An Account of an Awakening

William Samuel



Original paperback first printing, 1976

Copyright 1976 by William Samuel All rights reserved.


Joyfully published by:

Butterfly Publishing House

Sandy Jones

307 N. Montgomery St. Ojai, CA 93023




Many hymns, chants, prayers and mantras have come down to us through the centuries. We know that certain of them contain an especial and mysterious authority when read aloud. Behind their words, beyond their words –indeed, being their words–lies a Message understood by the Heart alone, simply awaiting our conscious recognition.


THE MELODY OF THE WOODCUTTER AND THE KING is a rhythmic, alliterative mantra of awakening. The significance of its message can lift the laden, world weary seeker of Truth from a distorted sense of the world and himself into a new universe of Peace, All-rightness and childlike Joy unending!


Reader, you may prove this for yourself immediately. For just a time, sit easy like a child and listen to the melody and changing rhythm of this short and simple story. With a tender touch —and without struggling to understand every meaning—read THE MELODY OF THE WOODCUTTER AND THE KING to yourself aloud. The Heart of you, the Child of you, the Real of you will understand whatever the intellect does not.

Do not be surprised at the expansion of Awareness, Joy and dominion that are certain to follow soon in your experience.

—William Samuel

Woodsong 1976




There is a story to tell but I am the only one here to tell it and the only one to listen. There is a picture to paint but I am the only one here with canvas and oil,

the only one who will see it. There is a symphony to play yet there is only one here to draw the bow.

This one, the Alone One,

is the only one here to listen.


This is as it should be, however,

for it allows the picture to be painted, the symphony sounded

and the story told as it truly is. Then, if there seems an angry word in the telling,

my Listening will never hear it. If there seems a distorted scene, the Seeing I am will understand it, because one alone is here to listen to the symphony on this page. This one, the Only One, understands His melody!




Atop my Holy Mountain, I looked up and out; scepter in hand, I looked roundabout

and beheld a magnificent land, a happy land, a finished land of harmony.


Thought I,

This land is my Kingdom

and I am the King thereof.

In it I reign.

In it I command and it is done.

In it I decree with absolute authority

and illusion yields itself to me,

rendering reports of majesty and harmony,

of tender beauty and simplicity.

 Then I looked down, unseen.


At the forest's edge

a woodcutter stood chopping with his axe.

Stroke after stroke he fought the forest

and his axe glistened in the sun.


Father, how long must I labor?

I heard him shout.

How long must I contend?

How long before I see Thee face to face,

before I put aside this axe

and take Thy scepter in its place?

How long before I see your abundance,

free to feast forever?


Then the woodman fell to his knees to rest.

Clutching the axe, he whispered,

Father, show me what to do!

Show me how to stop this struggle

and still the fear within!

Show me how to quench the come and go,

the ebb and flow between serenity and sadness.

Show me love again, and laughter.

Let discord cease

that I may feel Peace.

Father, there is no worth in me!

Show me Thyself. Show me Thee!


Oh! Those words of agony I had heard before.

The woodcutter's anguish had been my own song of yore.


Yea, this man is my Son.

I have found the Prince!

Let me greet him; let me comfort him.

Let me quench his thirst

and take away his axe.

Let me remind him of his dominion

and show him the land of his heritage.

This is my Son in whom I am well pleased.

 It is my joy to give him the Kingdom!


From out the brightness of the morning sun

I spoke to him.

I know thee who thou art.

I am the one you asked for.


And he knew me as I knew him.

Division was discarded.

We were one again!


Put away your axe,

I told him.

Rest beneath the tree.

Listen to the soft sound

that only comes from me.


Once I cut wood as you, dear Son.

My hands were calloused too—

torn by tribulation and toil,

 insufficiency and strife;

but that was long ago as time goes,

long, long ago.

Now I see a universe


too beautiful to hurt

and much too lovely to labor.

Now I see a land

filled with love and laughter.

Now I see children

smiling in the sunshine,

laughing in the Light,

because the Kingdom I speak of

is a land without hunger,

without labor and without strife.

It is a land where no one cries,

where fear is merely foolish fantasy

and where the shadow of death is swept aside

by the Light of understanding.

This land is my land.

I am the King thereof.


In it I reign

and illusion's reign is ended!


Now that I have found you,

 dear heir to my throne,

let me show you this Kingdom

which is your Kingdom too

so you may reign as I.



I persuaded.

There is no cause to be weary

and heavy laden forever.

The Heaven I speak of is not far away

but close at hand;

you merely perceive it not.


The way there is a sweet way
without bramble or stumbling block

and there is no devil's army

to contend with along the way

nor a single night

to dwell in the wilderness.


Beloved, for only a little while

shall we remember this measured moment

that has a phantom felling oaks,

knowing nothing of Identity.


Slowly the woodman lifted himself from the earth

and we walked thenceforth together.

Down a narrow pathway strewn with flowers

we walked arm in arm.


At length he asked me,

What do you mean when you say

that your story is my story too?



Reader, listen to the song I sing in answer,

for soon you will sound the same symphony

to yourself, even as NOW I sing this measure

to Myself alone.













Once I cut wood with a borrowed axe

and cleared my kindling from leased acres too. For me, just as you,

each day was another sashay to battle, another time to contend,

another wonder what good or evil

would appear before the sunset.

And, just as you, my woodman,

I could not comfort the weary

for echoing their agony.


Oh, there were brief moments of respite

in meditation's frightened fortress,

but I could not SEE the joy

that was 'round about

and the warm tears that love shed

 too often turned bitter.


In the moments of greatest agony

a wise man came

from the darkest depths of the forest

to tell me things of comfort.

He came with an ointment for my blisters,

a sharpening stone for my axe;

and while he was with me

I put the blade aside

to hear him tell of good and evil,

of life and death,

of the Messiah, mankind and rest.

Yes, we dreamt dreams together

in the soft, sweet shade of the oak

but when he left—when he left

I lifted the axe again.

The borrowed blade had been lighter

much too short a time.


Then another wise one came to me

just as he came to you.

He taught that the world is an illusion,

a dreamer's dream of mortality.

"You are sleeping,"

said he,

"dreaming all the agony."


"Then, if this is a dream,"

I answered,

"awaken me!

My children must eat, dream or not.


I know no other way to feed them;

I can find no easier lot."

But he could not awaken me

and I felled another tree.


Finally a third sage came,

trying to teach that God

is one's source of supply.

"Throw away your axe,"

said he.

"Just Be. Just Be!"

But my children were hungry when he left too

and I cut another tree.


Oh, weary son,

so many came with so much to say

that I asked as you did too,


how do I know whom to listen to

and whom to follow?

Which is the Way to go?

Which way is the way to walk? First one comes, then another—a third and a fourth and a fifth, arguing among themselves,

pointing out their own inaccuracies. Whom must I follow now, Father? Tell me directly!

Tell me in my heart

so I will understand."


But there was only silence and in anguish I cried,

"Father, show me Thyself,

that I might know myself and who I am. Reveal Thyself

such that I may see beyond this mist—this miserable mist

to touch Thee.

You see, I seek to SEE the pure Principle and perfect Law that pervades

this atmosphere of consciousness; yet the seeking brings peace

only with an ebb and flow

like seasons that blow

through oaks still standing to be cut."


Yea, my son,

the countless systems of the sages

merely lightened the load a moment.

Every cordon of kindling collected

cried the need for another, another

 and still another.

Finally, just as you,

this simplest prayer I cried,

"It is Peace I ask for, Father;

Perfection I long to see.

Yet, what I ask for must be

the self-same One that You are

in the action of being Me.

Could the distortion, the misery,

be a sharpening goad,

hastening the recognition

of my honest identity?

Oh, Holy Consciousness,

come to me–but more tenderly!

Lift the veil that hides Thee from me.

 It is my own veil,

a vile veil I have woven myself."


Then, it was, beloved. Then it was!

Face to face my Father appeared to me,

exactly as I to you!


face to face the Comforter stood before me

 just as I stand before you now!


Tell me,

the woodman implored.

Tell me of that time!






I answered the woodman,

It was in the morning, in the Spring

in the month of planting with birds awing

when the newness of everything

is but an instant away.

I had bent myself down to drink from a pond,

and there, reflected in the water he was—

in my own image and likeness he was—

and nowhere could I see the old self at all

or needed to, or wanted to.



From out the morning Light

the Messiah came to me,

softly, quietly,

with the tender touch of love.

Oh, Grand Light of Truth

that shone 'round about!

Splendor beyond words!

Warmth, wonder,

sweet sounds bathed in gossamer beams

from an expanded Heaven

 that included me and mine

and all things exactly as they are;

the immaculately conceived

now effortlessly perceived;

incommunicable language of gentle words,

intimate symphony without sound;

Light of Love

wherein no darkness dwells!


Questions no longer; instead,

a simple basking in the soft New Sound

 of the Now that All is.

The has-been and shall-be

were seen for what they are.


Then, even as I to you,

my Father said to me,

"I am He whom thou hath asked for,

the One you long to see.

Thy Father-I-am is the I that I am

and I show Myself to thee

face to face–eternally!"

I knew Him too, just as you knew Me.





My son,

I said to the woodman,

there is a mountain in my kingdom

from which the universe

may be surveyed as it really is.

I will take you there

as my Father has taken me before.

From this high place

the gates of the Heart are flung open,

the scales drop from the eyes,

the land is seen in its wholeness

and the questions that were asked before

 remain silent.



Look! Even now it is before you!

This instant it is here!

Tell me what you see, dear one;

tell me what you hear.


The woodman answered,

I see a high mountain with many plateaus

 and a great multitude walking up many paths

 that wind long distances toward the top.

On each path a herald is proclaiming

his way the only way,

and on the many plateaus

are many ministers shouting,

"Rest here! View this vista,

the most beautiful of them all!"


Yet there is no happiness there.

They curse each other on the different paths

and stand on every plateau

 in condemnation

of those above or below.

On the higher plateaus

I hear judgments of those

whose vision is not as wide,

and from the highest plateaus

come the sermons of those

who decry duality and deny it—

in the day they deny,

but in the night, as I,

they still cut wood in their jungle;

 they still search the crevasses

for sustenance;

they still stagger through their thickets

and slash.


Tell me, Father.

Which path must 1 follow?

On which plateau may I rest?



My son,

I answered the woodman,

to climb o'er the ground

from plateau to plateau

is not the way to go.

There is no path on the mountain

 that leads all the way to the top

nor a single place where a woodman

may let go his axe.



There is no plateau on any slope

where one may stop contending with opposites;

 for to climb o'er the ground from goal to goal

creates the original twoness‑

a climber and the goal.


Then how, Counselor?

the woodman asked.

How can I climb the mountain?

How may I reach the throne?


Listen softly,

I said to the woodman,

listen gently with the heart.

There is no way there but to BE there.

This way soars above the ground,

above the landmarks, above the plateaus,

swiftly, silently, immediately

on wings of Love.

This is how I shall take you there, Beloved—

in an instant

in the twinkling of an eye

on the Wings of the Morning.

Indeed, the Way there is to be there.

Then need you not at each plateau

proclaim it the goal for all

nor whisper longer of those above

or admonish the ones below.

You see, Love is the Key to the mystery.

Love is the astrolabe of Light.

Love alone sounds the melody

heard at the immortal Height.

Love is the wing that lifts thee there

and there hands thee thy scepter.

Love has beckoned Me, thy Comforter,

because you and I are One.

You and I are Love.


Immediately the measured moment ended

and we stood atop our timeless mountain.






My son,

I said,

look with Me from this High Place.

With the same eye that beheld the axe

now view the Kingdom!

Look to the East.

The sun has risen!

Look to the West

where morning dew glistens.

North! South! All you see here,

as far as you envision here,

is the Kingdom I give you today!


Now, lift up your eye and see

the simple sparrow there,

the soaring swallow,

the sun, the stars.

Everything you see there—

everything envisioned here

is your very own.


Now, listen to the sounds, Beloved

whispering wind, laughing children,

distant notes proclaiming NOW your sabbath.

Sounds, too, are my Kingdom, dear one,

and I give you them all today.


Next, with the inner eye

look at everything childlikeness allows.

Envision the oceans,

the sands, the multitudes,

fair fields of fragrant flowers,

oaks unsown in future seasons,

distant mountains higher yet than this.

These, too, are yours, my Son!

Yea, all you see here,

as far as you envision here,

is the Kingdom you are this day.


Listen. Listen and hear!

Even now you are the only Awareness

that views this Holy Place!

All you see is the Selfhood you be!

You are this minute

the Holy Witness of Me.


You have naught left to do

but gird up thy loins

and accept thy rightful Identity!


Now, deck thyself with majesty and excellency!

Array thyself with glory and beauty!

Thine own right hand

holding Truth's Scepter

hath saved thee!

From this moment forth, view all things

 from the standpoint of Perfection

because thou alone art the King!

Dominion is given you this day!

Yea I say,

be the single Selfhood and reign!

Reign, King of all creation.





The woodman's eyes had been opened before

but now was opened his Heart.

From out that place of knowing

where is no sediment of stagnation,

no darkness of reservation,

no blindness of equivocation,

came forth the honest sounds spoken

only from the pinnacle of the mountain,

It is true! It is true!

I am the King!

I am!

—the very words I whispered

as tinkling cymbals from the slopes,

the same sounds I prattled

in pious self-righteousness

from the plateaus,

and droned as far-off dreams

along the pathways of desire—

but spoken finally from

the Mountain that Childlikeness is.


It is so! I am the King!

I have heard of Thee

by the hearing of the ear

but now it is the Eye that seeth Thee,

oh Mind being Me!

This is MY Kingdom!

My Kingdom is ME!

My very Self I see,


all perfect infinity!

I have never seen a sight

nor heard a sound but my own!

Yea, the people and things I see

are not separate nor apart from Me.

They appeared dimly as an impostor's judgment

of the King's infinity.

The plateaus and paths below

were my woodcutter interpretation of Me.

The woodcutter's role

is but the shadow of Me.

At last, at last, I see

the entire universe has its existence

as this Awareness I be!

Truly, it has been the Father's pleasure

to give the Kingdom to ME!


Oh, how foolish I have been,

writhing in the role of a woodcutter

unaware of Identity.

I viewed the very Self I am

and judged it; then I named it,

bought it, sold it, fought it,

struggled to secure it,

bowed down before it

and chopped it with an axe—

measured it, weighed it, entombed it in time,

gave it the Life and Authority

 that all the time were Mine!

The borrowed axe was borrowed from Myself!

The acres leased were rented from Myself!

The wood was cut for Me alone!




Every tree in the forest is Mine

and every forest in the land is Thine,

One Awareness being all I am!


Now I look across the valley and see a tree.

 It is Me, because where do I see it

but in the Awareness I be?

And how? Seeing is being ME!

The tree is an attribute of Loveliness

Deity knows Itself to be!

Yea, God-Awareness is My activity–

faithful Witness of Harmony,

 honest Witness of Simplicity,

 eternal Action of Deity.

Indeed, this Now-Awareness is Identity!

The impostor's judgment

had been the impostor's agony.


Woodman, reigning new king,

lifts his scepter to speak,

I have sought Truth all my life,

but lo .. .

That that I seek, I AM!

No exterior law roots me evermore

 to an effete clay.

No season binds me anymore

to await the day

when worms deprive me of living beauty.


I am the King!

I am the Law of my Holy Kingdom!

As I decree so it shall be!


Exterior law is annuled;

no law exists but God-Me.

Outside is inside;

inside, outside;

above and below, the same.

Having been lifted up, I see

my images lifted likewise

and drawn to me,

understood as I understand God-Self to be.

The Millennium begins

as I understand and acknowledge

the perfection already roundabout!





From this time forth, dear Father-Being-Me,

 I will reign with justice and dignity.

I will speak to Myself as the One Authority.

I will command without congresses or councils,

without ministers, magistrates or armies.

To see the world's tribulation cease,

I live the Child's transcendent Peace.

It is the counsel of All-Rightness

I listen to,

the finished Kingdom I see,

revealing Heaven, right here,

to this Awareness being Me.

Millennium now is my Final Decree!





The story has been told now, reader,    

yet only one has listened.                       

The picture has been painted                 

but one alone has seen it.                       

The one who plays this symphony         

understands its harmony                        

the one who listens to its melody           

is the softness of the sound.                    

Indeed, the one who reads this book aloud        

is the One who has written it,                 

for Deity, its Self-Awareness                  

and all it perceives

are one perfect Identity.


This is your Melody,

dear woodcutter who is King.

Reign with Childlikeness!

Lift up your Heart and sing!




Other Works By


A Guide to Awareness & Tranquility
The Awareness of Self-Discovery
The Child Within Us Lives!
The Melody of the Woodcutter and the King
2+2= Reality
The Child Within Journal Notes

Copyright 1970
All Right Reserved Rachel Samuel
Printed in the United States of America
Butterfly Publishing House
William Samuel & Friends
307 N. Montgomery St.
Ojai, CA 93023

William Samuel