The Seed and the Earth

That is enough. But to say something of my own in plain terms: she is an actual salt, yet extremely soft and somewhat thin and fluid, neither as hard nor as thick as

common extracted salts. She is none of these, nor any kind of salt that man can make. She is a seed Nature herself draws from the elements without the help of art. Man may find it where Nature leaves it; making or extracting the seed is not his office. It is already made, lacking only a womb and heat suitable for generation. You should now consider where Nature leaves this seed. Yet many are so dull that, even when told what they must do, they do not know how to work. In animal generation we see that the seed does not depart from both parents: it remains with the female, where it is perfected. In the great world, although all the elements contribute to the composition of the seed, it does not depart from them all. It remains with earth or water, though more immediately with one than the other. Do not feed your thoughts now on Aristotle's phlegmatic, undigested vomit. Look at the earth's green, youthful, flowering bosom. Consider what a vast universal receptacle this element is. The stars and planets look down upon her. Though they cannot descend here themselves, they shed their golden locks upon her like so many bracelets and tokens of love. The sun is

perpetually busy, carrying his fire round her as though he would sublime something from her bosom and rob her of a secret, enclosed jewel. Has anything been lost since the creation? Would you know its very bed and pillow? It is earth. How many cities do you think have perished by the sword, how many by earthquakes, and how many by the flood? Perhaps you want to know where they are now. Believe it: they share one grave. What was once their mother is now their tomb. All things return to the place from which they came, and that place is earth. If you have leisure, run through Nature's alphabet and examine every letter—I mean every particular creature in her book. What becomes of her grass, grain, herbs and flowers? It is true that men and beasts use them, but this is only along the way; they do not rest until they return to earth. In this element they had their first station, and in it they will have their last. Think, if other vanities allow you, of all the generations before you; anticipate all those that will follow. Where are the beauties past times have produced, and what will become of those who appear in future ages? They will all return to the same dust. They have

one common house, and no family is so numerous as the grave's. Look at Nature's daily games: her clouds and mists, the scenes and pageantry of the air. Even these momentary things withdraw into earth's chamber. If the sun dries her, she can drink as quickly. What rises in clouds descends as water. Earth swallows everything and, like the philosophical dragon, eats her own tail. The wise poets saw this. In their mystical language they called earth Saturn, saying that she fed on her own children. Truly there is more truth in their stately verse than in Aristotle's dull prose: he was a blind beast, and malice made him so. But to go a little further, I would have you digest what you read, dwell a little on earth, and avoid flying up at once to admire the meteors of your own brain. In winter, as you know, earth is a dull, dark, dead thing: a contemptible frozen, phlegmatic lump. But as spring approaches and the sun warms her, what rare pearls appear in this dunghill! What glorious colours and tinctures she reveals! A pure, eternal green spreads over her, attended by countless other beauties: roses red and white, golden lilies, azure violets and the bleeding hyacinths, with their various

heavenly fragrances and spices. If you will take my advice, learn where earth gets these invisible treasures—this annual Flora that never appears without the sun's attentions. I shall tell you as plainly as I may. There are two extremes in the world, matter and spirit; I can assure you that one of these is earth. The spirit's influences animate and quicken matter, and in the material extreme the spirit's seed is found. This seed does not stay in intermediate natures, such as fire, air and water. These merely distribute or mediate it, conveying it from one extreme to the other: from spirit to matter, that is, to earth. But wait, my friend! This information has stirred you, and you now rush forward as though you would plunder the cabinet. Allow me to put you back. I do not mean this common, foul, impure earth; that enters my discourse only as a means of leading you by the hand. What I speak of is a mystery: the heaven of earth and the earth of heaven, not this dirt and dust, but a most secret, celestial, invisible earth.