An American poet and mystic sets out with single-minded determination to unite the peoples of the earth through meditation, telepathy, and the collective subconscious and to bring them to the knowledge of the one true God of humanity. He finds unlikely help from an English artist, a Turkish dervish, and an Austrian governmental bureaucrat. For a time, the mystic and his friends succeed, and the world knows peace and spiritual joy until the failings of human nature undo the promise. As the story unfolds, the reader is challenged to question what lies at the core of the spiritual degeneration of our time.
Genre: FICTION / Visionary & MetaphysicalThe novel is read by New Age and philospohical readers. It is valued as awakening the reader to changes in the philosophy of religion.
Abel Kingston slowly stroked his black beard with the fingers of his left hand. He gazed out the window of his bedroom at the small park below in Boerseplatz in Vienna's first district. Before him, propped on an easel, was an unfinished painting of the scene. Abel was not concentrating on finishing it, however. His mind was wandering to other scenes he had witnessed weeks before.
Red banners on the reviewing stand erected before the City Hall streamed in the breezes. It was May Day. There was an atmosphere of excitement in the watching crowds. Contingents of workers carried signs and posters expressing hopes for the future and pride in achievements. The marchers split formation to disband on either side of the reviewing stand, the young men among them rolled up the colorful flags they carried, and the women scooped up their children whom they had led by the hand in the parade "to collect the Communist dole of sixty schillings per head," the Catholics said.
A month later, at the first dark of evening, well-disciplined bands of white-shirted Catholic boys, carrying lit candles and led by black-shirted priests, marched to the tune of the hymn they sang to the front of the City Hall and disbanded there just as the Socialists had done.
Although he was an artist and, therefore, he thought, detached from the world's politics and turmoil, Abel dreamed that he was actually leading a group advancing on the City Hall. With one hand on hip, he gripped his brush like a baton with the other, swung it over his head and gave a broad side grin as he looked at his reflection in the bureau mirror.
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Spanish
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Already translated.
Translated by Sandra Alcántar
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