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Kundry, the marvelous Eve of Hebrew mythology, unconscious victim of the evil magician, exclaims with infinite pain whilst before the Wagnerian Parsifal:

“Good I do never: for rest I am yearning… I am yearning, ah, I am wretched, weary! Slumber! Oh, may I not be wakened!“ 

Then, at that moment, she starts to experience in the distance the currents from the magician’s suggestion. Thus, falling into a frightful trembling, she exclaims: “No! Not slumber! Terror seizes me!”

She utters a noiseless cry, all her body falls into a violent trembling, like a leaf of a herb shaken by the tempest, until she is impotent against the spell. Then, leaving her arms and head to drop wearily and walking a few wavering steps, she sinks down hypnotized behind the bushes, while lamenting:

“Vain to resist. The time has come. Slumber… Slumber… I must… Slumber I must.”

The woman of antonomasia, the symbolic woman, the original she-devil, the prototype of perdition and of downfall, whom not even Amfortas himself, the magnificent King of the Holy Grail, could resist, now sleeps under the hypnotic power of the evil magician…

But, how beautiful we see you, Kundry! You were born as a miracle in the Eden of all marvels! You are the most beautiful thought of the creator, made flesh, blood, and life…!

Your delectable body seems to have been molded with delicate roses from the shore of the stretch of the arable land, which makes Uad-Al Kebir fertile…!

The taciturn fronds, silvered by the pale moon, have given a sweet shade to your eyelashes…

Your eyelids of exotic enchantment were created with divine leaves of orange blossoms. Essence of sublime spikenards are hidden within your bosom…

Your fascinating braided hair seems rather like night cascades falling upon your nubile shoulders…

How beautiful you are…! Art you listening to me? Your enchanted mouth smiles; in dreams, your tongue is in strife with words to come…

The starry heaven opens as a rose; you are asleep, Kundry, poisoned by an exotic mystery that nobody understands…!

You are asleep, yes…! I know this… The forest from The Thousand and One Nights lends me its foliage, where the birds that sweetly sing make their nest. The grove softly whispers, the river murmurs amidst its bed of rocks; everything invites to a nap; thus, you sleep, Eva, Kundry, Gundryggia, Herodias…

You sleep amidst your secret laments: you are an unconscious victim of a fatal sortilege…!

But, oh God of mine…! What a terrifying idea pursues you in dreams? What is it that you do not want to do, yet you do?

Parsifal UnveiledThis chapter is from Parsifal Unveiled (1972) by Samael Aun Weor. The published editions by Glorian Publishing (a non-profit organization) are illustrated to aid your understanding, and include features like a glossary and index. Buy the book, and you benefit yourself and others.

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