Symbol of the Covenant, was my first thought. How perfectly beautiful to be wakened today by it! But at once I remembered another time when I had seen the waning moon hanging, then, above palm trees. I was on the roof of the House in ‘Akká with the Master and Munavvar Khánum. The Master was pointing to the moon. “The East. The moon. No!” He said. “I am the Sun of the West.”
At dawn, kneeling at my window, I prayed in the swelling light for all this land, now sleeping, that it would wake to received its Lord; conscious, as I prayed, of an overshadowing Sacred Presence: a great, glorious, burning Presence—the Sun of Love rising. This fiery dawn was but a pale symbol of such a rising.
Between seven and eight I went to the pier with Marjorie Morten and Rhoda Nichols. The morning was crystal clear, sparkling. I had a sense of its being Easter: of lilies, almost seen, blooming at my feet.
All the believers of New York had gathered at the pier to meet the Master’s ship. Marjorie and I had suggested to them that the Master might not want this public demonstration, but their eagerness was too great to be influenced by just two, and so we had gone along with them—only too glad to do so, to tell the truth.
During the morning the harbour misted over. At last, in the mist we saw: a phantom ship! And at that very moment some newsboys ran through the crowd, waving Extras. “The Pope is dead! The Pope is dead!” they shouted. The Pope was not dead. The Extras had been printed only on a rumour; but what a symbol, and how exactly timed!
Closer and closer, ever more substantial, came that historic ship, that epoch-making ship, till at last it swam out solid into the light, one of the Persians sitting in the bow in his long robes, ‘abá, and turban. This was Siyyid Asadu’lláh, a marvellous, witty old man, who had come with the Master to prepare His meals.
He told us later that when the ship was approaching the harbour and the Master saw, as His first view of America, the Wall Street skyscrapers, He had laughed and said: “Those are the minarets of the West. What divine irony!
The ship docked, but the Master did not appear. Suddenly I had a great glimpse. In the dim hall beyond the deck, striding to and fro near the door, was One with a step that shook you! Just that one stride, charged with power, the sweep of a robe, a majestic head, turban crowned—that was all I saw, but my heart stopped.
Marjorie’s instinct and mine had been true. Mr. Kinney was called for to come on board the ship. He returned with a disappointing message. The Master sent us His love but wanted us to disperse now. He would meet us all at the Kinneys’ house at four.
Everyone obeyed at once except Marjorie, Rhoda, and myself! Marjorie, who loves the Teachings but has never wholly accepted them, said: “I can’t leave till I’ve seen Him. I can’t. I won’t!” So, though we followed the crowd to the street, we slipped away there and looked around for some place to hide. Quite a distance below the big entrance to the pier we saw a fairly deep embrasure into which a window was set, with the stone wall jutting out from it. Here we flattened ourselves against the window, Rhoda (who is conspicuously tall) clasping a long white box of lilies which she had brought for the Master. Just in front of the entrance stood Mr Mills’ car, his chauffeur in it. Suddenly it rolled forward and, to our utter dismay, parked directly in front of us. Now we were caught: certain to be discovered. But there was no help for it, for Marjorie still refused to budge till she had seen the Master.
Then, He came—through the entrance with Mr. MacNutt and Mr. Mills, and turned and walked swiftly toward the car. In a panic we waited.
A few nights ago Marjorie and I had a double dream. In her dream, I was out in space with her. In mine, we were in a room together and the Master had just entered it. He walked straight up to Marjorie, put His two hands on her shoulders and pressed and pressed till she sank to her knees. And while she was sinking, she lifted her face to His and everything in her seemed to be dying except her soul, which looked out through her raised eyes in a sort of agony of recognition.
Today, after one glance at the Master, this was just the way she looked.
“Now,” she said, “I know.”
As the Master was stepping into the car, He turned and—smiled at us.
- Juliet Thompson (Entry April 11, 1912, ‘The Diary of Juliet Thmopson’)
