I am entering a solemn house. It is called "the house of inner composure or self collection." In the background are many burning candles arranged so as to form four pyramid like points. An old man stands at the door of the house. People enter, they do not talk and often stand still in order to concentrate. The old man at the door tells me about the visitors to the house and says: "When they leave they are pure." I enter the house now, and I am able to concentrate completely. A voice says:
"What thou art doing is dangerous. Religion is not a tax which thou payest in order to get rid of the woman's image, for this image is indispensable. Woe to those who use religion as a substitute for the other side of the soul's life. They are in error and they shall be cursed. Religion is no substitute, but it is the ultimate accomplishment added to every other activity of the soul. Out of the fullness of life thou shalt give birth to thy religion and only then shalt thou be blessed."
Together with the last sentence a faint music becomes audible, simple tunes played by an organ...As I leave the house I have the vision of a flaming mountain and I feel that a fire which can not be quenched must be a sacred fire.