ariyahjoseph

Great is the earth, and the way it became what it is,

Do you imagine it stopped at this? .... And the increase

Abandoned?

Understand then that it goes as far onward from this as this is from

The times when it lay in covering waters and gases.

Great is life… and real and mystical… wherever and whoever,

Great is death…. sure as life holds all parts together, death holds

All parts together;

Sure as the stars return again after they merge in the light, death is

Great as life.

I cannot say to any person what I hear…. I cannot say it to myself

.... It is very wonderful.

It is no little matter, this round and delicious globe, moving so

Exactly in its orbit forever and ever, without one jolt or the

Untruth of a single second;

I do not think it was made in six days, nor in ten thousand years,

Nor ten decillions of years,

Nor planned and built one thing after another, as an architect plans

And builds a house

I do not think seventy years is the time of a man or woman,

Nor that seventy millions of years is the time of a man or woman,

Nor that years will ever stop the existence of me or any one else.

Is it wonderful that I should be immortal? As everyone is immortal,

I know it is wonderful….

There was a child went forth every day,

And the first object he looked upon and received with wonder or

Pity or love or dread, that object he became,

And that object became part of him for the day or a certain part of

The day…. or for many years or stretching cycles of years.

....the sense of what is real

..... The thought if after all it should prove unreal,

... The curious whether and how,

Whether that which appears so is so… or is it all flashes and specks?

.... The illuminated face of the mother

Of many children, the face as of a dream

These faces bear testimony slumbering or awake

They show their descent from the master himself

The melodious character of the earth!

The finish beyond which philosophy cannot go and does not wish

To go!

The justified mother of men!

This is the nucleus… after the child is born of woman the man is

Born of woman,

This is the bath of birth… this is the merge of small and large and

The outlet again.

Be not ashamed women… your privilege encloses the rest… it is the

Exit of the rest,

You are the gates of the body and you are the gates of the soul

I see the bearer of the great fruit which is immortality…

All is a procession,

The universe is a procession with measured and beautiful motion

The earth recedes from me into the night,

I saw that it was beautiful…. and I see that what is not the earth

Is beautiful.

I dream in my dream all the dreams of the other dreamers,

And I become the other dreamers.

I feel ashamed to go naked about the world,

And am curious to know where my feet stand…. and what is this

Flooding me, childhood or manhood…. and the hunger that

Crosses the bridge between.

The myth of heaven indicates the soul;

The soul is always beautiful….it appears more or it appears less

.... It comes or lags behind,

It comes from its embowered garden and looks pleasantly on itself

And encloses the world;

Perfect and clean

The soul is always beautiful,

The universe is duly in order…. everything is in its place,

What is arrived is in its place, and what waits is in its place

I know not how I came of you, and I know not where I go with you

.... But I know I came well and shall go well.

To think of time…. to think through the retrospection,

To think of today… and the ages continued henceforward.

Have you guessed you yourself would not continue?

Have you feared the future would be nothing of you?

To think that you and I did not see feel think nor bear our part,

To think that we are now here and bear our part.

It is not that you should be undecided, but that you should be

Decided;

Something long preparing and formless is arrived and formed in you,

You are thenceforth secure, whatever comes or goes.

The guest that was coming…. he waited long for reasons….. He

Is now housed,

He is one of those who are beautiful and happy…. he is one of

Those that to look upon and be with is enough.

I have dreamed that we are not to be changed so much…. nor

The law of us changed;

For I have dreamt that the law they are under now is enough.

We must have the indestructible breed of the best, regardless of time.

I cannot define my satisfaction… yet it is so,

I cannot define my life… yet it is so.

I swear I think there is nothing but immortality!

That the exquisite scheme is for it, and the nebulous float is for it,

And the cohering is for it,

And all preparation is for it… and identity is for it… and life and

Death are for it.

Neither servant nor master am I,

I take no sooner a large price than a small price…. I will have

My own whoever enjoys me,

I will be even with you, and you shall be even with me.

If you bestow gifts on your brother or dearest friend, I demand as

Good as your brother or dearest friends,

If you remember your foolish and outlawed deeds, do you think I

Cannot remember my foolish and outlawed deeds?

If you see a good deal remarkable in me I see just as much remarkable in you.

Why what have you thought of yourself?

Is it you then that thought yourself less?

Is it you that thought the president greater than you? Or the rich

Better off than you? Or the educated wiser than you?

All these I see…. but nigher and farther the same I see;

None shall escape me, and none shall wish to escape me.

I bring what you much need, yet always have,

I bring not money or amours or dress or eating…. but I bring as

Good;

And send no agent or medium…. and offer no representative of

value- but offer the value itself.

The sun and stars that float in the open air…. the appleshaped

Earth and we upon it…. surely the drift of them is something

Grand;

The light and shade- the curious sense of body and identity- the

Greed that with perfect complaisance devours all things- the

Endless pride and outstretching of man- unspeakable joys and

Sorrows,

The wonder every one sees in every one else he sees….and the

Wonders that fill each minute of time forever and each acre of

Surface and space forever,

Have you reckoned them as mainly for a trade or farmwork? Or for

The profits of a store? Or to achieve yourself a position? Or to fill

A gentleman’s leisure or a lady’s leisure?

The gist of histories and statistics as far back as the records reach is

In you this hour- and myths and tales the same;

If you were not breathing and walking here where would they all be?

The most renowned poems would be ashes…. orations and plays would be vacuums.

All music is what awakens from you when you are reminded by the instruments

Will the whole come back then?

Can each see the signs of the best by a look in the lookingglass? Is

There nothing greater or more?

Does all sit there with you and here with me?

The old forever new things…. you foolish child! .... The closest

Simplest things- this moment with you,

Your person and every particle that relates to your person

You and your soul encloses all things, regardless of estimation

I celebrate myself,

And what I assume you shall assume

For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

Have you reckoned a thousand acres much? Have you reckoned the

Earth much?

Have you practiced long to learn to read?

Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?

Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of

All poems,

You shall possess the good of the earth and sun… there are millions

Of suns left,

You shall no longer take things at second or third hand…. nor look

Through the eyes of the dead…. nor feed on the spectres in

Books,

You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,

You shall listen to all sides and filter them from yourself.

I have heard what the talkers were talking…. the talk of the

Beginning and the end.

But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.

I and this mystery we stand

Clear and sweet is my soul…. and clear and sweet is all that is not

My soul.

Lack one lacks both…. and the unseen is proved by the seen,

Till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn.

Shall I postpone my acceptation and realization and scream at my

Eyes,

That they turn from gazing after and down the road,

And forthwith cipher and show me to a cent,

Exactly the contents of one, and exactly the contents of two, and

Which is ahead?

Both in and out of the game, and watching and wondering at it

I have no mockings or arguments…. I witness and wait

Not words, not music or rhyme I want…. not custom or lecture,

Not even the best

Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and joy and

Knowledge that pass all the art and argument of earth;

And I know that the hand of god is the elderhand of my own,

And I know that the spirit of god is the eldest brother of my own,

And that all men ever born are also my brothers…. and the

Women my sisters and lovers

A child said, what is the grass? Fetching it to me with full hands;

How could I answer the child?.... I do not know any more than he.

What do you think has become of the young and old men?

And what do you think has become of the women and children?

They are alive and well somewhere;

The smallest sprout shows there is really no death,

And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the

End to arrest it,

And ceased the moment life appeared

All goes onward and outward…. and nothing collapses,

And to die is different from what anyone supposed, and luckier.

Has any supposed it lucky to be born?

I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I know it.

These are the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they are not

Original with me,

If they are not yours as much as mine they are nothing or next to

Nothing,

If they do not enclose everything they are next to nothing,

If they are not the riddle and the untying of the riddle they are

Nothing,

If they are not just as close as they are distant they are nothing.

This is the grass that grows wherever the land and water is,

This is the common air that bathes the globe.

This is the breath of laws and songs and behavior,

This is the tasteless water of souls…. this is the true sustenance

And I know I am solid and sound,

To me the converging objects of the universe perpetually flow,

All are written to me, and I must get what the writing means

Shall I make my list of things in the house and skip the house that supports them?

Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or

Am touched from;

The scent of these armpits is aroma finer than prayer

This head is more than churches or bible or creeds

I cannot tell how my ankles bend…. nor whence the cause of my faintest wish,

A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books.

My voice goes after what my eyes cannot reach,

With the twirl of my tongue I encompass worlds and volumes of worlds.

Speech is the twin of my vision…. it is unequal to measure itself.

All truths wait in all things,

They neither hasten their own delivery nor resist it,

Logic and sermon never convince,

The damp of the night drives deeper into my soul.

I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey work of stars,

And the narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all machinery

In vain objects stand leagues off and assume manifold shapes

I think I could turn and live awhile with the animals….they are

So placid and self-contained

I stand and look at them sometimes half the day long.

They do not sweat and whine about their condition,

They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins,

They do not make me sick discussing their duty to god,

Not one is dissatisfied…. not one is demented with the mania of

Owning things,

Not one kneels to another nor to his kind that lived thousands of

Years ago,

Not one is respectable or industrious over the whole earth.

I do not know where they got those tokens,

I must have passed that way untold times ago and negligently dropt them

The bull and bug never worshiped half enough,

Dung and dirt more admirable than was dreamed,

The supernatural of no account….myself waiting my time to be

One of the Supremes,

The day getting ready for me when I shall do as much good as the

Best, and be as prodigious,

Guessing when I am it will not tickle me much to receive puffs out of

Pulpit or print;

By my life-lumps! Becoming already a creator!

Putting myself here and now to the ambushed womb of the shadows!

I know perfectly well my own egotism

My words are words of a questioning, and to indicate reality;

The sky up there…. yet here or next door or across the way?

The saints and sages in history…. but you yourself?

Sermons and creeds and theology…. but the human brain, and

What is called reason, and what is called love, and what is called life?

I do not despise you priests;

My faith is the greatest of faiths and the least of faiths,

Enclosing all worship ancient and modern, and all between ancient

And modern,

Believing I shall come again upon the earth after five thousand years,

Waiting responses from oracles…. honoring the gods….

Saluting the sun,

Belonging to the winders of the circuits of circuits

One of that centripetal and centrifugal gang,

I turn and talk like a man leaving charges before a journey.

The past is a push of you and me and all precisely the same,

And the day and the night are for you and me and all,

And what is yet untried and afterward is for you and me and all.

Each who passes is considered, and each who stops is considered, and

Not one single one can it fail.

It is time to explain myself…. let us stand up.

What is known I strip away…. I launch all men and women

Forward with me into the unknown.

The clock indicates the moment…. but what does eternity indicate?

Eternity lies in bottomless reservoirs…. the buckets are rising

Forever and ever,

They pour and pour and they exhale away.

We have thus far exhausted trillions of winters and summers;

There are trillions ahead, and trillions ahead of them.

Births have brought us richness and variety

And other births will bring us richness and variety.

I do not call one greater and one smaller,

That which fills its period and place is equal to any.

I am an acme of things accomplished, and I an encloser of things

To be.

Rise after rise bow the phantoms behind me,

Afar down I see the huge first nothing, the vapor from the nostrils

Of death,

I know I was even there…. I waited unseen and always,

And slept while god carried me through the lethargic mist,

And took my time…. and took no hurt from the foetid carbon

Long I was hugged close…. long and long

Immense have been the preparations for me,

Faithful and friendly the arms that have helped me.

Cycles ferried my cradle, rowing and rowing like cheerful boatmen;

For room to me stars kept aside in their own rings,

They sent influences to look after what was to hold me

Before I was born out of my mother generations guided me,

My embryo has never been torpid…. nothing could overlay it;

For it the nebula cohered to an orb…. the long slow strata piled

To rest it on…. vast vegetables gave it sustenance,

Monstrous sauroids transported it in their mouths and deposited it

With care.

All forces have been steadily employed to complete and delight me,

Now I stand on this spot with my soul.

There is no stoppage, and never can be stoppage;

If I and you and the worlds and all beneath or upon their surfaces,

And all the palpable life, were this moment reduced back to a

Pallid float, it would have no avail in the long run,

We should surely bring up again where we now stand

And as surely go as much farther, and then farther and farther.

A few quadrillions of eras, a few octillions of cubic leagues, do not

Hazard the span, or make it impatient,

They are but parts…. any thing is but a part.

See ever far…. there is limited space outside of that,

Count ever so much…. there is limitless time around that.

Our rendezvous is fitly appointed…. god will be there and wait

Till we come.

I know I have the best of time and space- and that I was never

Measured, and never will be measured.

I tramp a perpetual journey

Not I, not anyone else can travel that road for you,

You must travel it for yourself.

It is not far…. it is within reach,

Perhaps you have been on it since you were born, and did not

Know,

Perhaps it is everywhere on water and on land.

This day before dawn I ascended a hill and looked at the

Crowded heaven,

And I said to my spirit, when we become the enfolders of those

Orbs and the pleasure and knowledge of everything in them,

Shall we be filled and satisfied then?

And my spirit said no, we level that lift to pass and continue beyond.

I have said that the soul is not more than the body,

And I have said that the body is not more than the soul,

And nothing, not god, is greater to one than one’s-self is

And I call to mankind, be not curious about god

For I who am curious about each am not curious about god,

No array of terms can see how much I am at peace about god

And about death.

I hear and behold god in every object, yet I understand god not

In the least,

Nor do I understand who there can be more wonderful than myself.

Why should I wish to see god better than this day?

I see something of god each hour of the twenty-four, and each

Moment then,

In the faces of men and women I see god, and in my own face in

The glass;

I find letters from god dropped in the street, and everyone is

Signed by god’s name,

And I leave them where they are, for I know that others will

Punctually come forever and ever.

And as to you death, and you bitter hug of mortality…. it is idle

To try to alarm me.

And as to you corpse I think you are good manure, but that does

Not offend me,

And as to you life, I reckon you are the leavings of many deaths,

No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before.

I hear you whispering there o stars of heaven,

O suns…. o grass of graves…. o perpetual transfers and

Promotions…. if you do not say anything how can I say

Anything?

There is that in me…. I do not know what it is…. but I know

It is in me.

I do not know it…. it is without name…. it is a word unsaid,

It is not in any dictionary or utterance or symbol.

The past and present wilt…. I have filled them and emptied

Them,

And proceed to fill my next fold of the future.

Do I contradict myself?

Very well then…. I contradict myself;

I am large I contain multitudes.

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,

If you want me again look for me under your bootsoles.

You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,

But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,

And filter and fibre your blood.

Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,

Missing me in one place search another,

I stop somewhere waiting for you