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The ninth vibration and other stories by L. Adams (Lily Moresby Adams) Beck
page 118 of 266 (44%)
but it is the same - Krishna or Christ. When we hear the music we
follow. And we may lose or gain heaven."

It might have been her compelling personality - it might have
been the marvels of beauty about me, but I knew well I had
entered at some mystic gate. A pass word had been spoken for me -
I was vouched for and might go in. Only a little way as yet.
Enchanted forests lay beyond, and perilous seas, but there were
hints, breaths like the wafting of the garments of unspeakable
Presences. My talk with Vanna grew less personal, and more
introspective. I felt the touch of her finger-tips leading me
along the ways of Quiet - my feet brushed a shining dew. Once, in
the twilight under the chenar trees, I saw a white gleaming and
thought it a swiftly passing Being, but when in haste I gained
the tree I found there only a Ninefold flower, white as a spirit
in the evening calm. I would not gather it but told Vanna what I
had seen.

"You nearly saw;' she said. "She passed so quickly. It was the
Snowy One, Uma, Parvati, the Daughter of the Himalaya. That
mountain is the mountain of her lord - Shiva. It is natural she
should be here. I saw her last night lean over the height - her
face pillowed on her folded arms, with a low star in the mists of
her hair. Her eyes were like lakes of blue darkness. Vast and
wonderful. She is the Mystic Mother of India. You will see soon.
You could not have seen the flower until now."

"Do you know," she added, "that in the mountains there are
poppies of clear blue - blue as turquoise. We will go up into the
heights and find them."
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