My mother was astrological secretary
with Augusta and Max Heindel, beginning with early 1914. The Fellowship was small in numbers but was a
happy and harmonious family. Mother
came up to Los Angeles frequently on
weekends and very shortly brought me
a Cosmo to read. I was impressed with
its clear and rational presentation of
occult truths, and when Max Heindel
came to speak at the Los Angeles Center, I went to hear him. When we met,
each of us knew instantly that we were
old friends from previous lives.
Being invited to come down to Oceanside, I boarded the Santa Fe train the
next weekend, and upon alighting saw
a tiny little village of about two blocks
and a scattering of a few homes. I
walked the two miles of gravel road to
the Fellowship grounds, and found that
Headquarters consisted of an administration building (housing all activities),
a small chapel, and about three cottages.
Subsequently making frequent weekend trips to Oceanside, I became well
acquainted with Mr. and Mrs. Heindel,
and whenever there was an accumulation of work in setting up and reading
the horoscopes of applicants for help,
I assisted Mrs. Heindel and my mother.
Usually after the Sunday morning service, Max Heindel and I sat on a bench
near the spot where the Rose Cross Emblem is now. We chatted about many
subjects of mutual interest: astronomy,
astrology, the Philosophy, and the
sciences, always including refreshing
little human reminiscences and a joke
or two. Those were delightful times.
One Sunday morning, as we left the
Chapel, a visitor walked along with us,
mentioning how much he liked the accordion. Mr. Heindel said: "Well, accordion is the common name, but the
classical name is 'come to me, go from
me." We laughed heartily, and I have
recalled the incident countless times.
One day while helping Mrs. Heindel
with the horoscopes I called her "Aunt
Gussie." She liked it and suggested
that I always call her that. I said I
would be happy to, but added that
then Mr. Heindel would need to be
"Uncle Max," so henceforth they were,
and became a cherished uncle and aunt.
On one trip to Oceanside, the regular
service and the Moon Meeting coincided,
and I was asked to speak at the regular
service, while "Uncle Max" conducted
the Moon Meeting. There was a vacant
chair left in the front row, and presently the Brother was there.
I had been teaching the Los Angeles
Philosophy Class for some time, particularly the Scheme of Evolution. One
day, as I sat down at the piano for
practice, I saw that the entire scheme,
as so beautifully portrayed in the Cosmo was on the keyboard — the significance of the five Hierarchies that gave
us some help and then passed into liberation, and also the seven that were
to further their involution and evolution in regular progression, to minute
detail. On the next trip to Oceanside, I
described what I had done. "Uncle
Max" was impressed and suggested that
I write it all out, with an explanatory
diagram. I did so and he published it
in the March, 1917, issue of Rays from
the Rose Cross.
I felt that I knew Max Heindel better
than most other people, and there is a
reason for this. When an author is read
and studied, the salient features of his
nature are quite apparent, but the other
facets of his composite being are not.
They are more or less hidden behind
the work he concentrates upon. In intimate, personal association, the other
sides reveal themselves. We were able to
discuss the reverent, devotional aspirations, the comprehension of the cultures,
music, art, the sciences, and in addition,
the human, so essential to balanced development.
Max Heindel was a living example of
the precepts of the Rosicrucian Fellowship Teachings: "A sane mind, a soft
heart, a sound body," and the counterpart: "Be ye wise as the serpent, strong
as the lion, harmless as the dove." He
knew that the Elder Brothers frowned
upon organization in general, and
sought carefully to avoid any more than
was necessary for carrying on administration. Also, he was keenly aware
that our real progress along the path
of illumination was from within — "the
temple without sound of hammer." He
decried any form of regimentation, and
frequently emphasized that we should
not too suddenly strive to become so
enlightened that we would lose the value
of experience of the particular horoscope we had chosen for that very
purpose.
He tried, valiantly, to stress the reverent, devotional nature of the mystic,
the occult side of intellectual comprehension, and to balance them with sufficient of the
wholesome, human influences for rational unfoldment. It was a privilege to have worked with him.
— Rays from the Rose Cross Magazine, February, 1965, p. 64, 83
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