NUGGETS OF THE NEW THOUGHT/PART 15

 

THE UNSEEN HAND.

    The consciousness of the hand—When it first was felt—Always there—Now as the hand of a father—Now as that of a mother—A lover—A brother—Always guiding—Always leading—A mystery—Some day we will know the owner of the hand.

 

I have felt the Unseen Hand—have been guided by it—have felt the kind but steady urge in the direction which it knew to be best, though my Intellect failed to see the beauty of the road toward which the Hand was directing me. For a time I rebelled against the impertinent interference of that which seemed to be a thing apart from me—a meddler—an unasked for helper. I had emerged from the dependent state—the state in which I thought it necessary to lean upon others. I gloried in my independence—my freedom—my ability to stand alone. Finding that it was good to stand alone—reveling in the joy of my new found freedom—rejoicing in the fact that the I AM within me was a reality—feeling within me the ecstasy that comes from the recognition of the reality of Individuality—I resented any interference from outside. But the pressure of the hand was still here—it would take my unwilling fingers within its own and lead me on—and lead me on.

Finding that I could not get rid of this unseen helper—realizing that it was intent upon guiding me in spite of my repeated assertions that I was able to take care of myself—that I was big enough to walk alone—I began to study the Something that was so determined to take an active part in the affairs of my life—I started in to become acquainted with it.

I found that it had always been with me more or less, but that I had not before recognized its presence. So long as I felt that I was not able to stand erect upon my feet—so long as I feared—so long as I failed to recognize the I AM—I was scarcely aware of this invisible helper. But when I began to realize what I was—what was my place in the Universal order of things—what were my possibilities—my future—the presence of this unseen hand began to be manifest. When I at length threw off the last fetter that had bound me—when I threw back my shoulders and drew my first free breath—when I shouted aloud with joy at my freedom and strength—when I realized the power that was within me and at my command—when I started out to accomplish that which my awakened mind told me was possible of attainment—when I started to do these things all by myself—then I felt for the first time the firm clasp of the unseen hand.

Now gently guiding—now leading—now kindly restraining—now giving a gentle urge toward people, things and conditions—now drawing me back from the edge of a precipice—now directing toward a better path—now giving me a gentle, firm pressure to reassure me of its presence when I doubted—now allowing me to rest my weight upon it when I felt tired—always there.

At times this hand has placed before me conditions that seemed to me to be anything but good. At times it has brought me pain. But I have learned to trust it—have learned to trust it. The conditions that have seemed to me to be undesirable have brought me to desirable things. The pain that I have suffered has brought me pleasure. The experiences that have come to me I would not wish to part with—the more pain, the more experience; the more experience, the more knowledge.

I have learned to love this hand. And the owner of the hand seems to feel and return this love, and now and then, by a sympathetic little clasp, lets me know that I am understood. This hand sometimes seems to be that of a Father—strong and firm—leading on with a confident air. Again it seems to be that of a Mother—gentle and kind—leading me as does the mother lead her child. Again it seems as the hand of a woman who loves me—clinging and warm—neither leading nor being led—just moving on clasped in mine—no words—but with a perfect understanding. The owner of this hand seems to combine within itself the qualities of both sexes—seems to have within itself all the attributes of Father, Mother, Lover, Brother, Sister. It seems to respond to the human need, in every direction. It seems always the hand of Love—even while giving me pain.

I have never seen the face of the owner of this hand. I have never looked into its eyes. I have never seen its form, if form it has. But I have been conscious, at times, of being lifted up in its arms and being pressed close to its breast. I have felt the impulse of the child, at such times, and have felt for the breast of the mother, and have been conscious of the answering mother pressure as I was drawn up close to the body of the owner of the hand. And, at times, have I felt rebellious at the confining clasp, and have struggled and have even beat against the breast with my puny fists as I insisted that I be released from the clasping arms. But, mother-like, the owner of the hand only drew me closer to the breast until I could feel the very heart-throbs within the mother-body—could feel the vibrations emanating from its life—could feel the warm breath upon my cheek as the invisible face bent over me impelled by the mother love.

Again, it takes on the father-form, and I place my little hand within it, and feeling like the boy whose father is taking him on a journey, I say "Lead Thou me on," and go cheerfully and with faith into new lands—new surroundings—new fields. Why should I fear, have I not hold of my father's hand? And the hand at such times rests upon my shoulder, every once in a while, and I realize that the father feels a pride in his son, and sees him growing in strength and knowing—that the father looks forward to a time when he will be able to talk with the boy who will then have grown in knowledge, and will be able to understand some of the secrets of Life that the father will then unfold to him.

And, still again, the hand is that of the loving woman who is walking along the path of Life with the man she loves. It is a tender clasp—the fingers tingle with love—the arm presses close to mine. I hear no voice—no words are needed—soul talks to soul in the silence. We walk on and on and on. We understand.

And, still again, the hand seems that of a brother—a twin brother. Neither the protection of the father—the loving tenderness of the mother—the thrill of the lover's touch—is there. I feel not that the hand is that of a stronger being—I am conscious only of the brotherly clasp—the touch of comradeship—the presence of an equal. I feel by my side a helper—someone who will back me up in time of need. And I stroll along by his side and laugh with joy. The joy of the boy is again mine. The joy of companionship is again mine. And, lo the hand of the brother seems to grow—he and I are again men. And something in his hand-clasp seems to say to me, "Come, brother, let us go forth into the unknown future. Let us have Faith. There are lands awaiting our coming. Let us enjoy them. Let us explore them. Let us be filled with the spirit of adventure, and go forth. Let us see—let us feel—let us know." And I return the clasp, and say, "Aye, brother, let us go forth. Whither thou goest there will I go. Thy joys shall be my joy—thy pain my pain. Let us go forth—let us go forth to the Divine Adventure."

And, so, manifesting the attributes of all human relations, in turn, and at the proper time, the owner of this unseen hand is near me. I feel his presence—I am aware of his nearness. At times faith grows faint, and I think it all a delusion—a phantasm—a dream. All seems lost, and I weep. But, lo! in the midst of my despair, I feel the hand upon my head—I know that it is a reality and, through my tears, I smile.

Shall I ever know the owner of this hand? Shall I ever see its face? Shall I ever understand the mystery of its existence? I know not. But faith whispers in my ear, "Wait! All is well! When the pupil is ready the Master appears. When your eyes have a clear vision and can bear the sight, then shall you see the Face of the owner of the hand. You have entered the Path and there is no turning back. Go on—go on in Faith, Courage and Confidence. Why should you doubt—have you not felt the pressure of The Hand?"

Aye, why should I doubt or question? Have I not felt the pressure of the Unseen Hand? Open your hands, friends, that the Hand may clasp yours as it has mine. While your hand is clenched in Anger and Hate—while it clutches tight the gold it has snatched from the hand of another—while the fingers are drawn together with Fear—it cannot receive the Unseen Hand. Open it wide—reach it out—offer it in friendly clasp—and you will feel within it the touch of that which you seek.

The Unseen Hand is waiting to clasp yours. Give it welcome—give it welcome.