.”
A voice came from the sky, “Pull down your building!”
“But why?” asked Mind.
“Because to-day is the day of the Coming, and
your building is in the way.”
The lofty building lies in the dust and all is scattered
and broken.
Mind looked about. But what was there to see?
Only the morning star and the lily washed in dew.
And what else? A child running laughing from
its mother’s arms into the open light.
