And so it came to pass that one day, at my thirty years of age, quite illiterate as I was, I entered the house of a man, at that time unknown to me, in order to borrow a theosophical book. A colleague of mine at the office where I was employed had recommended this gentleman to me, whose theosophical books my colleague was just studying. Through a conversation with this colleague my attention was arrested by this kind of literature. At this time a very strong yearning for spiritual knowledge had seized me, combined with a longing to be doing something beyond scribbling figures, and so I eagerly grasped at this opportunity. Thanks to my colleague, I was most heartily invited to the man referred to above.
      After having talked with this man for a while I left his house, taking with me a theosophical book, and his parting words still ringing in my ears: "you will soon be my teacher."
      As he had foretold, so it came to pass. I did not get through the book in question, and little it was that I remember from its contents; but it had the effect of making me meditate on God. And one evening, when I tried to do so, I had the following experience, after which, for psychical reasons, it was quite impossible for me to go on reading, for from that moment my own consciousness had become an inexhaustible spiritual fountain, rendering absolutely superfluous all study of literature.