My Children, you are unaware of the battle that rages around you. Both secretly and openly do the dark forces fight. Your spirit, like a dam, is lash… - Helena Roerich

The manifestation of unfit elements is great at the end of Kali Yuga. The fiercer Armageddon is, the better it serves as purifier of the dross. (66)

Because of the grave times, one should speak about the need for joy and of the terrible harm of any and all depression. Therefore I am quoting here a Discourse, useful for the entire group. "Even during the difficult days you know that strength issues from joy. I said long ago that 'joy is a special wisdom.' Verily so, because joy must be observed, discerned, and realized. Depressed people carry a cloud of miseries and woes. In this dark covering they cannot perceive joy. Because of this pall of sorrow people become blind and lose strength. They cannot help themselves. They do not admit Our Help, because depression and irritation are impenetrable. As if no one ever told people about the harm of depression!
Depressed people are said to be deprived of their share. Ponder these words. Who has deprived them of their inherent share? First of all they deprived themselves of any possibilities. They began their own destruction long ago. Discontent, malice, irritation cut off the path to joy. Dark thoughts deprived them of the source of strength. Selfhood prevented the discernment of joy. Egoism whispered, Joy lies only in personal gain. Thus the most fruitful joy was hidden behind ugly piles of depression. Those blinded by depression are the most pitiful of bipeds. (7 May 1938)

Extinguishing the fire, we laid on our hands and asked, “Whither shall we go further?” Came the answer, “Nearer than the nearest. Lower than the lowest. Higher than the highest.” Not understanding the meaning we besought a Command, but we were told, “Let the ears hearken.” And we sat in the darkness in silence. And we heard how somewhere beyond the wall a child had begun to cry. We began to mark the direction of the cry and we heard the Mother’s song so often heard in the homes of husbandmen: “Let people count thee a plower, but I know, my son, thou art a king. Who, save thee, shall raise the best seed, the most fruitful. The Lord shall call my little one and say, ‘Thy seed alone hast glorified My feast. Sit with Me, king of the worthiest seeds.’ ”