PRIESTS.
The real mortal, the ideal divine. The real awakens desire, the ideal feeds it. The real is the maimed, the halt and the blind; it is the sepulchre of faith; the poor, the tawdry, the miserable, it is the measure of our imperfect attainment of the ideal.
The ideal is the supreme made possible by love and charity. It is wide as imagination, perfect as love, calm as death. It is the unchangeable and the immortal.
The real with its disappointments is soul shattering, but the ideal is perennial life.
The more inaccessible the pleasure, the keener the delight in its pursuit.
In love, accessibility is death.
PRIESTESSES.
By losing the real we obtain the ideal. What others strive for we possess. Praise to Harikar for the most glorious of men, for precious viands, odoriferous wines, rare and costly jewels, marvellous stuffs, and the hundred temples and gardens of Egyplosis! Praise to Harikar for our counterpart souls!
PRIESTS.
Praise to Harikar for the loveliest of women, noble, cultured and tender, with whom Nirvana is ecstasy.