John St. John

12.17. 12.43. 74 THE EQUINOX me! I am as a little white dove tremblingupon Thine altar, its throat stretched out to the knife. I am as a young child bought in the slave-market . . . and night is fallen! I await Thee, Ο my Lord, with a great longing, stronger than Life; yet am I as patient as Death. There was a certain Darwesh whose turban a thief stole. But when they said to him, “ See ! he hath taken the road to Damascus !" that holy man answered, as he went quietly to the cemetery, “I will await him here ! " So, therefore, there is one place, O thou thief of my heart’s love, Adonai, to which Thou must come at last ; and that place is the tomb in which lie buried all my thoughts and emotions, all that which is “ I, and Me, and Mine.” There will I lay myself and await thee, even as our Father Christian Rosenkreutz that laid himself in the Pastas in the Vault of the Mountain of the Caverns, Abiegnus, on whose portal did he cause to be written the words, “ Post Lux Crucis Annos Patebo." So Thou wilt enter in (as did Frater N. N. and his companions) and open the Pastos ; and with thy Winged Globe thou wilt touch the Rosy Cross upon my breast, and I shall wake into life—the true life that is Union with Thee. So therefore—perinde ac cadaver—I await Thee. I wrote, by the way, on some previous day (IV. 12.57 AM.) that Ι used the Supreme formula of Awaiting. . . . Ridiculous mouse! is it not written in the Book of the