this wiseman AHRINZIMAN is told of in the book of A Farnese – A Wanderer in The Spirit Land | mirror | audio mp3 on this Ahriziman book here
THE STORY OF AHRINZIMAN TOLD BY HIMSELF
The philosophy of Ahrinziman, the Persian — what life hath taught
him of the Soul; life lived on Earth and life of ages in the Abyss and in the Heavens of the Beyond. To each one comes life's lessons in different form. Let him that would learn the meaning of this tale attend to these words that he may the better understand, and let him that is but the idle hearer of a story pass them by.
He who would write truly the history of any Soul must take
into account the prenatal conditions, that is, those which have
preceded its conception into mortal form.
A Soul germ is but an incomplete unit until it touches the
Plane of Earth Life, because until then it is still wanting in one,
at least, of the elements which go to form the Perfect Whole.
And although at the death of the earthly body the Soul would
appear to cast off entirely its purely earthly attributes with the
earthly shell, which, like the husk of the wheat, has concealed
the grain within, yet it does hot do so. From every one of the
lower faculties it has retained the Spiritual germ, and these germs
of the grosser propensities may be called, for lack of a better
term (there being no word in the English language which exactly
expresses this element, and this element only, i.e., the Soul), the
"Animal Soul," since they are typified in Man's lower, or animal,
propensities and are the "Soul" elements of these propensities.
Therefore, the idea which has prevailed among many religious
faiths, that at death there is a complete severance between the
Animal Soul and the higher Spiritual faculties, is an error
absurd as it is pernicious, because men are thereby led to give
undue prominence to At purely intellectual and moral faculties
and to cramp and neglect the due, proper, and judicious
development and regulation of the faculties of this Animal Soul,
which is truly not only an immortal part of the Soul itself, but quite as
needful as any other to its complete evolution.
The Animal Soul contains all those elements which give
force to the character: strength to will and to act with decision,
power to command and to contend, and perseverance to struggle
and battle with the trials of the Earth life here and with the contending forces of the Spiritual World hereafter. All the elements
which go to make Man great in a physical as well as moral sense
are born of the passions of this Animal Soul, and no one ever
emerged from the condition of the Dreamer and Visionary into
the active agent for the fulfillment of his dreams unless he cultivated the powers of his Animal Soul as fully as those of his moral and intellectual ones.
The love of conquest, the thirst for power from purely selfish
and greedy motives, becomes in the properly developed Spirit
of the higher spheres the strength by which he protects his weaker
brethren, and by which he contends with the Powers of Evil to
overthrow them – a strength and force of will which are developed
first in the rapacious conflicts of the Animal Soul during the
life of Earth and of the lower spheres.
From the equal development of all three of man's Moral,
Intellectual, and Physical attributes are born those seeds which
spring up into the beautiful flowers of a truly Spiritual character.
All the lower propensities of Man's Soul have each their
spiritual seed, and although when unduly developed and unequally balanced by the development of Man's higher nature and
uncontrolled by his moral and intellectual powers these
lower propensities bring suffering and destruction on all sides,
yet their very excess of development creates a force of character
which (when, the higher attributes become equally Developed
and in their turn the controlling powers of Man's Soul) will
send the Soul upwards with a velocity and a strength pf flight
equal to that with which the evil propensities dragged it down,
and these natures will possess a grandeur of character, a power
and breadth of thought, which, when combined, with the perfections
of the higher Soul enable their possessors to become rulers in the Spiritual World.
Our teachings are that the Soul, in its passage downwards
from the central source of life, travels through all the intermediate
spheres by a series of what may be termed "Births," since it
clothes itself in each sphere with something appertaining to
that sphere which is requisite to the completion of its individuality,
and when it touches the Earth sphere, and comes in contact with
the material organisms of its mortal parents, it obtains
the last elements necessary to form the Perfect Whole. At
this stage it has completed the first half of its pilgrimage and
assumed all those materials from which it is to evolve an individual consciousness for itself, and becomes at the moment
of its final birth into Earth life a responsible being, to reap the
reward or suffer the penalties of its own actions.
From this stage (the Earth life) it proceeds upwards through
a series of Deaths; i.e., castings off of the grosser husks from
which it has extracted the Spiritual germs (which husks are no
longer needful or useful to the Soul). There are some who
object to the word "Death" as signifying to the ordinary mind
vegetation is withered up by the blasting fires of unrestrained
passion and unchecked desires. The dry ashes of burnt-out
volcanic lives have buried the blossoms of the Soul beneath
their scorching dust, and the withered sticks of what were once
the trees and shrubs of good intentions and good desires stand
out like gaunt sentinels to mark where the purer life of the Soul
once flourished. The desolation of despair, of crushed and
blighted hopes, is shed around on everything. The dark rivers
of bitter tears shed by tardy and unavailing regret alone water
that sad land, and their scalding streams can never fertilize it,
but only add to its dead seas another rolling wave where already
there are too many flowing over the sad ruins of the city of the Soul.
Yet in the fierce flowing fires within the heart of the Star
a healing balm is found by those who have the fortitude and
courage to seek it; a purifying bath, in which the pure gold of
the Soul is refined and freed from the alloy of gross and material
passions. And from this purifying crucible, the Soul shall come
forth to rise to the spheres of that glorious third Star which,
gleams golden-rayed and crystal-clear, above both the other
stars; even as the Golden Star is the Crown and Diadem of the
heavenly spheres. From this Star dart many rays tinged with
all the colors of the rainbow, which, sparkle like the jewels in
a victor's crown. The crimson rays no longer typify the passions
of the Soul, but its tenderness and its love. The blue and white
no longer show alone its purity, but its truth and constancy. The
soft green denotes its sympathy, the violet, its regal power, the
Gold, its spiritual strength.
The dwellers in the spheres of the Golden Star have all
learned the lesson of Earth-life. They have all cultivated the
sympathies as well as the purity and intellect of their Souls,
and none enter its gates who have not learned in their own lives
to suffer and be strong that they may sympathize with and
In the complex nature of man and the conditions of his Earth
life it is but seldom that we see the distinct characteristics of
each of these Stars clearly defined, and as a rule men partake
in a greater or less degree of the attributes of both the light and
dark spheres. Those who show either class of qualities in an
abnormal degree, so that they stand forth as great moral teachers,
or as cruel and degraded tyrants, are decidedly the exceptions.
And yet it is the exceptional lives which stand forth for all
time from the lives of their fellow men, like pictures painted
upon large canvases in broad, strong touches, whose meaning
can be read even by the most ignorant, while the delicate minute
finish of a miniature, requiring a close inspection and a knowledge
of its workmanship to reveal its beauties, is lost upon the world at large.
The minute lives of ordinary men and women are no less
Useful and beneficial than those of exceptional characters, but they do not serve the same purpose in the lessons afforded by them. It is the lives of those who are great, either in their virtues or in their vices, which mark the progress which the world has made, and serve either as beacons to warn others of the shoals and rocks and quicksands upon which their own lives were wrecked, or as guiding stars to light the Soul upon its Heavenward way
In this “Story of Ahrinziman” will be found the record of such an exceptional life. In it will be shown, not alone the evils wrought by himself, but those for which others were responsible, the threads of whose lives were interwoven with his own; and also the blossoming into baleful flowers of those seeds of ambition and pride, or passion and intrigue, of revenge and murder, which were sown ere he was born, and which bore such terrible fruits, not alone for him himself to feed upon, but for all those whose hands had sown the seeds and whose actions had nourished them.
In the story of his Earth life will be told how these seeds were sown, and in his experiences in the Spirit World will be shown what fruit was reaped from each seed, and what share of the harvest each Soul whose hands had sown them had to garner into the storehouse of his memory and his life.
THE STORY OF AHRINZIMAN PART 1
When El Jazid, King of Persia, returned from a successful campaign against the Greeks, he brought with him a captive maiden of the most surpassing beauty and the most exquisite grace and charm, a captive destined to reign over the heart of the mighty monarch as its sole queen, and to cause the most powerful king to bow before the potent sway of love as her most abject slave.
And yet this maiden was gentle and timid as a wild fawn, and ignorant of all sacrifice as a little child.
In the devastating march of the Persian conqueror, a splendid Temple of the Greeks had been plundered, its priests slain and its vestals.
Among the captives brought before El Jazid to see if perchance there were any who would find favor in his eyes, there were none so beautiful as Cynthia, the daughter of Archelaus, a maiden of barely fifteen years of age, who had from her infancy, been dedicated to the service of the Gods. Like a child she had lived within the temple walls, ignorant of all things beyond them; ignorant alike of the passions which stir the hearts of men, of the joys unspeakable, the woes unfathomable that spring from their loves and their hates, their ambitions and their pride; ignorant of all the tender joys of relationship, and of the varied hopes and fears which fill the hearts of those who dwell amidst the whirlpool of life, and learn in the struggle for existence, the force of the latent powers within the soul.
Cynthia was terrified like a child at being brought before the monster who had slain or taken captive all those whom her brief life had been spent, and yet she was without that fear of death which inspired the terror of her companions, for she had lived all her life with the Dead, she had held communion with them as with hear and dear friends, and thus the word "Death" had no meaning of fear for her. But she felt
bewildered and full of dread of this unknown and powerful
being who inspired grief and fear in all around her.
And when the eyes of the king beheld how fair she was,
and when he felt the strange thrill of love and admiration which
the sight of her beauty inspired, he bade all others to depart
that he might speak alone with this beauteous maid. And as
Cynthia raised her soft dark eyes to the King's face to read
therein her fate, she felt neither fear nor terror, but only a sense
of wonder, and a dim consciousness that her heart was stirred
by an emotion unknown before.
When all had left the king's presence but the lovely Greek,
he arose from his throne of state, and, approaching his captive
took her hand and gazed into her calm, childlike eyes; and as
he did so she felt abased at the thought of the fate he had at first
destined for her, and ashamed at the baseness of his own, desires. Involuntarily the haughty conqueror knelt at the feet
of this young maiden and kissed, like a humble slave, the hem
of her robe and the soft white fingers of her fair hand.
At the touch of his lips, the soul of the woman awoke in
Cynthia; and the days of her childhood were forever past. She
tasted of the first fruits of the tree of knowledge, and felt for the
first time a shadowy sense of the power which love can exercise
over the hearts of women and of men, for in her heart there was
the first throb of that awakening love which was to make for
her and for the king the reality and the tragedy of their lives.
The days of her dreaming were over. From henceforth she
was to live, the real life of Earth, and to descend from those
mystic mountains of the Soul whereon she had communed only
with the Past; she was to live henceforth on the lower plane of
life, the true existence of the Present.
And for El Jazid also, a, new era had begun: he, too, was to
learn how all-powerful can be the sway of love as distinguished
from mere passion; how even ambition and the love of conquest
could sink into secondary things and be as feather-weights
in the balance. He who had treated all women as playthings
with which to amuse the idle hours, learned to hang upon every
word, every look, of his lovely captive, and to obey her every
wish. When he was exiled from her presence he was restless
and unhappy until he could, return to her again. He assigned
to her the most gorgeous tent, the most luxurious litter to travel
in, slaves and attendants innumerable, who were bidden to
study her every wish as though she had been the Queen herself.
And for it all he exacted no favors save such as she willingly gave.
And Cynthia herself, when the first wonder at the strangeness
had passed, gave back to the king a Iove as deep and tender
as his own; yea, even more, tender, for to the innocent affection
of a child she joined the infinite, tenderness of a woman. In
her pure soul ignorant of all passions, the king's love awakened
a mingled feeling of gratitude and love, which showed itself in
an anxious desire to please him in all things; and, with the unerring instinct of affection, she learned a thousand ways in which
to touch his heart, so that ere long, had she but chosen, she could
have become the most powerful person at his court.
El Jazid's first idea had been to marry Cynthia and raise
her to the position of his second queen, but reflection caused
him to abandon that idea as endangering, it might be, her very
existence. For the king had a queen already: a beautiful,
haughty princess, the daughter of one of his most powerful
neighbors and richest ally, and a woman whom he knew would
brook no rival in his affections or sharer of his throne, and he
felt that Cynthia's life would be a brief one did Queen Artemisia
know of his infatuation for her. Had Cynthia herself desired
him was so great, that there is little doubt he would have braved
even the anger of his proud queen and the enemity of her haughty
family to make her so, but she was innocent and ignorant as a
child of the world's standards of rank and honor: ambition and
power had; no meaning for her, and she had no sense of the inferior position she held as simply an acknowledged favorite of the king.
Within the temple walls, Cynthia had seen none save those
few attendants who waited upon her and the aged priests under
whose instructions she had grown up; she regarded the king
as a wise and powerful being, whose ability to make all around
him bow to his will, gave him a position akin to that which she
had associated with the idea of a God. Her ignorance of the true relations of men on Earth towards each other was as great
as was her power of seeing and describing the beauties of the
far-off spirit spheres, and she never thought of resisting or questioning any wish of the man whose devotion had won her heart
and whose power had subjugated her mind. Of herself she
never thought, because all self had been so steadily repressed
and so thoroughly neutralized that she had become but the pliant
echo of the thoughts of others that were transmitted through
her. Her own individuality had been so early and so long repressed that she had lost the power of thinking, either for or of herself. Placed in the temple in her infancy, she had remained almost an infant in heart and mind.
To El Jazid, accustomed to the intrigues and self-seeking
ambitions which tainted the atmosphere of a court, the strange,
dreamy innocence of the young Greek came as a rest and a
relief. Her arms were a refuge to which he could escape when
the cares of state and the incessant intriguing among those who
sought to raise themselves in his favor became a burden and a
weariness. From Cynthia he heard of none of these things,
but she would tell him wondrous stories of her Dream-World,
and the beautiful visions she had seen, the bright and glorious
beings with whom she had held converse, and would paint with
playful childish pleasure the future she imagined for them both
when the ties of Earth should no longer chain their souls.
In yielding to the king's love she had in a measure descended
to his level and taken upon her the conditions of his life, so that
she no longer beheld the glories of the higher spheres. Their
gates were closed to her, but she still possessed the power of foreseeing things which lay near the Earth, and although her absorption in the happiness which filled her life made her in a
measure blind even to these things, she was yet able to relate
to the king much concerning himself, and to warn him of more
than one threatened disaster.
Thus between a dream life and a life of active reality, did
the king and Cynthia spend the first few months of their strange
union. El Jazid lingered afar from his kingdom, although the
necessities of conquest no longer constrained him to do so, and
was loath to return to his palace at Agbatana and to the queen,
whose jealous eyes he feared might discover his secret attachment.
He was, however, soon aroused from his dreaming. A messenger
arrived one day, travel stained and exhausted with his
riding, bearing to the king the announcement that the Queen
had borne him a son, an heir to the throne, and that she bade
him leave all else and hasten to her side.
With mingled feelings of joy and apprehension the king
read the letter. This event, which had been hoped for in vain
for several years, and which would once have filled him with
the greatest joy and pride, quickening anew all his love for the
mother of his child, was no longer the greatest desire of his ambition, and awakened no feelings towards the Queen but one of
regret that her son must ever come in succession before any
which his beloved Cynthia, the true queen of his heart, might
bear him. The letter also, couched in terms of the fondest
affection, read like a reproach from one whose love he had well
nigh forgotten. Return to the Queen he must, but ere doing
so it was necessary that he should provide for the safety of Cynthia,
and for her rejoining him as soon as possible.
In this emergency, he bethought him of his chief commander,
Ben al Zulid, a man of noble and intrepid character; upon whose
fidelity he knew, he could rely even in so difficult and delicate a
matter. After a short conference between them it was agreed
that the safest thing was for the king to appear to bestow the
beautiful Cynthia upon his favorite general, together with a
small palace which closely adjoined the king's own apartments
in his palace at Parsagherd, and which might almost have been
considered to form part of ifs outer, buildings. Between the
a secret passage underground, with two hidden doors,
one at either end, and the method of opening which was to be
known to the king alone. Al Zulid was commissioned to bring
a cunning artificer from Hindustan, at that time much celebrated
for such kinds of workmanship, to construct the passage and
the spring by which the doors should be made to open and close.
Meanwhile, Cynthia was to be taken care of by Al Zulid, and
treated by him with as much respect as though she was in reality
the queen: neither he nor any of his household were to see her,
the attendants given to her by the king, upon whose fidelity he
could rely, being alone allowed to wait upon her.
In return for these services the King bestowed upon Al Zulid
much treasure, and raised him to a still higher position of honor
than he already occupied.
This agreement Ben Al Zulid kept with the most scrupulous
exactness, and a delicate regard, not alone for the position and
welfare of the beautiful Cynthia herself, but also for the best
interests of the King.
Having thus confided the care of his Beloved to his friend
the King made all haste to return to the Palace at Agbatana,
where his impatient and proud Queen awaited him.
Had beauty been sufficient to win and hold the King’s heart,
then surely had he remained captive to the charms of the fair
Artemisia, for she was one of the most beautiful of women Nature
had lavished upon her intellect and beauty, its fairest gifts. Of commanding stature yet slender form, her supple, perfectly
rounded limbs might have formed the model for a sculptor, while
the finely cut features, the lustrous dark eyes, the perfectly arched
eyebrows, the clearr pallor of the skin, the full exquisitely moulded
red lips, were rendered yet more beaitiful, and more alluring to the eyes of most men by the air of haughty pride and queenly dignity which pervaded their expression. The sensuous droop of the full-lidded eyes, the gleam of anger which at slight provocation shot from them, the full strong chin and jaw, with the quick tightening of the shapely mouth when roused to anger, would all have been signs of temper unheeded by most men, or else would only served as incentives to them, to try whether they could not conquer the heart of this proud beauty, and make those haughty lips whisper fond words for their ears alone, and those dark eyes brighten at their approach. Thus had it once been with El Jazid. Artemisia had roused his passionsand charmed his senses and allured his lower Soul, but her beauty had been powerless to awaken the love of his higher self, the purer and truer love she had been unable to win; Cynthia, and Cynthia alone, could do that, and at her touch the lower, coarser love of the King for Artemisia had melted like a castle of cloud and mist before the glowing beams of the noon-day sun. Thus when El Jazid reached Agbatana, and beheld again the wondrous sensual beauty of his haughty Queen, the mother now of his child, it awoke but a faint echo of the old passion, a feeble return of the old warmth. And though his words were as tener, and full of affection as of old, his phrases as complimentary, his attentions as carefully studied, the heart of the proud, passionate woman, hungering for love and thirsting for devlotion, detected at once, the hollowness of his set phrases, the emptiness of his
honeyed-words, his formal caresses, the artificiality of his endearments, and in vehement anger and disappointment refused to be satisfied with the pretence of a love which her woman’s instinct told her she had somehow lost.
To El Jazid, she said nothing to show that she perceived
any difference in his manner, but she sought to win back from
the returned husband, the devotion of the lover who had left
her less than a year before. She used every art of which she was
mistress, and used them in vain, and she felt it was no longer
possible for her to keep his love, since between their hearts some
barrier had risen which no attentions on the King's part could
And still, while he remained with her, she made no sign,
dissembling with oriental caution the anger that she felt; but when,
after a brief stay, and with a slender, ill-acted show of regret,
for El Jazid was but a poor dissembler, he had left her again,
declaring that he must return to his army, the anger of the slighted
woman broke forth in a violent storm of rage, and she felt a
fierce thirst for vengeance upon the woman who had stolen from
her the King's heart, and usurped that first place in his thoughts
could have so changed the King's manner to her, and she was
seized with a wild determination to learn who this unknown
beauty could be, and to behold one whose charms had proved
more potent than her own, strong enough to draw El Jazid from
the side of the Princess, who had distinguished him above her
many suitors and conferred upon him the honor of becoming
the husband of the proud Artemisia. Wounded love struggled
in her hear with wounded pride, and from the conflict was born
a hatred as deep and a|l-absorbing as the love had been.
When the first burst of passion was over Artemisia, with the
craft of her oriental nature, resolved to conceal her suspicions
from El Jazid, and to act towards him as before, in order that
she might better accomplish her revenge upon him and his new
favorite. She set spies to follow the King, and report to her his
every movement, and it was not long ere she learned of the existence of Cynthia, and of the devotion El Jazid had shown to her,
although so quietly had she been taken away by Al Zulid, and
so effectually had he hidden her, that no trace of her whereabouts
could be found. None knew what had become of her, nor by
whom she had been taken away. The King's own visits to
Cynthia being now made with the utmost secrecy and caution,
the spies of Queen Artemisia were for a time completely baffled.
Meanwhile, the making of the secret passage between the
two Palaces at Parsagherd was being rapidly hurried forward.
The Hindoo artificer, whom the King's large bribe had tempted
from his own country, was assisted in his work by a clever, black
slave only. The care taken in making the passage was so great
that all the workmen were brought from a great distance and
carefully prevented from holding any communication with persons employed in the Palace itself. When the work was at length completed, these foreign workmen and the Hindoo artisan were carefully escorted back to their own country, the poor black slave, alone, being left behind. This unfortunate man, belonging to the city of Agbatana, and being employed about the Palace, it occurred to the King that the safest thing to do was,to put him to death, lest at any time he should be tempted to betray the secret of the passage and orders were therefore sent for his execution, the life of one poor slave being but a feather’s weight in the balance compared to the preservation of an Emperor's secret.
When all was at last completed, Al Zulid installed himself
and his household in the house assigned to him, and then brought
Cynthia safely to the part of it which had been prepared for her,
and which was surrounded by high walls, and everything which
it was thought could serve for her protection. Shortly after this,
the court was moved to Parsagherd, and the King was once more
able to visit his beloved freely, and, as he believed, unsuspected.
To the Queen, he maintained always the same scrupulously
careful show of devotion, and so well did Artemisia act her part,
so carefully did she dissemble her wrath, that El Jazid imagined his
secret was in no immediate danger of discovery, and gave himself up to the unrestrained enjoyment of Cynthia's society, scarce
observing as he otherwise might have done, the smouldering fire
which gleamed in the eyes of Artemisia, when he pleaded the
cares of state as a reason why he could not devote more of his
time to her.
Yet not so easily was the death of even a poor slave to pass over
unavenged. It was but a seed, and a small one, in that harvest
field of sorrow which was to surround poor Cynthia. Yet that
seed became a Upas tree whose branches were to blight at their
source the well-spring of hope and love and maternal tenderness
which had sprung up amidst the cramped and blighted affections
of a heart which had been denied all the natural ties of earthly
kindred, all interests which might have abstracted her thoughts
from the contemplation of Heavenly things. The tender joys, the
soft sweet holy thoughts of expectant motherhood, were awakening in Cynthia's Soul, and with a trembling, half-fear, half-hope, she looked forward to the unfolding of a tiny life within her own, the blossoming into life of a little emblem of their love; hopes which gave a new soft light to her eyes and imparted a new meaning to her love for El Jazid.
One evening as the sun was setting and the twilight shadows
were gathering over the valley that lay below, Cynthia and El
Jazid were seated together upon a low divan; and her head rested
upon his shoulder in the sweet abandonment of happy love; her