Dreams

Dreamer_2

1
A friend sent me a variety of definitions of the word, “liberal” from his1858 American Dictionary of the English Language, by Noah Webster. Springfield, Mass. Perhaps it has greater breadth of meaning than the term as we use it today:

”liberal (noun) one who advocates greater freedom from restraint,
especially in political institutions.

Liberal (adjective)
1. Of a free heart; free to give or bestow -- as a liberal donor.

2. Generous -- a liberal donation.

3. Not selfish, narrow or contracted; embracing other interests than
one's own -- a liberal mind.

4. General; extensive; embracing literature and the sciences generally
-- liberal education.

5. Free; open; candid -- liberal communication

6. Large; profuse -- liberal discharge of matter by secretions or excretions

7. Free; not literal or strict -- liberal construction of law

8. Not mean; not low in birth or mind

9. Licentious; free to excess (Shakespeare)”

When I say that I am proud to be a liberal, I really mean it. It’s meaning, as I see it has become so laden with sneers and challenge that today the word ‘liberal’ is almost like the N word – a word that we each see in different lights.

My light says that to be liberal one sees a man-made civilization that, unlike a God made civilization, is not perfect. We see the flaws and believe enough in the human race to 'dream' that some of these flaws might someday be eliminated. It is a vision of a Utopia, somewhere off in the distance that makes us itchy to get closer. It is Thoreau's dream of men leading more profound lives, and his impatience with hindrances to that goal.

When I look at my conservative friends, and here in my state I have many, I see a fear in their eyes brought on by reluctance to welcome changes. They are fearful of a black president. They fear a woman president. They are afraid of communicating with leaders of countries they see as our enemy. They are afraid that to challenge big business will mean the loss of their own small place on the hierarchy. They accuse liberals of wanting to live in a "Nanny State." They seem to believe that dealing with life is a kind of game and if one knows the rules one can win - win what? Or if I fashion myself and look like someone who has power, then I will have power.

They label, distort and do whatever is possible to maintain life and our society as it is. We are told we should be grateful to live in America. We are! We are told that man needs to stand on his own two feet. Agreed, but put shoes on him first, and respect him/her as an equal thereafter, not as a charity case.

Change may not always be good, and mistakes will be made, but the idea of working toward a goal, like Henry's, of a better life for all, is my motivating dream. On the other hand, perhaps I just don't understand that the conservatives also have a dream. What IS that dream?

A depressed TV commentator said recently that the man of the dream never seems to win - the machine always does. He mentioned those dreamers who like John F Kennedy, Robert Kennedy, and Martin Luther King were killed and those who were silenced by election –Adlai Stevenson, Eugene McCarthy, etc etc etc.

Did the steam engine thwart Henry Thoreau’s dream? What did Henry see as the impediments to his dream? He mentions the posturing, sterile, phony attitudes that passed as polite society. He questioned the idea that money is any answer to a rich way of life. He cautioned us to look deeply at what we see - noticing the insignificant, the details of our world. And he asked us to look forward, beyond where the truth is, but where it 'comes trickling into this lake..."

His attitude toward the Irish, and other less fortunates, was not scorn, but a frustration that they didn't or couldn't see a better life. He gave the Irish boy a coat. What is wrong with believing that if we give a man a pair of shoes and an education that that, somehow, will build a better civilization? Shoe by shoe, classroom by classroom - As dreams go, it's a decent dream.

However, we need to ask: What is the Conservative's dream? And we need to listen. We're listening........

The Voice of the Bay-wing

While dropping beans in the garden at {Texas} just after sundownBaywing

(May 13{"}) I hear {from}across the fields the note of the bay-wing
"Come here there there quick quickly or I am gone"--(which
I have no doubt sits on some fence post or rail there) & it instantly
translates me from the sphere of my work--& repairs all the world
that we jointly inhabit between me & it. It reminds me of so many
country afternoons & evenings when this birds strain was heard far
over the fields--or I pursued it from field to field. The spirit of its earth
song-- of its serene & true philosophy and I was breathed into me &
I saw the world as through a glass--as it lies eternally. Some of its
aboriginal contentment--even of its domestic felicity--
possessed me{--}

What Bay wing he suggests is permanently true-- As the sparrow
sang many a thousand years ago so sang he{--}tonight. In the
beginning God heard his song & pronounced it good--& hence it has
endured. It reminded me of many a summer sunset--of many miles
of gray rails--of many a rambling pasture--of the farm-house far in
the fields-- its milk pans & {well sweep}--& the cows coming home
from pasture--

I would thus from time to time take advice of the birds--correcting
human views by listening to their {volucral}(?) He is a brother poet--
this small gray bird (or bard) whose muse inspires mine-- His lay is
an idyl or pastoral older & sweeter than any that is classic-- He sits
on some gray perch like himself--or a stake perchance in the midst
of the field--& you can hardly see him against the plowed ground--
You advance step by step as the twilight deepens & lo! he is gone
& in vain you strain your eyes to see whither-- but anon his tinkling
strain is heard from some other quarter{--} One with the rocks & with
us.

Methinks I hear these sounds--have these reminiscences--only
when well employed--at any rate only when I have no reason to be
ashamed of my employment. I am often aware of a certain
compensation of this kind for doing something from a sense of duty
even--unconsciously{.} Our past experience is a never failing capital
which can never be alienated--of which each kindred future event
reminds us.

If you would have the song of the sparrow inspire you a thousand
years hence--let your life be in harmony with its strain today.

I ordinarily plod along a sort of white-washed prison {entry}--subject
to some indifferent or even grovelling mood--I do not distinctly realize
my destiny--I have turned down my light to the merest glimmer & I am
doing some task which I have set myself--I take incredibly narrow
views--live on the limits--& have no recollection of absolute truth--
{mushroom institutions hedge me in-- But suddenly in some
fortunate moment the voice of eternal wisdom reaches me even{--}
in the strain of the sparrow--& liberates me--whets & clarifies my
senses--makes me a competent witness."


Henry David Thoreau's Journal, May 13, 1857

One cannot read the last paragraph of this journal entry without feeling an instant recognition of life itself. We do not realize our destiny, we have turned down our internal lights to a glimmer, and we go about our daily tasks. We have narrowed our views and yet suddenly something will occur which flashes across our deadened senses and clarifies, liberates and solidifies a 'knowingness' within us.

Perhaps the opening of our prison will be the sound of the bay-wing, or a child's laughter. Perhaps it will be the sight of snowflakes falling on a beloved land. Perhaps it is the sight of the last rose of summer. Whatever keeps the night away and opens our eyes to glorious sunshine is to be cherished. The moment is holy.

Our Limited Means

Clover
"Try and penetrate with our limited means the secrets of nature and you will find that, behind all the discernible laws and connections, there remains something subtle, intangible and inexplicable. Veneration for this force beyond anything that we can comprehend is my religion. To that extent I am, in fact, religious."

Albert Einstein


Under the Lamp

Streetlamp
For those following my posts, you may have noticed a slight slant toward story or poem or even what one might call, a subjective voice. I find this voice muted in Western thought and reason becomes king over intuition and insight although man's reason is far from infallible and is sometimes trustworthy only on the short haul. If we are trying to 'haul' for something beyond our noses - our reason may let us down.

There is a Mullah Nasruddin story that I love. It is told several ways - this is my version: Mullah Nasruddin was on his hands and knees under the street lamp and his friend passed by asking,

"Nasruddin, what are you doing on your hands and knees, did you lose something?"
"Yes," answered the Mullah. I lost an important key."
"Where did you lose it?" inquired the friend.
"I lost it back there in the dark," replied Nasruddin.
"Then, why, may I ask, are you searching for it here under the lamp?" the friend wondered.
"Do you think I have any chance of finding it back there in the dark?" demanded the Mullah.

It is reasonable to assume that we can find things under the known light of reason easier than it is in the dark. We are comforted by the scientific method and a rational world. But the dark is that area in which we must carry our reason to have any hope of finding the key we have lost. In today's Western world, and particularly in America, we avoid the dark, the doubt, the fear. We search in the best light and then wonder why we cannot find the answers.

A common reaction to the dark is to believe that the key is under the light. In fear of our doubt and anxiety we frantically demand that others find this key where we say it is. We silence all doubt in ourselves and in the world around us by asking others to have 'faith' in a key under the lamp. We are willing to give up our lives in certain situations in order to silence that voice of doubt in ourselves and others, and we are willing to demand that others see our faith as we see it.

Deep in our souls we know that the lamp flickers and that we walk on unfirm ground, and that, then, rules our fear and our futures. The idea that our globe may need tending in order to lesson the damage that the foot of man has caused is in the darkness but a light has been shone upon it by our science. "Keep looking under the lamp!" We implore. Don't doubt! Look under the lamp"

But doubt is a part of faith. Thoreau said, "If I could not doubt, I could not have faith." Each doubting step can bring us closer to the darkness and open our eyes to another step we might take, carrying our doubt with us. The search is all. The more the darkness closes over us and our reason is joined by our intuition, and instincts, the closer we come to an amalgum with the plane of life - the universal, intuitive, searching energy that is the stuff of all life. The key is in the darkness.

I will go to my grave with doubts. But I also go with the knowledge that I have had the courage to live in spite of my doubt, to search, to find connections and analogies - finding some answers that I would have not seen had I not looked in the dark. This is the courage to doubt.

The Golden Raintree

Raintree2
The Golden Raintree, with its leaves of lace that intrigue us with the brightest golds and bronzes in the autumn, the palest yellow leaves in the spring and brilliant pods of seeds in June, was brought to the United States from China by Thomas Jefferson in 1809. There is no doubt that it is a charmer. Because of its attraction to an early settler, Posey County, Indiana is known as Raintree County and New Harmony, Indiana is graced by an abundance of what is known as the Golden Raintree. To visit New Harmony when the leaves are golden is a breathtaking event and reminds us that New Harmony has been both a religious and Philosophical commune in the past. It is a trip worth making.;

Trees symbolize some of our noblest thoughts, and, to many, the Golden Raintree symbolizes life, and the search we all execute – a search for knowledge and meaning in our own lives. Somehow, trees in general, cause us to wax ‘philosophical’: the roots draw nature from the earth below, the truck lives and grows in the world that is, and the limbs and leaves seem to reach high, brushing against the heavens.

In some religions the tree of life symbolizes eternal life. In the book of Genesis, Adam and Eve were told not to eat from the Tree of Good and Evil. There was, however, another tree in the garden – The tree of Life, eternal life. Because of their disobedience, God punished mankind forever, according to the story.

. Gen 3:22 "The man has now become like one of us, knowing good and evil.
He must not be allowed to reach out his hand and take also from the tree of life and eat,
and live forever." (NIV)

However, we are doomed to search. It is part of our nature and our charm. We can’t resist biting at the temptations that loom before us: deceptive religions, and unreliable philosophies. Opinions are facts, and truths are fallacies that we cherish, because they warm our chilled souls. And the tree of life and knowledge forever remains just out of reach.

It is small comfort, but comfort, none the less, that the search itself, through our science, our philosophy, through our religions, triggers in us the undying thought that someday, somehow, if we just search far enough we may sit under the tree of life, sharing with the supreme creator the knowledge of the universe. It is there somewhere. “If birds fly over the rainbow, why then, oh why can’t I?”

And the raintree symbolizes this yearning and this search. It symbolizes the search for the secret of life as no other symbol does. On my parents 50th wedding anniversary we planted a raintree and on our 50th this year, we planted another. Those trees will live on well after we are all gone and somehow symbolize, in a small way, man’s eternal quest.


No Bows - Just Fade Out

Chorus_line
Chorus Line, the phenomenal hit of the 1975 season, winner of a Pulitzer and several Toni’s, owed a large part of its success to its ability to speak to the lives that we each lead. Unless you classify yourself as a mover and shaker in our everyday world, we are all in a chorus line of one sort or other; socially, economically, financially. We are all individuals with individual problems, who, when the music starts, are expected to dance in step as a group. With this phenomenal musical, Michael Bennett, Choreographer and Director, with score by Marvin Hamlisch and Edward Kleban wowed us all.

But, yesterday I caught myself humming the tune to “Everything Was Beautiful – At the Ballet”,from Chorus Line and wondering why. I had never been a dancer, but, like everything in life, if we examine what is right under our feet, we find new meaning. Thoreau said, “What does the mountain tell you?” I’m asking, “What does Chorus Line tell me?” Let’s examine just one of the hit songs from this famous musical:

Here are some of the lyrics:
[SHEILA]
Daddy always thought that he married beneath him.
That's what he said, that's what he said.
When he proposed he informed my mother
He was probably her very last chance.
And though she was twenty-two,
Though she was twenty-two,
Though she was twenty-two,
She married him.

Life with my dad wasn't ever a picnic
More like a "Come as you are."
When I was five I remember my mother
Dug earrings out of the car
I knew they weren't hers, But it wasn't
Something you'd want to discuss.
He wasn't warm.
Well, not to her.
Well, not to us

But
Everything was beautiful at the ballet.
Graceful men lift lovely girls in white.
Yes,
Everything was beautiful at ballet.
Hey!
I was happy... at the ballet.

That's why I started class...


[SHEILA]
It wasn't paradise...

[SHEILA]
But it was home.

[BEBE]
Mother always said I'd be very attractive
When I grew up, when I grew up.
"Diff'rent," she said, "With a special something
And a very, very personal flair."
And though I was eight or nine,
Though I was eight or nine,
Though I was eight or nine,
I hated her.
Now,

"Diff'rent" is nice, but it sure isn't pretty.
"Pretty" is what it's about.
I never met anyone who was "diff'rent"
Who couldn't figure that out.
So beautiful I'd never lived to see.
But it was clear,
If not to her,
Well, then... to me...
That ...

[MAGGIE AND BEBE]
Everyone is beautiful at the ballet.
Every prince has got to have his swan.
Yes,
Everyone is beautiful at the ballet.


[BEBE]
I was pretty...

[SHEILA]
At the ballet


[MAGGIE]
It wasn't paradise...

[MAGGIE, SHEILA AND BEBE]
But it was home.

Do we each have our own ‘ballet’ – that distraction we use to hide our lonely and sometimes troubled lives? Are there any dangers in a “head in the sand attitude?” Or are you telling me, “We don’t do that!!”

Just for a moment, let’s consider our world: Movies, sporting events, TV, DVDs, Romance novels, drugs, alcohol, and sometimes even our work (our personal chorus line) becomes our escape. I could name a zillion distractions we cling to.

But, the real question is, what are we escaping from? Unfulfilling lives, fear – fear of illness, death, whatever, our own inadequacies, a miserable home life, disillusionment, and sometimes our own inability to ‘measure up’ to our dreams. But “everything is beautiful at the ballet.”

What if we didn’t spend as much time at the ‘ballet’? What would we have? We would have more time to think, to more carefully observe our own lives, (Our own mountain), the actions of our social groups, our families, our relationship to each other and to the whole – more time to make changes that could revolutionize our own lives and perhaps cause us to look at our entire society with different eyes.

Who knows? Henry David Thoreau suggested we look at our real lives, not our virtual lives lived at the ballet. What does the mountain say to you? What do these imperfections in ourselves say to us? What if we looked at ourselves and our society from different directions – would we see new facets? Are there alternatives to the reality around us? Perhaps it is time to quit the ballet and look to our real life, our real selves. Otherwise, life is soon gone, the ballet is over and the chorus line just keeps kicking. NO applause, no bows – just fade out.

Speak Truth to Power

Yesterday, I decided to celebrate Martin Luther King, Jr.’s birthday by writing about someone close to Bayard_rustin
him. I wrote about Bayard Rustin, but, after hours of research and a completed essay, the technology gods guided my hand to the wrong button and all was deleted. Rather than blame the Republicans or idealogs, I took it as a sign from above that I needed to rethink my message, and so I have.

Bayard Rustin was born in 1912 in West Chester, Pennsylvania of an unwed, black mother. He was raised by his Quaker grandparents and as part of his religious upbringing he was taught that the way to fight the prejudice in his life was by nonviolent means. Bayard’s grandmother, a member of NAACP, encouraged Bayard’s involvement in the black movement.

Bayard graduated from high school and while at the City College of New York, in 1936, he organized the school’s Young Communist League. He later quit the party in 1941 when they opposed the idea of desegregating the military.

At that time he became active in The American Friends Service Committee and The War Resister’s League. In 1942 the Friends’ Service Committee sent Bayard to California to become a watchdog for the property of Japanese Americans who were interned in inland camps.

In August of that year the Friends monthly meeting in Manhattan was considering the possibility of providing hospitality to servicemen – USO style, and Ruskin wrote the following:
“The primary social function of a religious society is to speak the truth to power.” He opposed Friends supporting the military efforts in any way, and he followed up his pacifist beliefs in 1944 when he refused the alternative service offered to Quakers as a replacement for active service in the military... As a reward he was handed three years in a federal prison.

Even while incarcerated, in 1945 he helped organize Americans in support of Gandhi and Indian Independence. No sooner than he was released in 1947 than Bayard organized the first Freedom Ride in the south, called “Journey of Reconciliation” to publicize the Jim Crow laws still operating in many states. He was rewarded for this by having to serve 28 days on a chain gang in North Carolina. He wrote a serial article about his experience for “The Saturday Evening Post” resulting in an investigation and abolishment of chain gangs.
In 1953, Bayard was arrested and jailed on moral charges in Pasadena. He had never hid the fact that he was gay, but this charge would haunt him for his entire life. He was expelled from some important organizations, and from this time forward, even those friendly toward him were afraid of the association.

Perhaps his one most important written contribution to peace was in 1954 when he and a few other Quakers came together to write “Speak Truth to Power: A Quaker Search for an Alternative to Violence.” At the cost of space and time, I must quote part of that wonderful document here:

“There is a politics of time, but there is also a politics of eternity that man would ignore, but cannot. He plays the politics of time, sees it, manipulates it, imagines it as of himself alone; but both the politics of time and of eternity are of God. Only the eye of faith perceives the relationship, for it alone glimpses the dimension of eternity. Man sees but dimly, yet enough to know the overarching power that moves in the affairs of men. Because we are first men of faith, and only secondarily political analysts, we would speak now, finally, of the politics of eternity which has under girded the whole.”
Although it is agreed that Rustin played a most important role in the writing of this significant document, with his agreement, his name did not appear, because, as a homosexual, it was feared that his association might compromise the work’s acceptance.

It seems Bayard was never without meaningful activity. In the same year, 1954, he worked with a committee against discrimination in the army that later helped secure President Truman’s order eliminating racial segregation in the armed forces.

In 1956, Rustin’s association with King apparently began. Lillian Smith, a leading woman southern writer, encouraged him to assist King with practical advice on how to apply Gandhi’s principles of nonviolence to the boycott of public transportation in Montgomery Alabama. This became the foundation of his association with King. The result was magic. Bayard orchestrated the Montgomery Bus Boycott and organized many of the Freedom Rides through the south in the late 50’s.

In 1957 he assisted at the birth of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference and in May of that year he participated in the Prayer Pilgrimage for Freedom to Washington that urged President Eisenhower to enforce the US Supreme Court’s ruling requiring desegregation of the nation’s schools.

In 1960, LBJ learned that Rustin was organizing a civil rights demonstration at the Democratic Convention and told Senator Sam Rayburn and Adam Clayton Powell to “get this guy Ruskin.” Powell knew of Rustin’s 1953 arrest on morality charges and circulated the rumor “that the black nonviolent movement was infiltrated with “immoral elements”.

In August of 1962, with the orchestration of Bayard Rustin, 200,000 demonstrators gathered in the steps of the Lincoln Memorial to hear King give his famous, “I Have a Dream” speech. The magic had worked. This was followed in 1963 with the March for Jobs and Freedom with Rustin as chief organizer. This was said to be the largest march on Washington ever held and was instrumental in pushing much of the Civil Rights legislation that followed.

Shortly before this 1963 march, Strom Thurman entered the Senate floor and denounced Rustin as a homosexual, draft dodger, and former member of the Communist Party. He did not add that Ruskin was a Quaker. In November of this year, the FBI placed a wiretap on his apartment, with a writ specifying that “Rustin is a prominent adviser to Martin Luther King, Jr. and a known sexual pervert.” (FBI Field Report)

Bayard never abandoned the thought that nonviolent direct action is the way to a just society, and he continued to believe that one could “Speak truth to power.” Because of his views, he debated Malcolm X and Stokely Carmichael on that issue, seeing their message and violent attitudes as ending in “dead end separatism”.

During the years of Richard Nixon, Rustin was on Nixon's Enemies List. Nat Hentoff in "The Village Voice” described Rustin’s reaction, in an article he wrote on January 17, 2003: >“At a party celebrating that honor, a reporter asked Bayard's reaction to the designation:
‘I'm delighted,’ he said. ‘Anyone who has his policies on the poor, the homeless, on those who need medical care—I hope I shall eternally be an enemy of a man who takes this view. Furthermore, I have never liked liars.’

No he didn’t like liars and he didn’t lie about himself. Open about his sexuality, honest about his past, and willing to speak for his beliefs, Bayard lived his life, as Thoreau would say, listening to his own drummer. Judged by society and societies elect as an illegitimate, draft-dodger, felon, gay, and troublesome he would have agreed and been proud. Why? Because he believed in his right to voice his opinion, follow his faith and have the right to privacy regarding his sexual preferences. He was a peaceful, joyful man caught up in the damning prejudices of our society. The Village Voice said of him, “He was the very embodiment of the life force - sharp of wit, observation, and delight in being Bayard Rustin.”

No extravagant dinners or honors for Rustin. It was politically damaging to display that you were his friend, but after his death some listened to his words and saw the richness of his beliefs, and a few true Americans in West Chester, PA, his old home town, looked below the rhetoric and the gossip and had respect for what the man represented:

As the story goes, Rustin was probably the most famous graduate of West Chester Pa schools and they proudly decided to name the new high school after him. That was before the community discovered that Rustin was gay, a one time member of the Communist Party, had refused to serve in World War II.

Under the greatest of community pressure the school board agreed to rethink their decision The Board carefully did so and then voted 6 to 3 to continue with the dedication. The school board president, Rogers Vaugn said, “The contributions that Mr. Rustin made (aren’t) just to civil rights but to the whole United States.”

Rustin High School will open in the fall of 2006 – a $67 million monument to Bayard Rustin. It cannot make up for what society did to him with its small, prejudiced, vindictive views, but for all of us, it is a start. As National Urban League President Hugh Price told Education Week: "His hometown should not only name a school after him, but they probably ought to have a [high school social studies] course built around his life."
The course might be titled: “The Right to Civil Disobedience, Our Civil Rights and the Right to Freedom of Speech. Let us all learn, as Bayard Rustin said to his fellow Quakers, to “Speak truth to Power.”Rustin_school_1

Much of the information for this biography came from The Kouroo Project.

A Soul Worth Saving?

Declaration
What does it mean to be in a place but not of a place? If this sounds like one of those philosophical conundrums meant to cause you mind spasms rather than understanding, have patience. Read on. Are you an American if you live in America? Or, are you only an American if you also employ the ideals that America was founded upon. What does it take to be an American? Are you of a geographical place, but have no idea what it means to be OF that place, its history and its ideals?

Of course there are always a number of persons who are geographical citizens and have no interest in looking further into their history, but what happens if too many of us join that thoughtless group, or believe that we have already arrived at perfection, having no interest in the search for what the Declaration of Independence, the Revolution and the Constitution set in motion? The dream will be dead. The idea of Reagan’s “city upon a hill”, the dream of a place where all are equal, and all have the same rights and privileges, where we yearn and dream for that which was never dreamed before will die a tragic death. Perhaps it has already happened. America, the dream, is a happening. We are a work in progress, not a completed creation.


Contending with Stanley Cavell
, ed. by Russell B. Goodman, Oxford, 2005 is a series of essays on Cavell by various academics, one of whom, James Conant, wrote “Cavell and the Concept of America”.

Conant reminds us that part of our American tradition is that of a nation having
no history of literature or identity before our revolution, made up of a
people united by neither language, creed, nor blood, embed with the desire to be
united as had never before been seen in the history of the world. In this sea of diversity was swirled a mix of beliefs never before seen in any nation. We were, indeed, created unique.

In the first place most geographical countries developed with physically similar types, who learned a similar language whose religion and political ideas grew over time. Our history definitely sets us apart from other countries and, in my opinion it requires more of us. Throw into the American cauldron a revolution against our original rulers and the unheard of opportunity to design a new order – a new ideal, a new way of life – a life of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness; a life in which all are created equal and have equal rights. These ideals make us Americans, but the question is: how deeply committed today, are we to the ideal? Perhaps the dream is dead.

I share one sentence with you from Conant’s essay:

"America's threats from within - its triumphal assurances to itself that its
constitution stands fully achieved and its equally vehement rejections of
such assurances - have now become clothed in the guise of arguments about
how to deal with threats from without. But if it {America) is to have a
soul worth saving, attacks on it from without must not silence its ongoing
argument from within over what would count as its having a soul worth
saving."
Do we have a soul worth saving? Do we even want it?

A Glimpse At the Sealed Book

"I stop my habitual thinking, as if the plough had suddenly run deeper Secrets_of_universe
in its furrow through the crust of the world. How can I go on, who have
just stepped over such a bottomless skylight in the bog of my life.
Suddenly old Time winked at me, -- Ah, you know me, you rogue, -- and
news had come that IT was well. That ancient universe is in such
capital health, I think undoubtedly it will never die. Heal yourselves,
doctors; by God, I live.

Then idle Time ran gadding by
And left me with Eternity alone;
I hear beyond the range of sound,
I see beyond the verge of sight, --

I see, smell, taste, hear, feel, that everlasting Something to which we
are allied, at once our maker, our abode, our destiny, our very Selves;
the one historic truth, the most remarkable fact which can become the
distinct and uninvited subject of our thought, the actual glory of the
universe; the only fact which a human being cannot avoid recognizing,
or in some way forget or dispense with."


from:
A Week on the Concord and Merrimac Rivers

Henry David Thoreau

When we look with that other eye, when we carefully examine each moment of our lives, when we fear to take a breath for fear of missing that magic moment when life opens and shows us the grandeur, at that moment we know the joy of life. 

Einstein and Thoreau could have talked with intellectual abandon about their insights and intuitions.  Einstein wrote: 

A knowledge of the existence of something we cannot penetrate, of the manifestations of the profoundest reason and the most radiant beauty — it is this knowledge and this emotion that constitute the truly religious attitude; in this sense, and in this alone, I am a deeply religious man. I cannot conceive of a God who rewards and punishes his creatures, or has a will of the type of which we are conscious in ourselves… Enough for me the mystery of the eternity of life, and the inkling of the marvelous structure of reality, together with the singlehearted endeavor to comprehend a portion, be it ever so tiny, of the reason that manifests itself in nature. "

Let the mystery of the eternity of life and the sealed book of time surround you in this season.

The Voice of the Turtle

Song of Solomon 2:8–13  Turtle

For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land; The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.

This may seem strange to be speaking of Spring as winter begins to approach, but what sustains us through the seasonal winter and winters born of societal ills is the hope that we will, once again, hear The Voice of the Turtle.

How can nature speak if we do not hear the voice of the turtle?  How can the fair one prosper and grow if we do not hear the voice of the person?

The following are excerpts from Gao Xingjian, winner of the Nobel Prive for Literature, 2000.  Gao Xingjian, Chinese citizen, was forced to go to a reeducation camp in China and had to burn most of his transcripts in the days of the Cultural Revolution.  His work is still banned in China and, since the 80's, he has been a citizen of France.

I've no way of knowing whether it was fate that has pushed me onto this

dais but as various lucky coincidences have created this opportunity I may

as well call it fate. Putting aside discussion of the existence or

non-existence of God, I would like to say that despite my being an atheist

I have always shown reverence for the unknowable.

In the century after Nietzsche man-made disasters left the blackest

records in the history of humankind. Supermen of all types called leader

of the people, head of the nation and commander of the race did not baulk

at resorting to various violent means in perpetrating crimes that in no

way resemble the ravings of a very egotistic philosopher.

A writer is an ordinary person, perhaps he is more sensitive but people

who are highly sensitive are often more frail. A writer does not speak as

the spokesperson of the people or as the embodiment of righteousness.

His voice is inevitably weak but it is precisely this voice of the individualthat is

more authentic.

What I want to say here is that literature can only be the voice of the

individual and this has always been so. … In order that literature

safeguard the reason for its own existence and not become the tool of

politics it must return to the voice of the individual, for literature is

primarily derived from the feelings of the individual and is the result of

feelings. This is not to say that literature must therefore be divorced

from politics or that it must necessarily be involved in politics.

It can be said that talking to oneself is the starting point of literature

and that using language to communicate is secondary. A person pours his

feelings and thoughts into language that, written as words, becomes

literature. At the time there is no thought of utility or that some day it

might be published yet there is the compulsion to write because there is

recompense and consolation in the pleasure of writing.

Ten years ago, after concluding Soul Mountain which I had written over

seven years, I wrote: "… the relationship of the author and the reader is

always one of spiritual communication and there is no need to meet or to

socially interact, it is a communication simply through the work.

Literature remains an indispensable form of human activity in which both

the reader and the writer are engaged of their own volition."

The writer is also not a prophet. What is important is to live in the

present, to stop being hoodwinked, to cast off delusions, to look clearly

at this moment of time and at the same time to scrutinize the self. This

self too is total chaos and while questioning the world and others one may

as well look back at one’s self.

This is an age without prophecies and promises and I think it is a good

thing. The writer playing prophet and judge should also cease since the

many prophecies of the past century have all turned out to be frauds. And

there is no need to manufacture new superstitions about the future, it is

much better to wait and see. It would be best also for the writer to

revert to the role of witness and strive to present the truth.

Instead of saying that Buddha is in the heart it would be better to say

that freedom is in the heart and it simply depends on whether one makes

use of it. If one exchanges freedom for something else then the bird that

is freedom will fly off, for this is the cost of freedom.

Therefore it is actually not the challenge of the writer to society but

rather the challenge of his works. An enduring work is of course a

powerful response to the times and society of the writer. The clamour of

the writer and his actions may have vanished but as long as there are

readers his voice in his writings continues to reverberate.

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