Poems List

Death of a Believer
Yet at the last, ere our spearmen had found him,
Yet at the last, ere a sword-thrust could save,
Yet at the last, with his masters around him,
He spoke of the Faith as a master to slave.
Yet at the last, though the Kafirs had maimed him,
Broken by bondage and wrecked by the reiver,
Yet at the last, tho' the darkness had claimed him,
He called on Allah, and died a Believer!

Dora Diller

'My stomach's full of butterflies!'
lamented Dora Diller.
Her mother sighed. 'That's no surprise,
you ate a caterpillar!'

Darzee's Chaunt
Singer and tailor am I--
Doubled the joys that I know--
Proud of my lilt to the sky,
Proud of the house that I sew--
Over and under, so weave I my music--so weave I the house that
I sew.
Sing to your fledglings again,
Mother, O lift up your head!
Evil that plagued us is slain,
Death in the garden lies dead.
Terror that hid in the roses is impotent--flung on the dung-hill
and dead!
Who hath delivered us, who?
Tell me his nest and his name.
Rikki, the valiant, the true,
Tikki, with eyeballs of flame,
Rik-tikki-tikki, the ivory-fanged, the Hunter with eyeballs of
flame.
Give him the Thanks of the Birds,
Bowing with tail-feathers spread!
Praise him in nightingale-words--
Nay, I will praise him instead.
I will sing you the praise of the bottle-tailed Rikki with
eyeballs of red!

Be Glad Your Nose is on Your Face

Be glad your nose is on your face,
not pasted on some other place,
for if it were where it is not,
you might dislike your nose a lot.


Imagine if your precious nose
were sandwiched in between your toes,
that clearly would not be a treat,
for you'd be forced to smell your feet.


Your nose would be a source of dread
were it attached atop your head,
it soon would drive you to despair,
forever tickled by your hair.


Within your ear, your nose would be
an absolute catastrophe,
for when you were obliged to sneeze,
your brain would rattle from the breeze.


Your nose, instead, through thick and thin,
remains between your eyes and chin,
not pasted on some other place-be
glad your nose is on your face!

Dane-Geld
A.D. -
It is always a temptation to an armed and agile nation
To call upon a neighbour and to say:--
"We invaded you last night--we are quite prepared to fight,
Unless you pay us cash to go away."
And that is called asking for Dane-geld,
And the people who ask it explain
That you've only to pay 'em the Dane-geld
And then you'll get rid of the Dane!
It is always a temptation for a reach and lazy nation,
To puff and look important and to say:--
"Though we know we should defeat you, we have not the
time to meet you.
We will therefore pay you cash to go away."
And that is called paying the Dane-geld;
But we've proved it again and again,
That if once you have paid him the Dane-geld
You never get rid of the Dane.
It is wrong to put temptation in the path of any nation,
For fear they should succumb and go astray;
So when you are requested to pay up or be molested,
You will find it better policy to say:--
"We never pay any-one Dane-geld,
No matter how trifling the cost;
For the end of that game is oppression and shame,
And the nation that plays it is lost!"

As Soon as Fred Gets Out of Bed

As soon as Fred gets out of bed,
his underwear goes on his head.
His mother laughs, "Don't put it there,
a head's no place for underwear!"
But near his ears, above his brains,
is where Fred's underwear remains.


At night when Fred goes back to bed,
he deftly plucks it off his head.
His mother switches off the light
and softly croons, "Good night! Good night!"
And then, for reasons no one knows,
Fred's underwear goes on his toes.

Cuckoo Song
(Spring begins in southern England on the th April, on which date the Old
Woman lets the Cuckoo out of her basket at Heathfield Fair -- locally known as Heffle
Cuckoo Fair.)
Tell it to the locked-up trees,
Cuckoo, bring your song here!
Warrant, Act and Summons, please,
For Spring to pass along here!
Tell old Winder, if he doubt,
Tell him squat and square -- a!
Old Woman!
Old Woman!
Old Woman's let the Cuckoo out
At Heffle Cuckoo Fair -- a!
March has searched and April tried --
'Tisn't long to Mary now.
Not so far to Whitsuntide
And Cuckoo's come to stay now!
Hear the valiant fellow shout
Down the orchard bare -- a!
Old Woman!
Old Woman!
Old Woman's let the Cuckoo out
At Heffle Cuckoo Fair -- a!
When your heart is young and gay
And the season rules it --
Work your works and play your play
'Fore the Autumn cools it!
Kiss you turn and turn-about,
But my lad, beware -- a!
Old Woman!
Old Woman!
Old Woman's let the Cuckoo out
At Heffle Cuckoo Fair -- a!

Trees


But a tree has

a long suffering shapeIs
spread in half
by 2 limbed fate

Rises from gray rain
pavements
To traffic in the bleak

brown air
Of cities radar television
nameless dumb &numb mis connicumb
Throwing twigs the
color of ink To white souled
heaven, with
A reality of its own uses

Covenant

We thought we ranked above the chance of ill.
Others might fall, not we, for we were wise--
Merchants in freedom. So, of our free-will
We let our servants drug our strength with lies.
The pleasure and the poison had its way
On us as on the meanest, till we learned
That he who lies will steal, who steals will slay.
Neither God's judgment nor man's heart was turned.
Yet there remains His Mercy--to be sought
Through wrath and peril till we cleanse the wrong
By that last right which our forefathers claimed
When their Law failed them and its stewards were bought.
This is our cause. God help us, and make strong
Our will to meet Him later, unashamed!

The Scripture of the Golden Eternity

1
Did I create that sky? Yes, for, if it was anything other than a conception in my mind I
wouldnt have said 'Sky'-That is why I am the golden eternity. There are not two of us
here, reader and writer, but one, one golden eternity, One-Which-It-Is, That-WhichEverything-
Is.


2
The awakened Buddha to show the way, the chosen Messiah to die in the degradation
of sentience, is the golden eternity. One that is what is, the golden eternity, or, God,
or, Tathagata-the name. The Named One. The human God. Sentient Godhood. Animate
Divine. The Deified One. The Verified One. The Free One. The Liberator. The Still One.
The settled One. The Established One. Golden Eternity. All is Well. The Empty One. The
Ready One. The Quitter. The Sitter. The Justified One. The Happy One.


3
That sky, if it was anything other than an illusion of my mortal mind I wouldnt have
said 'that sky.' Thus I made that sky, I am the golden eternity. I am Mortal Golden
Eternity.


4
I was awakened to show the way, chosen to die in the degradation of life, because I
am Mortal Golden Eternity.


5
I am the golden eternity in mortal animate form.


6
Strictly speaking, there is no me, because all is emptiness. I am empty, I am
non-existent. All is bliss.


7
This truth law has no more reality than the world.


8
You are the golden eternity because there is no me and no you, only one golden
eternity.


9
The Realizer. Entertain no imaginations whatever, for the thing is a no-thing. Knowing
this then is Human Godhood.


10
This world is the movie of what everything is, it is one movie, made of the same stuff
throughout, belonging to nobody, which is what everything is.


11
If we were not all the golden eternity we wouldnt be here. Because we are here we
cant help being pure. To tell man to be pure on account of the punishing angel that
punishes the bad and the rewarding angel that rewards the good would be like telling
the water 'Be Wet'-Never the less, all things depend on supreme reality, which is
already established as the record of Karma earned-fate.



12
God is not outside us but is just us, the living and the dead, the never-lived and
never-died. That we should learn it only now, is supreme reality, it was written a long
time ago in the archives of universal mind, it is already done, there's no more to do.


13
This is the knowledge that sees the golden eternity in all things, which is us, you, me,
and which is no longer us, you, me.


14
What name shall we give it which hath no name, the common eternal matter of the
mind? If we were to call it essence, some might think it meant perfume, or gold, or
honey. It is not even mind. It is not even discussible, groupable into words; it is not
even endless, in fact it is not even mysterious or inscrutably inexplicable; it is what is;
it is that; it is this. We could easily call the golden eternity 'This.' But 'what's in a
name?' asked Shakespeare. The golden eternity by another name would be as sweet. A
Tathagata, a God, a Buddha by another name, an Allah, a Sri Krishna, a Coyote, a
Brahma, a Mazda, a Messiah, an Amida, an Aremedeia, a Maitreya, a Palalakonuh, 1 2
3 4 5 6 7 8 would be as sweet. The golden eternity is X, the golden eternity is A, the
golden eternity is /\, the golden eternity is O, the golden eternity is [ ], the golden
eternity is t-h-e-g-o-l-d-e-n-e-t-e-r- n-i-t-y. In the beginning was the word; before the
beginning, in the beginningless infinite neverendingness, was the essence. Both the
word 'god' and the essence of the word, are emptiness. The form of emptiness which is
emptiness having taken the form of form, is what you see and hear and feel right now,
and what you taste and smell and think as you read this. Wait awhile, close your eyes,
let your breathing stop three seconds or so, listen to the inside silence in the womb of
the world, let your hands and nerve-ends drop, re-recognize the bliss you forgot, the
emptiness and essence and ecstasy of ever having been and ever to be the golden
eternity. This is the lesson you forgot.


15
The lesson was taught long ago in the other world systems that have naturally changed
into the empty and awake, and are here now smiling in our smile and scowling in our
scowl. It is only like the golden eternity pretending to be smiling and scowling to itself;
like a ripple on the smooth ocean of knowing. The fate of humanity is to vanish into the
golden eternity, return pouring into its hands which are not hands. The navel shall
receive, invert, and take back what'd issued forth; the ring of flesh shall close; the
personalities of long dead heroes are blank dirt.


16
The point is we're waiting, not how comfortable we are while waiting. Paleolithic man
waited by caves for the realization of why he was there, and hunted; modern men wait
in beautified homes and try to forget death and birth. We're waiting for the realization
that this is the golden eternity.


17
It came on time.


18
There is a blessedness surely to be believed, and that is that everything abides in
eternal ecstasy, now and forever.



19
Mother Kali eats herself back. All things but come to go. All these holy forms,
unmanifest, not even forms, truebodies of blank bright ecstasy, abiding in a trance, 'in
emptiness and silence' as it is pointed out in the Diamond-cutter, asked to be only
what they are: GLAD.


20
The secret God-grin in the trees and in the teapot, in ashes and fronds, fire and brick,
flesh and mental human hope. All things, far from yearning to be re-united with God,
had never left themselves and here they are, Dharmakaya, the body of the truth law,
the universal Thisness.


21
'Beyond the reach of change and fear, beyond all praise and blame,' the Lankavatara
Scripture knows to say, is he who is what he is in time and time-less-ness, in ego and
in ego-less-ness, in self and in self-less-ness.


22
Stare deep into the world before you as if it were the void: innumerable holy ghosts,
buddhies, and savior gods there hide, smiling. All the atoms emitting light inside
wavehood, there is no personal separation of any of it. A hummingbird can come into a
house and a hawk will not: so rest and be assured. While looking for the light, you may
suddenly be devoured by the darkness and find the true light.


23
Things dont tire of going and coming. The flies end up with the delicate viands.


24
The cause of the world's woe is birth, The cure of the world's woe is a bent stick.


25
Though it is everything, strictly speaking there is no golden eternity because
everything is nothing: there are no things and no goings and comings: for all is
emptiness, and emptiness is these forms, emptiness is this one formhood.


26
All these selfnesses have already vanished. Einstein measured that this present
universe is an expanding bubble, and you know what that means.


27
Discard such definite imaginations of phenomena as your own self, thou human being,
thou'rt a numberless mass of sun-motes: each mote a shrine. The same as to your
shyness of other selves, selfness as divided into infinite numbers of beings, or selfness
as identified as one self existing eternally. Be obliging and noble, be generous with
your time and help and possessions, and be kind, because the emptiness of this little
place of flesh you carry around and call your soul, your entity, is the same emptiness in
every direction of space unmeasurable emptiness, the same, one, and holy emptiness
everywhere: why be selfy and unfree, Man God, in your dream? Wake up, thou'rt
selfless and free. 'Even and upright your mind abides nowhere,' states Hui Neng of
China. We're all in heaven now.


28



Roaring dreams take place in a perfectly silent mind. Now that we know this, throw the
raft away.


29
Are you tightwad and are you mean, those are the true sins, and sin is only a
conception of ours, due to long habit. Are you generous and are you kind, those are
the true virtues, and they're only conceptions. The golden eternity rests beyond sin and
virtue, is attached to neither, is attached to nothing, is unattached, because the golden
eternity is Alone. The mold has rills but it is one mold. The field has curves but it is one
field. All things are different forms of the same thing. I call it the golden eternity-what
do you call it, brother? for the blessing and merit of virtue, and the punishment and
bad fate of sin, are alike just so many words.


30
Sociability is a big smile, and a big smile is nothing but teeth. Rest and be kind.


31
There's no need to deny that evil thing called GOOGOO, which doesnt exist, just as
there's no need to deny that evil thing called Sex and Rebirth, which also doesn't exist,
as it is only a form of emptiness. The bead of semen comes from a long line of
awakened natures that were your parent, a holy flow, a succession of saviors pouring
from the womb of the dark void and back into it, fantastic magic imagination of the
lightning, flash, plays, dreams, not even plays, dreams.


32
'The womb of exuberant fertility,' Ashvhaghosha called it, radiating forms out of its
womb of exuberant emptiness. In emptiness there is no Why, no knowledge of Why, no
ignorance of Why, no asking and no answering of Why, and no significance attached to
this.


33
A disturbed and frightened man is like the golden eternity experimentally pretending at
feeling the disturbed-and-frightened mood; a calm and joyous man, is like the golden
eternity pretending at experimenting with that experience; a man experiencing his
Sentient Being, is like the golden eternity pretending at trying that out too; a man who
has no thoughts, is like the golden eternity pretending at being itself; because the
emptiness of everything has no beginning and no end and at present is infinite.


34
'Love is all in all,' said Sainte Therese, choosing Love for her vocation and pouring out
her happiness, from her garden by the gate, with a gentle smile, pouring roses on the
earth, so that the beggar in the thunderbolt received of the endless offering of her dark
void. Man goes a-beggaring into nothingness. 'Ignorance is the father, Habit-Energy is
the Mother.' Opposites are not the same for the same reason they are the same.


35
The words 'atoms of dust' and 'the great universes' are only words. The idea that they
imply is only an idea. The belief that we live here in this existence, divided into various
beings, passing food in and out of ourselves, and casting off husks of bodies one after
another with no cessation and no definite or particular discrimination, is only an idea.
The seat of our Immortal Intelligence can be seen in that beating light between the
eyes the Wisdom Eye of the ancients: we know what we're doing: we're not disturbed:



because we're like the golden eternity pretending at playing the magic cardgame and
making believe it's real, it's a big dream, a joyous ecstasy of words and ideas and
flesh, an ethereal flower unfolding a folding back, a movie, an exuberant bunch of lines
bounding emptiness, the womb of Avalokitesvara, a vast secret silence, springtime in
the Void, happy young gods talking and drinking on a cloud. Our 32,000 chillicosms
bear all the marks of excellence. Blind milky light fills our night; and the morning is
crystal.

36
Give a gift to your brother, but there's no gift to compare with the giving of assurance
that he is the golden eternity. The true understanding of this would bring tears to your
eyes. The other shore is right here, forgive and forget, protect and reassure. Your
tormenters will be purified. Raise thy diamond hand. Have faith and wait. The course of
your days is a river rumbling over your rocky back. You're sitting at the bottom of the
world with a head of iron. Religion is thy sad heart. You're the golden eternity and it
must be done by you. And means one thing: Nothing-Ever-Happened. This is the
golden eternity.

37
When the Prince of the Kalinga severed the flesh from the limbs and body of Buddha,
even then the Buddha was free from any such ideas as his own self, other self, living
beings divided into many selves, or living beings united and identified into one eternal
self. The golden eternity isnt 'me.' Before you can know that you're dreaming you'll
wake up, Atman. Had the Buddha, the Awakened One, cherished any of these
imaginary judgments of and about things, he would have fallen into impatience and
hatred in his suffering. Instead, like Jesus on the Cross he saw the light and died kind,
loving all living things.

38
The world was spun out of a blade of grass: the world was spun out of a mind. Heaven
was spun out of a blade of grass: heaven was spun out of a mind. Neither will do you
much good, neither will do you much harm. The Oriental imperturbed, is the golden
eternity.

39
He is called a Yogi, his is called a Priest, a Minister, a Brahmin, a Parson, a Chaplain, a
Roshi, a Laoshih, a Master, a Patriarch, a Pope, a Spiritual Commissar, a Counselor,
and Adviser, a Bodhisattva-Mahasattva, an Old Man, a Saint, a Shaman, a Leader, who
thinks nothing of himself as separate from another self, not higher nor lower, no stages
and no definite attainments, no mysterious stigmata or secret holyhood, no wild dark
knowledge and no venerable authoritativeness, nay a giggling sage sweeping out of the
kitchen with a broom. After supper, a silent smoke. Because there is no definite
teaching: the world is undisciplined. Nature endlessly in every direction inward to your
body and outward into space.

40
Meditate outdoors. The dark trees at night are not really the dark trees at night, it's
only the golden eternity.

41
A mosquito as big as Mount Everest is much bigger than you think: a horse's hoof is
more delicate than it looks. An altar consecrated to the golden eternity, filled with


roses and lotuses and diamonds, is the cell of the humble prisoner, the cell so cold and
dreary. Boethius kissed the Robe of the Mother Truth in a Roman dungeon.

42
Do you think the emptiness of the sky will ever crumble away? Every little child knows
that everybody will go to heaven. Knowing that nothing ever happened is not really
knowing that nothing ever happened, it's the golden eternity. In other words, nothing
can compare with telling your brother and your sister that what happened, what is
happening, and what will happen, never really happened, is not really happening and
never will happen, it is only the golden eternity. Nothing was ever born, nothing will
ever die. Indeed, it didnt even happen that you heard about golden eternity through
the accidental reading of this scripture. The thing is easily false. There are no warnings
whatever issuing from the golden eternity: do what you want.

43
Even in dreams be kind, because anyway there is no time, no space, no mind. 'It's all
not-born,' said Bankei of Japan, whose mother heard this from her son did what we call
'died happy.' And even if she had died unhappy, dying unhappy is not really dying
unhappy, it's the golden eternity. It's impossible to exist, it's impossible to be
persecuted, it's impossible to miss your reward.

44
Eight hundred and four thousand myriads of Awakened Ones throughout numberless
swirls of epochs appeared to work hard to save a grain of sand, and it was only the
golden eternity. And their combined reward will be no greater and no lesser than what
will be won by a piece of dried turd. It's a reward beyond thought.

45
When you've understood this scripture, throw it away. If you cant understand this
scripture, throw it away. I insist on your freedom.

46
O everlasting Eternity, all things and all truth laws are no- things, in three ways, which
is the same way: AS THINGS OF TIME they dont exist because there is no furthest
atom than can be found or weighed or grasped, it is emptiness through and through,
matter and empty space too. AS THINGS OF MIND they dont exist, because the mind
that conceives and makes them out does so by seeing, hearing touching, smelling,
tasting, and mentally-noticing and without this mind they would not be seen or heard
or felt or smelled or tasted or mentally-noticed, they are discriminated that which
they're not necessarily by imaginary judgments of the mind, they are actually
dependent on the mind that makes them out, by themselves they are no-things, they
are really mental, seen only of the mind, they are really empty visions of the mind,
heaven is a vision, everything is a vision. What does it mean that I am in this endless
universe thinking I'm a man sitting under the stars on the terrace of earth, but actually
empty and awake throughout the emptiness and awakedness of everything? It means
that I am empty and awake, knowing that I am empty and awake, and that there's no
difference between me and anything else. It means that I have attained to that which
everything is.

47
The-Attainer-To-That-Which-Everything-Is, the Sanskrit Tathagata, has no ideas
whatever but abides in essence identically with the essence of all things, which is what


it is, in emptiness and silence. Imaginary meaning stretched to make mountains and as
far as the germ is concerned it stretched even further to make molehills. A million souls
dropped through hell but nobody saw them or counted them. A lot of large people isnt
really a lot of large people, it's only the golden eternity. When St. Francis went to
heaven he did not add to heaven nor detract from earth. Locate silence, possess space,
spot me the ego. 'From the beginning,' said the Sixth Patriarch of the China School,
'not a thing is.'

48
He who loves all life with his pity and intelligence isnt really he who loves all life with
his pity and intelligence, it's only natural. The universe is fully known because it is
ignored. Enlightenment comes when you dont care. This is a good tree stump I'm
sitting on. You cant even grasp your own pain let alone your eternal reward. I love you
because you're me. I love you because there's nothing else to do. It's just the natural
golden eternity.

49
What does it mean that those trees and mountains are magic and unreal?- It means
that those trees and mountains are magic and unreal. What does it mean that those
trees and mountains are not magic but real?- it means that those trees and mountains
are not magic but real. Men are just making imaginary judgments both ways, and all
the time it's just the same natural golden eternity.

50
If the golden eternity was anything other than mere words, you could not have said
'golden eternity.' This means that the words are used to point at the endless
nothingness of reality. If the endless nothingness of reality was anything other than
mere words, you could not have said 'endless nothingness of reality,' you could not
have said it. This means that the golden eternity is out of our word-reach, it refuses
steadfastly to be described, it runs away from us and leads us in. The name is not
really the name. The same way, you could not have said 'this world' if this world was
anything other than mere words. There's nothing there but just that. They've long
known that there's nothing to life but just the living of it. It Is What It Is and That's All
It Is.

51
There's no system of teaching and no reward for teaching the golden eternity, because
nothing has happened. In the golden eternity teaching and reward havent even
vanished let alone appeared. The golden eternity doesnt even have to be perfect. It is
very silly of me to talk about it. I talk about it simply because here I am dreaming that
I talk about it in a dream already ended, ages ago, from which I'm already awake, and
it was only an empty dreaming, in fact nothing whatever, in fact nothing ever
happened at all. The beauty of attaining the golden eternity is that nothing will be
acquired, at last.

52
Kindness and sympathy, understanding and encouragement, these give: they are
better than just presents and gifts: no reason in the world why not. Anyhow, be nice.
Remember the golden eternity is yourself. 'If someone will simply practice kindness,'
said Gotama to Subhuti, 'he will soon attain highest perfect wisdom.' Then he added:
'Kindness after all is only a word and it should be done on the spot without thought of
kindness.' By practicing kindness all over with everyone you will soon come into the


holy trance, infinite distinctions of personalities will become what they really
mysteriously are, our common and eternal blissstuff, the pureness of everything
forever, the great bright essence of mind, even and one thing everywhere the holy
eternal milky love, the white light everywhere everything, emptybliss, svaha, shining,
ready, and awake, the compassion in the sound of silence, the swarming myriad
trillionaire you are.


53
Everything's alright, form is emptiness and emptiness is form, and we're here forever,
in one form or another, which is empty. Everything's alright, we're not here, there, or
anywhere. Everything's alright, cats sleep.


54
The everlasting and tranquil essence, look around and see the smiling essence
everywhere. How wily was the world made, Maya, not-even-made.


55
There's the world in the daylight. If it was completely dark you wouldnt see it but it
would still be there. If you close your eyes you really see what it's like: mysterious
particle-swarming emptiness. On the moon big mosquitos of straw know this in the
kindness of their hearts. Truly speaking, unrecognizably sweet it all is. Don't worry
about nothing.


56
Imaginary judgments about things, in the Nothing-Ever-Happened wonderful void, you
dont even have to reject them, let alone accept them. 'That looks like a tree, let's call it
a tree,' said Coyote to Earthmaker at the beginning, and they walked around the
rootdrinker patting their bellies.


57
Perfectly selfless, the beauty of it, the butterfly doesnt take it as a personal
achievement, he just disappears through the trees. You too, kind and humble and
not-even-here, it wasnt in a greedy mood that you saw the light that belongs to
everybody.


58
Look at your little finger, the emptiness of it is no different than the emptiness of
infinity.


59
Cats yawn because they realize that there's nothing to do.


60
Up in heaven you wont remember all these tricks of yours. You wont even sigh 'Why?'
Whether as atomic dust or as great cities, what's the difference in all this stuff. A tree
is still only a rootdrinker. The puma's twisted face continues to look at the blue sky
with sightless eyes, Ah sweet divine and indescribable verdurous paradise planted in
mid-air! Caitanya, it's only consciousness. Not with thoughts of your mind, but in the
believing sweetness of your heart, you snap the link and open the golden door and
disappear into the bright room, the everlasting ecstasy, eternal Now. Soldier, follow
me! - there never was a war. Arjuna, dont fight! - why fight over nothing? Bless and sit
down.



61
I remember that I'm supposed to be a man and consciousness and I focus my eyes and
the print reappears and the words of the poor book are saying, 'The world, as God has
made it' and there are no words in my pitying heart to express the knowless loveliness
of the trance there was before I read those words, I had no such idea that there was a
world.

62
This world has no marks, signs, or evidence of existence, nor the noises in it, like
accident of wind or voices or heehawing animals, yet listen closely the eternal hush of
silence goes on and on throughout all this, and has been gong on, and will go on and
on. This is because the world is nothing but a dream and is just thought of and the
everlasting eternity pays no attention to it. At night under the moon, or in a quiet
room, hush now, the secret music of the Unborn goes on and on, beyond conception,
awake beyond existence. Properly speaking, awake is not really awake because the
golden eternity never went to sleep; you can tell by the constant sound of Silence
which cuts through this world like a magic diamond through the trick of your not
realizing that your mind caused the world.

63
The God of the American Plateau Indian was Coyote. He says: 'Earth! those beings
living on your surface, none of them disappearing, will all be transformed. When I have
spoken to them, when they have spoken to me, from that moment on, their words and
their bodies which they usually use to move about with, will all change. I will not have
heard them.'

64
I was smelling flowers in the yard, and when I stood up I took a deep breath and the
blood all rushed to my brain and I woke up dead on my back in the grass. I had
apparently fainted, or died, for about sixty seconds. My neighbor saw me but he
thought I had just suddenly thrown myself on the grass to enjoy the sun. During that
timeless moment of unconsciousness I saw the golden eternity. I saw heaven. In it
nothing had ever happened, the events of a million years ago were just as phantom
and ungraspable as the events of now, or the events of the next ten minutes. It was
perfect, the golden solitude, the golden emptiness, Something-Or- Other, something
surely humble. There was a rapturous ring of silence abiding perfectly. There was no
question of being alive or not being alive, of likes and dislikes, of near or far, no
question of giving or gratitude, no question of mercy or judgment, or of suffering or its
opposite or anything. It was the womb itself, aloneness, alaya vijnana the universal
store, the Great Free Treasure, the Great Victory, infinite completion, the joyful
mysterious essence of Arrangement. It seemed like one smiling smile, one adorable
adoration, one gracious and adorable charity, everlasting safety, refreshing afternoon,
roses, infinite brilliant immaterial gold ash, the Golden Age. The 'golden' came from the
sun in my eyelids, and the 'eternity' from my sudden instant realization as I woke up
that I had just been where it all came from and where it was all returning, the
everlasting So, and so never coming or going; therefore I call it the golden eternity but
you can call it anything you want. As I regained consciousness I felt so sorry I had a
body and a mind suddenly realizing I didn't even have a body and a mind and nothing
had ever happened and everything is alright forever and forever and forever, O thank
you thank you thank you.


65
This is the first teaching from the golden eternity.


66
The second teaching from the golden eternity is that there never was a first teaching
from the golden eternity. So be sure.

Columns
(Mobile Columns of the Boer War)
Out o' the wilderness, dusty an' dry
(Time, an' 'igh time to be trekkin' again!)
Oo is it 'eads to the Detail Supply?
A sectioin, a pompom, an' six 'undred men.
'Ere comes the clerk with 'is lantern an' keys
(Time, an 'igh time to be trekkin 'again!)
" Surplus of everything--draw what you please
"For the section, the pompom, an' six 'unrdred men."
"What are our orders an' where do we lay? .
(Time, an 'igh time to be trekkin' again!)
"You came after dark--you will leave before day,
"You section, you pompom, you six' undred men!"
Down the tin street, 'alf awake an 'unfed,
'Ark to 'em blessin' the Gen'ral in bed!
Now by the church an' the outspan they wind--
Over the ridge an' it's all lef' be'ind
For the section, etc.
Soon they will camp as the dawn's growin' grey,
Roll up for coffee an' sleep while they may--
The section , etc.
Read their 'ome letters, their papers an' such,
For they'll move after dark to astonish the Dutch
With a section, etc.
'Untin' for shade as the long hours pass--
Blankets on rifles or burrows in grass,
Lies the section, etc.
Dossin' or beatin' a shirt in the sun,
Watching chameleons or cleanin' a gun,
Waits the section, etc.
With nothin' but stillness as far as you please,
An' the silly mirage stringin' islands an' seas
Round the section, etc.
So they strips off their hide an' they grills in their bones,
Till the shadows crawl out from beneath the pore stones
Toward the section, etc.
An' the Mauser-bird stops an' the jacals begin
A the 'orse-guard comes up and the Gunners 'ook in
As a 'int the pompom an' six 'undred men . . . .


Off through the dark with the stars to rely on---
(Alpha Centauri an' somethin' Orion)
Moves the section, etc.
Same bloomin' 'ole which the ant-bear 'as broke,
Same bloomin' stumble an' same bloomin' joke
Down the section, etc.
Same "which is right?" where the cart-tracks divide,
Same "give it up" from the same clever guide
To the section, etc.
Same tumble-down on the same 'idden farm,
Same white-eyed Kaffir 'oo gives the alarm--
Of the section, etc.
Same shootin' wild at the end o' the night,
Same flyin'-tackle an' same messy fight,
By the section, etc.
Same ugly 'iccup an' same 'orrid squeal,
When it's too dark to see an' it's too late to feel
In the section, etc.
(Same batch of prisoners, 'airy an' still,
Watchin' their comrades bolt over the 'ill
From the section, etc.)
Same chilly glare in the eye of the sun
As 'e gets up displeasured to see what was done
By the section, etc.
Same splash o' pink on the stoep or the kraal,
An' the same quiet face which 'as finished with all
In the section, the pompom, an' six 'undred men.
Out o' the wilderness, dusty an' dry
(Time, an' 'igh time to be trekkin' again!)
' Oo is it 'eads to the Detail Supply ?
A section, a pompom, an 'six' 'undred men.

One Flower

One flower

on the cliffside
Nodding at the canyon

Cleared
(In Memory of a Commission)
Help for a patriot distressed, a spotless spirit hurt,
Help for an honourable clan sore trampled in the dirt!
From Queenstown Bay to Donegal, O listen to my song,
The honourable gentlemen have suffered grievous wrong.
Their noble names were mentioned -- O the burning black disgrace! --
By a brutal Saxon paper in an Irish shooting-case;
They sat upon it for a year, then steeled their heart to brave it,
And "coruscating innocence" the learned Judges gave it.
Bear witness, Heaven, of that grim crime beneath the surgeon's knife,
The honourable gentlemen deplored the loss of life!
Bear witness of those chanting choirs that burk and shirk and snigger,
No man laid hand upon the knife or finger to the trigger!
Cleared in the face of all mankind beneath the winking skies,
Like ph]oenixes from Ph]oenix Park (and what lay there) they rise!
Go shout it to the emerald seas -- give word to Erin now,
Her honourable gentlemen are cleared -- and this is how: --
They only paid the Moonlighter his cattle-hocking price,
They only helped the murderer with counsel's best advice,
But -- sure it keeps their honour white -- the learned Court believes
They never gave a piece of plate to murderers and thieves.
They never told the ramping crowd to card a woman's hide,
They never marked a man for death -- what fault of theirs he died? --
They only said "intimidate", and talked and went away --
By God, the boys that did the work were braver men than they!
Their sin it was that fed the fire -- small blame to them that heard --
The "bhoys" get drunk on rhetoric, and madden at a word --
They knew whom they were talking at, if they were Irish too,
The gentlemen that lied in Court, they knew, and well they knew.
They only took the Judas-gold from Fenians out of jail,
They only fawned for dollars on the blood-dyed Clanna-Gael.
If black is black or white is white, in black and white it's down,
They're only traitors to the Queen and rebels to the Crown.
"Cleared", honourable gentlemen! Be thankful it's no more: --
The widow's curse is on your house, the dead are at your door.
On you the shame of open shame, on you from North to South
The hand of every honest man flat-heeled across your mouth.
"Less black than we were painted"? -- Faith, no word of black was said;
The lightest touch was human blood, and that, you know, runs red.
It's sticking to your fist to-day for all your sneer and scoff,
And by the Judge's well-weighed word you cannot wipe it off.


Hold up those hands of innocence -- go, scare your sheep together,
The blundering, tripping tups that bleat behind the old bell-wether;
And if they snuff the taint and break to find another pen,
Tell them it's tar that glistens so, and daub them yours again!
"The charge is old"? -- As old as Cain -- as fresh as yesterday;
Old as the Ten Commandments -- have ye talked those laws away?
If words are words, or death is death, or powder sends the ball,
You spoke the words that sped the shot -- the curse be on you all.
"Our friends believe"? -- Of course they do -- as sheltered women may;
But have they seen the shrieking soul ripped from the quivering clay?
They! -- If their own front door is shut,
they'll swear the whole world's warm;
What do they know of dread of death or hanging fear of harm?
The secret half a county keeps, the whisper in the lane,
The shriek that tells the shot went home behind the broken pane,
The dry blood crisping in the sun that scares the honest bees,
And shows the "bhoys" have heard your talk -- what do they know of these?
But you -- you know -- ay, ten times more; the secrets of the dead,
Black terror on the country-side by word and whisper bred,
The mangled stallion's scream at night, the tail-cropped heifer's low.
Who set the whisper going first? You know, and well you know!
My soul! I'd sooner lie in jail for murder plain and straight,
Pure crime I'd done with my own hand for money, lust, or hate,
Than take a seat in Parliament by fellow-felons cheered,
While one of those "not provens" proved me cleared as you are cleared.
Cleared -- you that "lost" the League accounts -- go, guard our honour still,
Go, help to make our country's laws that broke God's law at will --
One hand stuck out behind the back, to signal "strike again";
The other on your dress-shirt-front to show your heart is clane.
If black is black or white is white, in black and white it's down,
You're only traitors to the Queen and rebels to the Crown.
If print is print or words are words, the learned Court perpends: --
We are not ruled by murderers, but only -- by their friends.

Nebraska


April doesnt hurt here
Like it does in New England
The ground
Vast and brown
Surrounds dry towns
Located in the dust
Of the coming locust
Live for survival, not for 'kicks'
Be a bangtail describer,
like of shrouded traveler
in Textile tenement & the birds fighting in yr ears-like Burroughs exact to describe &
gettin $
The Angry Hunger
(hunger is anger)
who fears the
hungry feareth
the angry)
And so I came home
To Golden far away
Twas on the horizon
Every blessed day
As we rolled And we rolled
From Donner tragic Pass
Thru April in Nevada And out Salt City Way Into the dry Nebraskas And sad Wyomings
Where young girls And pretty lover boys
With Mickey Mantle eyes
Wander under moons
Sawing in lost cradle
And Judge O Fasterc
Passes whiggling by To ask of young love: ,,Was it the same wind Of April Plains eve
that ruffled the dress
Of my lost love
Louanna
In the Western
Far off night
Lost as the whistle
Of the passing Train
Everywhere West
Roams moaning
The deep basso

-Vom! Vom!
-Was it the same love
Notified my bones As mortify yrs now
Children of the soft
Wyoming April night?
Couldna been!
But was! But was!'
And on the prairie
The wildflower blows
In the night For bees & birds And sleeping hidden Animals of life.
The Chicago
Spitters in the spotty street

Cheap beans, loop, Girls made eyes at me And I had 35 Cents in my jeans -
Then Toledo
Springtime starry
Lover night Of hot rod boys And cool girls A wandering
A wandering
In search of April pain A plash of rain
Will not dispel This fumigatin hell Of lover lane This park of roses Blue as bees
In former airy poses
In aerial O Way hoses
No tamarand And figancine Can the musterand Be less kind
Sol -
Sol -
Bring forth yr Ah Sunflower - Ah me Montana
Phosphorescent Rose
And bridge in
fairly land
I'd understand it all -

Christmas in India
Dim dawn behind the tamerisks -- the sky is saffron-yellow --
As the women in the village grind the corn,
And the parrots seek the riverside, each calling to his fellow
That the Day, the staring Easter Day is born.
Oh the white dust on the highway! Oh the stenches in the byway!
Oh the clammy fog that hovers
And at Home they're making merry 'neath the white and scarlet berry --
What part have India's exiles in their mirth?
Full day begind the tamarisks -- the sky is blue and staring --
As the cattle crawl afield beneath the yoke,
And they bear One o'er the field-path, who is past all hope or caring,
To the ghat below the curling wreaths of smoke.
Call on Rama, going slowly, as ye bear a brother lowly --
Call on Rama -- he may hear, perhaps, your voice!
With our hymn-books and our psalters we appeal to other altars,
And to-day we bid "good Christian men rejoice!"
High noon behind the tamarisks -- the sun is hot above us --
As at Home the Christmas Day is breaking wan.
They will drink our healths at dinner -- those who tell us how they love us,
And forget us till another year be gone!
Oh the toil that knows no breaking! Oh the Heimweh, ceaseless, aching!
Oh the black dividing Sea and alien Plain!
Youth was cheap -- wherefore we sold it.
Gold was good -- we hoped to hold it,
And to-day we know the fulness of our gain.
Grey dusk behind the tamarisks -- the parrots fly together --
As the sun is sinking slowly over Home;
And his last ray seems to mock us shackled in a lifelong tether.
That drags us back how'er so far we roam.
Hard her service, poor her payment -- she is ancient, tattered raiment --
India, she the grim Stepmother of our kind.
If a year of life be lent her, if her temple's shrine we enter,
The door is hut -- we may not look behind.
Black night behind the tamarisks -- the owls begin their chorus --
As the conches from the temple scream and bray.
With the fruitless years behind us, and the hopeless years before us,
Let us honor, O my brother, Christmas Day!
Call a truce, then, to our labors -- let us feast with friends and neighbors,
And be merry as the custom of our caste;
For if "faint and forced the laughter," and if sadness follow after,
We are richer by one mocking Christmas past.

How to Meditate

-lights outfall,
hands a-clasped, into instantaneous
ecstasy like a shot of heroin or morphine,
the gland inside of my brain discharging
the good glad fluid (Holy Fluid) as
i hap-down and hold all my body parts
down to a deadstop trance-Healing
all my sicknesses-erasing all-not
even the shred of a 'I-hope-you' or a
Loony Balloon left in it, but the mind
blank, serene, thoughtless. When a thought
comes a-springing from afar with its heldforth
figure of image, you spoof it out,
you spuff it off, you fake it, and
it fades, and thought never comes-and
with joy you realize for the first time
'thinking's just like not thinking-
So I don't have to think
any
more'

Chant-Pagan
ENGLISH IRREGULAR, DISCHARGED
Me that 'ave been what I've been --
Me that 'ave gone where I've gone --
Me that 'ave seen what I've seen --
'Ow can I ever take on
With awful old England again,
An' 'ouses both sides of the street,
And 'edges two sides of the lane,
And the parson an' gentry between,
An' touchin' my 'at when we meet --
Me that 'ave been what I've been?
Me that 'ave watched 'arf a world
'Eave up all shiny with dew,
Kopje on kop to the sun,
An' as soon as the mist let 'em through
Our 'elios winkin' like fun --
Three sides of a ninety-mile square,
Over valleys as big as a shire --
"Are ye there? Are ye there? Are ye there?"
An' then the blind drum of our fire . . .
An' I'm rollin' 'is lawns for the Squire,
Me!
Me htat 'ave rode through the dark
Forty mile, often, on end,
Along the Ma'ollisberg Range,
With only the stars for my mark
An' only the night for my friend,
An' things runnin' off as you pass,
An' things jumpin' up in the grass,
An' the silence, the shine an' the size
Of the 'igh, unexpressible skies --
I am takin' some letters almost
As much as a mile to the post,
An' "mind you come back with the change!"
Me!
Me that saw Barberton took
When we dropped through the clouds on their 'ead,
An' they 'ove the guns over and fled --
Me that was through Di'mond I'll,
An' Pieters an' Springs an' Belfast --
From Dundee to Vereeniging all --
Me that stuck out to the last
(An' five bloomin' bars on my chest) --
I am doin' my Sunday-school best,
By the 'elp of the Squire an' 'is wife
(Not to mention the 'ousemaid an' cook),
To come in an' 'ands up an' be still,


An' honestly work for my bread,
My livin' in that state of life
To which it shall please God to call
Me!
Me that 'ave followed my trade
In the place where the Lightnin's are made;
"Twixt the Rains and the Sun and the Moon --
Me that lay down an' got up
Three years with the sky for my roof --
That 'ave ridden my 'unger an' thirst
Six thousand raw mile on the hoof,
With the Vaal and the Orange for cup,
An' the Brandwater Basin for dish, --
Oh! it's 'ard to be'ave as they wish
(Too 'ard, an' a little too soon),
I'll 'ave to think over it first --
Me!
I will arise an' get 'ence --
I will trek South and make sure
If it's only my fancy or not
That the sunshine of England is pale,
And the breezes of England are stale,
An' there's something' gone small with the lot.
For I know of a sun an' a wind,
An' some plains and a mountain be'ind,
An' some graves by a barb-wire fence,
An' a Dutchman I've fought 'oo might give
Me a job where I ever inclined
To look in an' offsaddle an' live
Where there's neither a road nor a tree --
But only my Maker an' me,
An I think it will kill me or cure,
So I think I will go there an' see.

Haiku (The taste...)

The taste
of rain
—Why kneel?

Cells
I've a head like a concertina: I've a tongue like a button-stick:
I've a mouth like an old potato, and I'm more than a little sick,
But I've had my fun o' the Corp'ral's Guard: I've made the cinders fly,
And I'm here in the Clink for a thundering drink
and blacking the Corporal's eye.
With a second-hand overcoat under my head,
And a beautiful view of the yard,
O it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B.
For "drunk and resisting the Guard!"
Mad drunk and resisting the Guard --
'Strewth, but I socked it them hard!
So it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B.
For "drunk and resisting the Guard."
I started o' canteen porter, I finished o' canteen beer,
But a dose o' gin that a mate slipped in, it was that that brought me here.
'Twas that and an extry double Guard that rubbed my nose in the dirt;
But I fell away with the Corp'ral's stock
and the best of the Corp'ral's shirt.
I left my cap in a public-house, my boots in the public road,
And Lord knows where, and I don't care, my belt and my tunic goed;
They'll stop my pay, they'll cut away the stripes I used to wear,
But I left my mark on the Corp'ral's face, and I think he'll keep it there!
My wife she cries on the barrack-gate, my kid in the barrack-yard,
It ain't that I mind the Ord'ly room -- it's ~that~ that cuts so hard.
I'll take my oath before them both that I will sure abstain,
But as soon as I'm in with a mate and gin, I know I'll do it again!
With a second-hand overcoat under my head,
And a beautiful view of the yard,
Yes, it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B.
For "drunk and resisting the Guard!"
Mad drunk and resisting the Guard --
'Strewth, but I socked it them hard!
So it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B.
For "drunk and resisting the Guard."

Haiku (Birds singing...)

Birds singing
in the dark
—Rainy dawn.

Cain and Abel
Western Version
Cain and Abel were brothers born.
(Koop-la! Come along, cows!)
One raised cattle and one raised corn.
(Koop-la! Come along! Co-hoe!)
And Cain he farmed by the river-side,
So he did not care how much it dried.
For he banked, and he sluiced, and he ditched and he led
(And the Corn don't care for the Horn)--
A-half Euphrates out of her bed
To water his dam' Corn!
But Abel herded out on the plains
Where you have to go by the dams and rains.
It happened, after a three-year drought,
The wells, and the springs, and the dams gave out.
The Herd-bulls came to Cain's new house
(They wanted water so!--)
With the hot red Sun between their brows,
Sayin' "Give us water for our pore cows!"
But Cain he told 'em--"No!"
The Cows they came to Cain's big house
With the cold white Moon between their brows,
Sayin' "Give some water to us pore cows!"
But Cain he told 'em--"No?"
The li'l Calves came to Cain's fine house
With the Evenin' Star between their brows,
Sayin' "'Give us water an' we'll be cows."
But Cain he told 'em--"No!"
The Herd-bulls led 'em back again,
An' Abel went an' said to Cain: --
"Oh sell me water, my brother dear,
Or there will be no beef this year."
And Cain he answered--"No! "
"Then draw your hatches, my brother true,
An' let a little water through."
But Cain he answered: -"No!
"My dams are tight an' my ditches are sound,
An' not a drop goes through or round
Till she's done her duty by the Corn.


"I will not sell, an' I will not draw,
An' if you breach, I'll have the Law,
As sure as you are borne! "
Then Abel took his best bull-goad,
An' holed a dyke on the Eden road.
He opened her up with foot an' hand,
An' let Euphrates loose on the land.
He spilled Euphrates out on the plain,
So's all his cattle could drink again.
Then Cain he saw what Abel done--
But, in those days, there was no Gun!
So he made him a club of a hickory-limb,
An' halted Abel an' said to him: --
"I did not sell an' I did not draw,
An' now you've breached I'll have the Law.
"You ride abroad in your hat and spurs,
Hell-hoofin' over my cucumbers!
"You pray to the Lord to send you luck
An' you loose your steers in my garden-truck:
"An' now you're bust, as you ought to be,
You can keep on prayin' but not to me!"
Then Abel saw it meant the life;
But, in those days, there was no Knife:
So he up with his big bull-goad instead,
But--Cain hit first and dropped him dead!
The Herd-bulls ran when they smelt the blood,
An' horned an' pawed in that Red Mud.
The Calves they bawled, and the Steers they milled,
Because it was the First Man Killed;
An' the whole Herd broke for the Land of Nod,
An' Cain was left to be judged by God!
But, seein' all he had had to bear,
I never could call the Judgment fair!

Bus East

Society has good intentions Bureaucracy is like a friend
5 years ago - other furies other losses


America's
trying to control the uncontrollable Forest fires, Vice

The essential smile In the essential sleep Of the children Of the essential mind

I'm
all thru playing the American
Now I'm going to live a good quiet life

The
world should be built for foot walkers

Oily
rivers Of spiney Nevady

I
am Jake Cake
Rake
Write like Blake

The
horse is not pleased Sight of his
gorgeous finery
in the dust Its silken
nostrils
did disgust

Cats
arent kind Kiddies anent sweet

April
in Nevada - Investigating Dismal Cheyenne Where the war parties
In fields
of straw
Aimed over oxen At Indian Chiefs
In wild headdress Pouring thru
the gap
In Wyoming plain
To make the settlers
Eat more dust than dust
was eaten In the States From East at Seacoast Where wagons made up To dreadful
Plains
Of clazer vup

Saltry
settlers
Anxious to masturbate The Mongol Sea (I'm too tired in Cheyenne -
No sleep in 4 nights now, & 2 to go)

By the Hoof of the Wild Goat
By the Hoof of the Wild Goat uptossed
From the cliff where she lay in the Sun
Fell the Stone
To the Tarn where the daylight is lost,
So she fell from the light of the Sun
And alone!
Now the fall was ordained from the first
With the Goat and the Cliff and the Tarn,
But the Stone
Knows only her life is accursed
As she sinks from the light of the Sun
And alone!
Oh Thou Who hast builded the World,
Oh Thou Who hast lighted the Sun,
Oh Thou Who hast darkened the Tarn,
Judge Thou
The sin of the Stone that was hurled
By the goat from the light of the Sun,
As she sinks in the mire of the Tarn,
Even now--even now--even now!

th Chorus Mexico City Blues

Roosevelt was worth 6, 7 million dollars
He was Tight

Frog waits
Till poor fly
Flies by
And then they got him

The pool of clear rocks
Covered with vegetable scum
Covered the rocks
Clear the pool
Covered the warm surface
Covered the lotus
Dusted the watermelon flower
Aerial the Pad
Clean queer the clear
blue water

AND THEN THEY GOT HIM

The Oil of the Olive
Bittersweet taffies
Bittersweet cabbage
Cabbage soup made right
A hunk a grass
Sauerkraut let work
in a big barrel
Stunk but Good