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A Question of the Day

There is no question but that the atmosphere in which we live is magnetic, or, at least, capable of being made so, —of being so charged with spiritual magnetism that all outwards evens are not only modified, but are even determined by this all-pervading force. Is it in Festus that we find the lines—

There are points from which we may command our life,
When the soul sweeps the future like a glass;
And coming things, full-freighted with our fate,
Jut out on the dark offing of the mind?

And it is more than a question if every morning is not such a point in life.

Every day is a fresh beginning;
Every morn is the world made new.
—From "New Evert Morning" by Susan Coolidge

Each day we stand on the threshold of a new lifetime. We may say that the consequences of one day, of one year, of one decade, reach over into another; that they overlap each other; that we are always, as the Theosophists would phrase it, under the influence of a past karma. But consequences wear out; new karma, new conditions, replace the old; and then, overall and above all, there is the absolute and unchanging and eternal truth of the forgiveness of the Divine Love. Up to this point theosophical speculation, as well as the so-called liberal 'thought,' is full of vitality and clearness. It is helpfully explanatory of the phenomena of life, of its various states and planes. But rationalism does not satisfy, as an end. It is all very well as a means, and so far as it goes; but it does not go very far. We come face to face with the crisis hour when we demand that the miracle shall be wrought; that all past sins and transgressions, errors and weaknesses and failures, shall be absolutely blotted out, that we may take strength and courage to begin again. It is here that we come to the infinite comfort, the infinite restoration, of the assurance that 'so far as the east is from the west, so far hath He removed our transgressions from us,'—not only forgiven, but removed them. They lie no more in our way—obstacles and stumbling-blocks. There is a new way and a new life. We have only to arise and walk in it.

And walk in it with faith, with happiness, with spiritual serenity; with that exhilaration of delight which can only come by throwing off every weight, every clog, and feeling sure of the new heaven and the new earth that another day has brought.

The glory of the morning is far more than a mere phrase. There lies around it something of the 'trailing clouds of glory,' in which, the poet tells us, we came 'from God, who is our home.' The day lies before us like an unwritten tablet, to be inscribed as we will; like a fresh canvas on which we shall paint with colors all our own; or like the mass of clay out of which we shall ourselves shape the statue that waits in it all unformed.

And how can it be done? By the heavenly magnetism, the spiritual energy which may be generated, liberated, as the chemist would say; by putting oneself in harmony with the Divine Spirit; by coming into that attitude of receptivity to the Infinite Love and Infinite Strength which renew and transform life. 'In the morning will I direct my prayer unto Thee, and will look up. And let all them that put their trust in Thee rejoice; they shall be ever giving Thee thanks because Thou defendest them: they that love Thy Name shall be joyful in Thee.' 'Thou wilt show me the path of life; in Thy presence is the fullness of joy, and at Thy right hand there is pleasure for evermore.'

'Commit thy way unto the Lord, and put thy trust in Him, and He shall bring it to pass.' Who can remember these words without realizing their infinite depth of significance? We have only to accept the simple, literal meaning, and absolutely trust in it. 'Create in me a new heart'; 'Renew my spirit,'—these phrases are not mere rhetoric, not merely vague words to be read in a Sunday service at church; but they are the most practical of truths applied to daily living. 'Ask and ye shall receive,' said Jesus. What can be more simple?

However full days or weeks or years have been of annoyance, unrest, trouble, even sin, the miracle may be wrought in any life on any morning, by which all the unrest, the trial, the sorrow shall be lifted, the burden removed, and the soul caught up to ineffable joy and life and light. One has but to give himself absolutely to the communion of the spirit—to place himself in receptivity to the currents of spiritual energy and heavenly magnetism. He can will that into the untried day before him shall come only wisdom and beauty and peace and sweetness and love, and the miracle—if it be one—shall be wrought. Undreamed-of charm shall wait upon the hours. The friend, unexpected yet always longed for, shall appear. The event so desired, yet hardly anticipated, shall come to pass. Work, in all its lines of accomplishment, shall take on new achievements. The hour shall be regal in splendor of vision and imagery, and there shall be literally a new heaven and a new earth.

Thoughts not only 'let us into realities,' but they are realities. They are the only realities—the only forces that create permanent results. The new and higher life on which all humanity is entering will, undoubtedly, reduce to the exactness of a science the potential spiritual development that shall produce at will this magnetic atmosphere, in which the desire or the thought shall be vitalized into the deed.

Simply to come to this, to bring our thought' in unison with God's great thought,' and we create the conditions wherein 'whatsoe'er is willed is done.' We may, before leaving our own room in the morning, absolutely create the conditions of the day, control and shape its events, select its actors, and stamp the entire drama with this magnetic spiritual vitality.

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Lilian Whiting

  • Born on October 3rd, 1859 in Niagara Falls, New York and died in 1942
  • Author and journalist
  • Edited The Boston Traveler and The Boston Budget

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