one
moment
passes
another
comes on
how
was
was
how
is
is
how
will
be
will
be
was
wasn't
is
isn't
will be
won't
one stone one stone one stone
i lift
one stone
one stone
i lift
one stone
and i am
thinking
i am
thinking
as i lift
one stone
one stone
one stone
one stone
i lift
one stone
one stone
i lift
one stone
and i am
thinking
i am
thinking
as i lift
one stone
i am thinnking
as i lift
one stone
one stone
i am
thinking
as i lift
one stone
one stone
one stone
one stone
i lift
one stone
and i am
thinking
i lift
one stone
one stone
i lift
one stone
and i am
thinking
i am
thinking
as i lift
one stone
one stone
one stone
one stone
i lift
one stone
one stone
i lift
one stone
and i am
thinking
i am
thinking
as i lift
one stone
i am thinnking
as i lift
one stone
one stone
i am
thinking
as i lift
one stone
one stone
one stone
one stone
i lift
one stone
and i am
thinking
the angel came to him & said
I’m sorry, mac, but
we talked it over
in heaven
& you’re going
to have to live
a thousand years
I’m sorry, mac, but
we talked it over
in heaven
& you’re going
to have to live
a thousand years
reading of lovely Jerusalem,
lovely, ruined Jerusalem.
we are brought to the port
where the boats in line are
and the high tower on the hill
and the prows starting again
into the mist.
for we must seek
by going down,
down into the city
for our song.deep into the city
for our peace.
for it is there
that peace lies
folded
like a pool.
there we shall seek:
it is from there
she'll flower.
for lovely, ruined Jerusalem,
lovely, sad Jerusalem
lies furled
under the cities
of light.
for we are only
going down,
only descending
by this song
to where the cities
gleam in darkness,
or curled like roots
sit waiting
at the undiscovered pool.
what pressure
thrusts us up
as we descend?
pressure of
the city's singing,
pressure of
the song
she hath withheld.
hath long withheld.
for none
would hear
her.
he sat
on the edge of his bed
all night
day came
& he continued to sit there
he thought he would never be able
to understand
what had happened
rooster
rooster
rooster
rooster
with your
head cut
off:
what
are you
thinking
now,
you rooster,
what are you
thinking now
of the bloody
morning?
one bird
two birds
one bird
two birds
two birds
one bird
two birds
one bird
one bird
two birds
one bird
two birds
two birds
one bird
two birds
one bird
one
Who is it for whom we now perform,
Cavorting on wire:
For whom does the boy
Climbing the ladder
Balance and whirl “
For whom,
Seen or unseen
In a shield of light?
Seen or unseen,
In a shield of light,
At the tent top
Where the rays stream in
Watching the pin-wheel
Turns of the players
Dancing in the light:
Lady,
We are Thy acrobats;
Jugglers;
Tumblers;
Walking on wire,
Dancing on air,
Swinging on the high trapeze:
We are Thy children,
Flying in the air
Of that smile:
Rejoicing in light.
Lady,
We perform before Thee,
Walking a joyous discipline,
A thin thread of courage,
A slim high wire of dependence
Over abysses.
What do we know
Of the way of our walking?
Only this step,
This movement,
Gone as we name it.
Here
At the thin
Rim of the world
We turn for Our Lady,
Who holds us lightly:
We leave the wire,
Leave the line,
Vanish
Into light.
lovely, ruined Jerusalem.
we are brought to the port
where the boats in line are
and the high tower on the hill
and the prows starting again
into the mist.
for we must seek
by going down,
down into the city
for our song.deep into the city
for our peace.
for it is there
that peace lies
folded
like a pool.
there we shall seek:
it is from there
she'll flower.
for lovely, ruined Jerusalem,
lovely, sad Jerusalem
lies furled
under the cities
of light.
for we are only
going down,
only descending
by this song
to where the cities
gleam in darkness,
or curled like roots
sit waiting
at the undiscovered pool.
what pressure
thrusts us up
as we descend?
pressure of
the city's singing,
pressure of
the song
she hath withheld.
hath long withheld.
for none
would hear
her.
he sat
on the edge of his bed
all night
day came
& he continued to sit there
he thought he would never be able
to understand
what had happened
rooster
rooster
rooster
rooster
with your
head cut
off:
what
are you
thinking
now,
you rooster,
what are you
thinking now
of the bloody
morning?
one bird
two birds
one bird
two birds
two birds
one bird
two birds
one bird
one bird
two birds
one bird
two birds
two birds
one bird
two birds
one bird
one
Who is it for whom we now perform,
Cavorting on wire:
For whom does the boy
Climbing the ladder
Balance and whirl “
For whom,
Seen or unseen
In a shield of light?
Seen or unseen,
In a shield of light,
At the tent top
Where the rays stream in
Watching the pin-wheel
Turns of the players
Dancing in the light:
Lady,
We are Thy acrobats;
Jugglers;
Tumblers;
Walking on wire,
Dancing on air,
Swinging on the high trapeze:
We are Thy children,
Flying in the air
Of that smile:
Rejoicing in light.
Lady,
We perform before Thee,
Walking a joyous discipline,
A thin thread of courage,
A slim high wire of dependence
Over abysses.
What do we know
Of the way of our walking?
Only this step,
This movement,
Gone as we name it.
Here
At the thin
Rim of the world
We turn for Our Lady,
Who holds us lightly:
We leave the wire,
Leave the line,
Vanish
Into light.
I’m beginning to think
r was wrong
not r, but an idea i had
of him that i practically
worshipped
that said life was the
opposite of art
& art was the opposite
of life
& proud of it
but i think life
has something
to do with art
& it’s just a matter
of finding
the special point
at which the two of them
get together
never
never
never
never
never
never
never
never
never
never
never
never
never
the morning show
the afternoons
the evening
one town
at many
different
times
of day
at different
times of year
the same
strange town
(the same
short street
which stretched
from end to
end of that
short quay)
a single
string:
a single
taught-stretched
string
(there
where all the
music was
held tight
in that
one-fretted
instrument)
a single street
a single street
was stretched tight
by the waters
to walk
upon
those
stretched-tight
strings was
music
the street
the street
in rain
the early
morning
street
like a
budding
flower
the early
morning
street
like a
budding
rose
forms
forms
forms
basic
basic
forms
basic
basic
basic
basic
basic
the
dance
of
the
waves
is
an
order
“d
dance
the
dance
of
the
waves
is
a
solemn
dance
THE MORNING STARS
Have you seen my circus?
Have you known such a thing?
Did you get up in the early morning and see the wagons pull into town?
Did you see them occupy the field?
Were you there when it was set up?
Did you see the cookhouse set up in dark by lantern light?
Did you see them build the fire and sit around it smoking and talking quietly?
As the first rays of dawn came, did you see them roll in blankets and go to sleep?
A little sleep until time came to
unroll the canvas, raise the tent,
draw and carry water for the men and animals;
were you there when the animals came forth,
the great lumbering elephants to drag the poles and unroll the canvas?
Were you there when the morning moved over the grasses?
Were you there when the sun looked through dark bars of clouds
at the men who slept by the cookhouse fire?
Did you see the cold morning wind nip at their blankets?
Did you see the morning star twinkle in the firmament?
Have you heard their laughter around the cookhouse fire?
When the morning stars threw down their spears and watered heaven?
Have you looked at spheres of dew on spears of grass?
Have you watched the light of a star through a world of dew?
Have you seen the morning move over the grasses?
And to each leaf the morning is present.
Were you there when we stretched out the line,
when we rolled out the sky,
when we set up the firmament?
Were you there when the morning stars
sang together
and all the sons of God shouted for joy?
r was wrong
not r, but an idea i had
of him that i practically
worshipped
that said life was the
opposite of art
& art was the opposite
of life
& proud of it
but i think life
has something
to do with art
& it’s just a matter
of finding
the special point
at which the two of them
get together
never
never
never
never
never
never
never
never
never
never
never
never
never
the morning show
the afternoons
the evening
one town
at many
different
times
of day
at different
times of year
the same
strange town
(the same
short street
which stretched
from end to
end of that
short quay)
a single
string:
a single
taught-stretched
string
(there
where all the
music was
held tight
in that
one-fretted
instrument)
a single street
a single street
was stretched tight
by the waters
to walk
upon
those
stretched-tight
strings was
music
the street
the street
in rain
the early
morning
street
like a
budding
flower
the early
morning
street
like a
budding
rose
forms
forms
forms
basic
basic
forms
basic
basic
basic
basic
basic
the
dance
of
the
waves
is
an
order
“d
dance
the
dance
of
the
waves
is
a
solemn
dance
THE MORNING STARS
Have you seen my circus?
Have you known such a thing?
Did you get up in the early morning and see the wagons pull into town?
Did you see them occupy the field?
Were you there when it was set up?
Did you see the cookhouse set up in dark by lantern light?
Did you see them build the fire and sit around it smoking and talking quietly?
As the first rays of dawn came, did you see them roll in blankets and go to sleep?
A little sleep until time came to
unroll the canvas, raise the tent,
draw and carry water for the men and animals;
were you there when the animals came forth,
the great lumbering elephants to drag the poles and unroll the canvas?
Were you there when the morning moved over the grasses?
Were you there when the sun looked through dark bars of clouds
at the men who slept by the cookhouse fire?
Did you see the cold morning wind nip at their blankets?
Did you see the morning star twinkle in the firmament?
Have you heard their laughter around the cookhouse fire?
When the morning stars threw down their spears and watered heaven?
Have you looked at spheres of dew on spears of grass?
Have you watched the light of a star through a world of dew?
Have you seen the morning move over the grasses?
And to each leaf the morning is present.
Were you there when we stretched out the line,
when we rolled out the sky,
when we set up the firmament?
Were you there when the morning stars
sang together
and all the sons of God shouted for joy?
be
gin
by
be
ing
pa
tient
with
your
self
la
ter
you
can
be
pa
tient
with
oth
ers
(name
of
the
game
is
pa
tience.)
gin
by
be
ing
pa
tient
with
your
self
la
ter
you
can
be
pa
tient
with
oth
ers
(name
of
the
game
is
pa
tience.)
what if
you like
to draw
big flowers,
but what
if some
sage has
told you
that
there is
nothing
more beautiful
nothing
more
beautiful
than a
straight
line
?
what should
you draw:
big flowers?
straight lines?
i think
you should
draw
big
flow
ers
big
flow
ers
big
flow
ers
big
flow
ers
big
flow
ers
big
flow
ers
big
flow
ers
big
flow
ers
un
til
they
be
co
me
a
str
ai
gh
t
l
i
n
e
you like
to draw
big flowers,
but what
if some
sage has
told you
that
there is
nothing
more beautiful
nothing
more
beautiful
than a
straight
line
?
what should
you draw:
big flowers?
straight lines?
i think
you should
draw
big
flow
ers
big
flow
ers
big
flow
ers
big
flow
ers
big
flow
ers
big
flow
ers
big
flow
ers
big
flow
ers
un
til
they
be
co
me
a
str
ai
gh
t
l
i
n
e
The port
was longing
the port
was longing
not for
this ship
not for
that ship
not for
this ship
not for
that ship
the port
was longing
the port
was longing
not for
this sea
not for
that sea
not for
this sea
not for
that sea
the port
was longing
the port
was longing
not for
this &
not for
that
not for
this &
not for
that
the port
was longing
the port
was longing
not for
this &
not for
that
was longing
the port
was longing
not for
this ship
not for
that ship
not for
this ship
not for
that ship
the port
was longing
the port
was longing
not for
this sea
not for
that sea
not for
this sea
not for
that sea
the port
was longing
the port
was longing
not for
this &
not for
that
not for
this &
not for
that
the port
was longing
the port
was longing
not for
this &
not for
that
i draw
straight
lines,
said
the young
man,
and think
they are
perfectly
beautiful;
but what
can I
draw now?
straight
lines,
i said
straight
lines,
straight
lines
until
they
disappear
Greek Journal.
JULY 22/69
almost as soon as i open the door of the hill-house, i roll the paper
into the machine & bang bang bang
talk somewhat to journal all through the day, knowing that most of
what i say won’t actually go into it: that i’ll write whatever i write once
i start writing. & that no whole subject probably will ever be covered.
some attempt maybe to lay out in dotted lines a range of the spectrum.
spectrum of what? spectrum if only of my worries. & joys? yeah, yeah,
& of my joys.
sometimes, i have conversations with an imaginary guru, naturally
one who lives inside me. he used to be a psychiatrist: at least in the
old days a lot of my conversations were started with, & a lot of my
problems heard out or resolved by, an imaginary viennese who lis-
tened carefully, often accusingly, & showed me with a few apt tech-
nical phrases how far i had erred in my thinking, or behavior, the
viennese fellow has disappeared; comes back if ever for very short
visits; but has been replaced by chuang tzu (sometimes merton, or
sometimes chuang tzu in merton translation) who tells me other wis-
doms: usually the wisdoms of abstinence & avoidance; of retreat,
prayer & preparation, of non-attachment, of “sitting quietly doing
nothing,” of seeking smallness, not greatness, or of seeking nothing
at all.
as i don’t think i really understood the “psychiatrist” half of the time,
i’m not sure i really understand “chuang tzu.” i respect him though,
don’t resent him, as i often did the psychiatrist; feel that he knows i
don’t know but that little by little there’ll be things i can learn. i pic-
ture him with shaved head, a listener (& yet a practical man), a lis-
tener who appreciates, a listener with humor; a storehouse-but very
light storehouse-of wisdom; made like modern electronic ears of
light, light materials, but of great receiving strength.
what he promotes is wisdom, what he promises is grace. zen wisdom,
perhaps; zen grace, but certainly wisdom & grace.
one feels that all philosophies, Zen, & yoga are ways of approaching
wisdom & “enlightenment”-they are ways of approaching an en-
lightened state in which one’s behavior is always or almost always
“spontaneously” right.
to be “enlightened” is not to shine; nor to bring multitudes to the hill
where one sits cross-legged, to listen.
it is rather to know what one is doing (& even, perhaps, to enjoy it).
thus i am glad that they say i am “isichos” & not that they say i am
rich (which i’m not).
they’ve discerned a direction i’ve taken, and one which i hope i shall
keep to.
sometimes i’ve tried to see more than i saw (and have tried to forget
what i’ve seen).
& sometimes i’ve tried to see less than i saw (& have tried to forget
what i’ve seen),
but the world here is whole: whole & large & patient. the longer i stay,
the more patiently i seek, the more, i believe, i shall learn.
here comes the shepherd
& his flock
(out of the shadow
of the rock)
(Photos: Nicolas Humbert & Werner Penzel)
straight
lines,
said
the young
man,
and think
they are
perfectly
beautiful;
but what
can I
draw now?
straight
lines,
i said
straight
lines,
straight
lines
until
they
disappear
Greek Journal.JULY 22/69
almost as soon as i open the door of the hill-house, i roll the paper
into the machine & bang bang bang
talk somewhat to journal all through the day, knowing that most of
what i say won’t actually go into it: that i’ll write whatever i write once
i start writing. & that no whole subject probably will ever be covered.
some attempt maybe to lay out in dotted lines a range of the spectrum.
spectrum of what? spectrum if only of my worries. & joys? yeah, yeah,
& of my joys.
sometimes, i have conversations with an imaginary guru, naturally
one who lives inside me. he used to be a psychiatrist: at least in the
old days a lot of my conversations were started with, & a lot of my
problems heard out or resolved by, an imaginary viennese who lis-
tened carefully, often accusingly, & showed me with a few apt tech-
nical phrases how far i had erred in my thinking, or behavior, the
viennese fellow has disappeared; comes back if ever for very short
visits; but has been replaced by chuang tzu (sometimes merton, or
sometimes chuang tzu in merton translation) who tells me other wis-
doms: usually the wisdoms of abstinence & avoidance; of retreat,
prayer & preparation, of non-attachment, of “sitting quietly doing
nothing,” of seeking smallness, not greatness, or of seeking nothing
at all.
as i don’t think i really understood the “psychiatrist” half of the time,
i’m not sure i really understand “chuang tzu.” i respect him though,
don’t resent him, as i often did the psychiatrist; feel that he knows i
don’t know but that little by little there’ll be things i can learn. i pic-
ture him with shaved head, a listener (& yet a practical man), a lis-
tener who appreciates, a listener with humor; a storehouse-but very
light storehouse-of wisdom; made like modern electronic ears of
light, light materials, but of great receiving strength.
what he promotes is wisdom, what he promises is grace. zen wisdom,
perhaps; zen grace, but certainly wisdom & grace.
one feels that all philosophies, Zen, & yoga are ways of approaching
wisdom & “enlightenment”-they are ways of approaching an en-
lightened state in which one’s behavior is always or almost always
“spontaneously” right.
to be “enlightened” is not to shine; nor to bring multitudes to the hill
where one sits cross-legged, to listen.
it is rather to know what one is doing (& even, perhaps, to enjoy it).
thus i am glad that they say i am “isichos” & not that they say i am
rich (which i’m not).
they’ve discerned a direction i’ve taken, and one which i hope i shall
keep to.
sometimes i’ve tried to see more than i saw (and have tried to forget
what i’ve seen).
& sometimes i’ve tried to see less than i saw (& have tried to forget
what i’ve seen),
but the world here is whole: whole & large & patient. the longer i stay,
the more patiently i seek, the more, i believe, i shall learn.
here comes the shepherd
& his flock
(out of the shadow
of the rock)
(Photos: Nicolas Humbert & Werner Penzel)
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