Purpose and Meaning of Life

La Corona

Deign at my hands this crown of prayer and praise,
Weaved in my lone devout melancholy,
Thou which of good hast, yea, art treasury,
All changing unchanged Ancient of days.
But do not with a vile crown of frail bays
Reward my Muse's white sincerity ;
But what Thy thorny crown gain'd, that give me,
A crown of glory, which doth flower always.
The ends crown our works, but Thou crown'st our ends,
For at our ends begins our endless rest.
The first last end, now zealously possess'd,
With a strong sober thirst my soul attends.
'Tis time that heart and voice be lifted high ;
Salvation to all that will is nigh.

Hym To God, My God In My Sickness

Since I am coming to that holy room,
Where, with thy choir of saints for evermore,

I shall be made thy music; as I come
I tune the instrument here at the door,
And what I must do then, think here before.


Whilst my physicians by their love are grown
Cosmographers, and I their map, who lie
Flat on this bed, that by them may be shown


That this is my south-west discovery,
[lang l]Per fretum febris[lang e], by these straits to die,

pmdv3 n='33-11'> I joy, that in these straits I see my west;
For, though their currents yield return to none,

What shall my west hurt me? As west and east
In all flat maps (and I am one) are one,
So death doth touch the resurrection.


Is the Pacific Sea my home? Or are
The eastern riches? Is Jerusalem?


Anyan, and Magellan, and Gibraltar,
All straits, and none but straits, are ways to them,
Whether where Japhet dwelt, or Cham, or Shem.


We think that Paradise and Calvary,
Christ's cross, and Adam's tree, stood in one place;


Look, Lord, and find both Adams met in me;
As the first Adam's sweat surrounds my face,
May the last Adam's blood my soul embrace.


So, in his purple wrapp'd, receive me, Lord;
By these his thorns, give me his other crown;
And as to others' souls I preach'd thy word,
Be this my text, my sermon to mine own:
'Therefore that he may raise, the Lord throws down.'

Holy Sonnet XV: Wilt Thou Love God

Wilt thou love God, as he thee? then digest,
My Soule, this wholsome meditation,
How God the Spirit, by Angels waited on
In heaven, doth make his Temple in thy brest.
The Father having begot a Sonne most blest,
And still begetting, (for he ne'r begonne)
Hath deign'd to chuse thee by adoption,
Coheire to his glory, and Sabbaths endlesse rest;
And as a robb'd man, which by search doth finde
His stolne stuffe sold, must lose or buy it againe;
The Sonne of glory came downe, and was slaine,
Us whom he had made, and Satan stolne, to unbinde.
'Twas much, that man was made like God before,
But, that God should be made like man, much more.

Holy Sonnet X: Death Be Not Proud

Death, be not proud, though some have callèd thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which yet thy pictures be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more, must low
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings and desperate men
And dost with poison, war and sickness dwell,
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then ?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

Farewell to Love

Whilst yet to prove,
I thought there was some deity in love
So did I reverence, and gave
Worship, as atheists at their dying hour
Call, what they cannot name, an unknown power,
As ignorantly did I crave:
Thus when
Things not yet known are coveted by men,
Our desires give them fashion, and so
As they wax lesser, fall, as they size, grow.


But, from late fair
His highness sitting in a golden chair,
Is not less cared for after three days
By children, than the thing which lovers so
Blindly admire, and with such worship woo;
Being had, enjoying it decays:
And thence,
What before pleased them all, takes but one sense,
And that so lamely, as it leaves behind
A kind of sorrowing dullness to the mind.


Ah cannot we,
As well as cocks and lions jocund be,
After such pleasures ? Unless wise
Nature decreed (since each such act, they say
Diminish the length of life a day)
This; as she would man should despise
The sport,
Because that other curse of being short,
And only for a minute made to be
Eager, desires to raise posterity.


Since so, my mind
Shall not desire what no man else can find,
I`ll no more dote and run
To purse things which had, endamaged me.
And when I come where moving beauties be,
As men do when the summer’s sun
Grows great,
Though I admire their greatness, shun their heat;
Each place can afford shadow. If all fail,
’Tis but applying worm-seed to the tail.

Elegy:The End of Funeral Elegies

MADAM—
That I might make your cabinet my tomb,
And for my fame, which I love next my soul,
Next to my soul provide the happiest room,
Admit to that place this last funeral scroll.
Others by wills give legacies, but I
Dying, of you do beg a legacy.


My fortune and my will this custom break,
When we are senseless grown to make stones speak,
Though no stone tell thee what I was, yet thou
In my grave's inside seest what thou art now,
Yet thou 'rt not yet so good ; till death us lay
To ripe and mellow there, we're stubborn clay.
Parents make us earth, and souls dignify
Us to be glass ; here to grow gold we lie.
Whilst in our souls sin bred and pamper'd is,
Our souls become worm-eaten carcases.

An Anatomy Of The World...

When that rich soul which to her heaven is gone,
Whom all do celebrate, who know they have one
(For who is sure he hath a soul, unless
It see, and judge, and follow worthiness,
And by deeds praise it? He who doth not this,
May lodge an inmate soul, but 'tis not his)
When that queen ended here her progress time,
And, as t'her standing house, to heaven did climb,
Where loath to make the saints attend her long,

She's now a part both of the choir, and song;
This world, in that great earthquake languished;
For in a common bath of tears it bled,
Which drew the strongest vital spirits out;
But succour'd then with a perplexed doubt,
Whether the world did lose, or gain in this,
(Because since now no other way there is,
But goodness, to see her, whom all would see,
All must endeavour to be good as she)
This great consumption to a fever turn'd,
And so the world had fits; it joy'd, it mourn'd;
And, as men think, that agues physic are,
And th' ague being spent, give over care,
So thou, sick world, mistak'st thy self to be
Well, when alas, thou'rt in a lethargy.
Her death did wound and tame thee then, and then
Thou might'st have better spar'd the sun, or man.
That wound was deep, but 'tis more misery
That thou hast lost thy sense and memory.
'Twas heavy then to hear thy voice of moan,
But this is worse, that thou art speechless grown.
Thou hast forgot thy name thou hadst; thou wast
Nothing but she, and her thou hast o'erpast.
For, as a child kept from the font until
A prince, expected long, come to fulfill
The ceremonies, thou unnam'd had'st laid,
Had not her coming, thee her palace made;
Her name defin'd thee, gave thee form, and frame,
And thou forget'st to celebrate thy name.
Some months she hath been dead (but being dead,
Measures of times are all determined)
But long she'ath been away, long, long, yet none
Offers to tell us who it is that's gone.
But as in states doubtful of future heirs,
When sickness without remedy impairs
The present prince, they're loath it should be said,
'The prince doth languish,' or 'The prince is dead;'
So mankind feeling now a general thaw,
A strong example gone, equal to law,
The cement which did faithfully compact
And glue all virtues, now resolv'd, and slack'd,
Thought it some blasphemy to say sh'was dead,
Or that our weakness was discovered



In that confession; therefore spoke no more
Than tongues, the soul being gone, the loss deplore.
But though it be too late to succour thee,
Sick world, yea dead, yea putrified, since she
Thy' intrinsic balm, and thy preservative,
Can never be renew'd, thou never live,
I (since no man can make thee live) will try,


What we may gain by thy anatomy.
Her death hath taught us dearly that thou art
Corrupt and mortal in thy purest part.
Let no man say, the world itself being dead,
'Tis labour lost to have discovered
The world's infirmities, since there is none
Alive to study this dissection;
For there's a kind of world remaining still,
Though she which did inanimate and fill
The world, be gone, yet in this last long night,
Her ghost doth walk; that is a glimmering light,
A faint weak love of virtue, and of good,
Reflects from her on them which understood
Her worth; and though she have shut in all day,
The twilight of her memory doth stay,
Which, from the carcass of the old world free,
Creates a new world, and new creatures be
Produc'd. The matter and the stuff of this,
Her virtue, and the form our practice is.
And though to be thus elemented, arm
These creatures from home-born intrinsic harm,
(For all assum'd unto this dignity
So many weedless paradises be,
Which of themselves produce no venomous sin,
Except some foreign serpent bring it in)
Yet, because outward storms the strongest break,
And strength itself by confidence grows weak,
This new world may be safer, being told
The dangers and diseases of the old;
For with due temper men do then forgo,
Or covet things, when they their true worth know.
There is no health; physicians say that we
At best enjoy but a neutrality.
And can there be worse sickness than to know
That we are never well, nor can be so?
We are born ruinous: poor mothers cry
That children come not right, nor orderly;
Except they headlong come and fall upon
An ominous precipitation.
How witty's ruin! how importunate

Upon mankind! It labour'd to frustrate
Even God's purpose; and made woman, sent
For man's relief, cause of his languishment.
They were to good ends, and they are so still,
But accessory, and principal in ill,



For that first marriage was our funeral;
One woman at one blow, then kill'd us all,
And singly, one by one, they kill us now.
We do delightfully our selves allow
To that consumption; and profusely blind,
We kill our selves to propagate our kind.
And yet we do not that; we are not men;
There is not now that mankind, which was then,
When as the sun and man did seem to strive,
(Joint tenants of the world) who should survive;
When stag, and raven, and the long-liv'd tree,
Compar'd with man, died in minority;
When, if a slow-pac'd star had stol'n away
From the observer's marking, he might stay
Two or three hundred years to see't again,
And then make up his observation plain;
When, as the age was long, the size was great
(Man's growth confess'd, and recompens'd the meat),
So spacious and large, that every soul
Did a fair kingdom, and large realm control;
And when the very stature, thus erect,
Did that soul a good way towards heaven direct.
Where is this mankind now? Who lives to age,
Fit to be made Methusalem his page?
Alas, we scarce live long enough to try
Whether a true-made clock run right, or lie.
Old grandsires talk of yesterday with sorrow,
And for our children we reserve tomorrow.
So short is life, that every peasant strives,
In a torn house, or field, to have three lives.
And as in lasting, so in length is man
Contracted to an inch, who was a span;
For had a man at first in forests stray'd,
Or shipwrack'd in the sea, one would have laid
A wager, that an elephant, or whale,
That met him, would not hastily assail
A thing so equall to him; now alas,
The fairies, and the pigmies well may pass
As credible; mankind decays so soon,
We'are scarce our fathers' shadows cast at noon,
Only death adds t'our length: nor are we grown
In stature to be men, till we are none.
But this were light, did our less volume hold
All the old text; or had we chang'd to gold
Their silver; or dispos'd into less glass
Spirits of virtue, which then scatter'd was.
But 'tis not so; w'are not retir'd, but damp'd;
And as our bodies, so our minds are cramp'd;
'Tis shrinking, not close weaving, that hath thus
In mind and body both bedwarfed us.
We seem ambitious, God's whole work t'undo;
Of nothing he made us, and we strive too,



To bring our selves to nothing back; and we
Do what we can, to do't so soon as he.
With new diseases on our selves we war,
And with new physic, a worse engine far.
Thus man, this world's vice-emperor, in whom
All faculties, all graces are at home
(And if in other creatures they appear,
They're but man's ministers and legates there
To work on their rebellions, and reduce
Them to civility, and to man's use);
This man, whom God did woo, and loath t'attend
Till man came up, did down to man descend,
This man, so great, that all that is, is his,
O what a trifle, and poor thing he is!
If man were anything, he's nothing now;
Help, or at least some time to waste, allow
T'his other wants, yet when he did depart
With her whom we lament, he lost his heart.
She, of whom th'ancients seem'd to prophesy,
When they call'd virtues by the name of she;
She in whom virtue was so much refin'd,
That for alloy unto so pure a mind
She took the weaker sex; she that could drive
The poisonous tincture, and the stain of Eve,
Out of her thoughts, and deeds, and purify
All, by a true religious alchemy,
She, she is dead; she's dead: when thou knowest this,
Thou knowest how poor a trifling thing man is,
And learn'st thus much by our anatomy,
The heart being perish'd, no part can be free,
And that except thou feed (not banquet) on
The supernatural food, religion,
Thy better growth grows withered, and scant;
Be more than man, or thou'rt less than an ant.
Then, as mankind, so is the world's whole frame
Quite out of joint, almost created lame,
For, before God had made up all the rest,
Corruption ent'red, and deprav'd the best;
It seiz'd the angels, and then first of all
The world did in her cradle take a fall,
And turn'd her brains, and took a general maim,
Wronging each joint of th'universal frame.
The noblest part, man, felt it first; and then
Both beasts and plants, curs'd in the curse of man.
So did the world from the first hour decay,
That evening was beginning of the day,
And now the springs and summers which we see,
Like sons of women after fifty be.
And new philosophy calls all in doubt,
The element of fire is quite put out,
The sun is lost, and th'earth, and no man's wit
Can well direct him where to look for it.



And freely men confess that this world's spent,
When in the planets and the firmament
They seek so many new; they see that this
Is crumbled out again to his atomies.
'Tis all in pieces, all coherence gone,
All just supply, and all relation;
Prince, subject, father, son, are things forgot,
For every man alone thinks he hath got
To be a phoenix, and that then can be
None of that kind, of which he is, but he.
This is the world's condition now, and now
She that should all parts to reunion bow,
She that had all magnetic force alone,
To draw, and fasten sund'red parts in one;
She whom wise nature had invented then
When she observ'd that every sort of men
Did in their voyage in this world's sea stray,
And needed a new compass for their way;
She that was best and first original
Of all fair copies, and the general
Steward to fate; she whose rich eyes and breast
Gilt the West Indies, and perfum'd the East;
Whose having breath'd in this world, did bestow
Spice on those Isles, and bade them still smell so,
And that rich India which doth gold inter,
Is but as single money, coin'd from her;
She to whom this world must it self refer,
As suburbs or the microcosm of her,
She, she is dead; she's dead: when thou know'st this,
Thou know'st how lame a cripple this world is


....

What is Life?

And what is Life? An hour-glass on the run,
A mist retreating from the morning sun,
A busy, bustling, still-repeated dream.
Its length? A minute's pause, a moment's thought.
And Happiness? A bubble on the stream,
That in the act of seizing shrinks to nought.


And what is Hope? The puffing gale of morn,
That of its charms divests the dewy lawn,
And robs each flow'ret of its gem -and dies;
A cobweb, hiding disappointment's thorn,
Which stings more keenly through the thin disguise.


And what is Death? Is still the cause unfound?
That dark mysterious name of horrid sound?
A long and lingering sleep the weary crave.
And Peace? Where can its happiness abound?
Nowhere at all, save heaven and the grave.


Then what is Life? When stripped of its disguise,
A thing to be desired it cannot be;
Since everything that meets our foolish eyes
Gives proof sufficient of its vanity.
'Tis but a trial all must undergo,
To teach unthankful mortals how to prize
That happiness vain man's denied to know,
Until he's called to claim it in the skies.

The Vanities Of Life

Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.--_Solomon_

What are life's joys and gains?
What pleasures crowd its ways,
That man should take such pains
To seek them all his days?
Sift this untoward strife
On which thy mind is bent:
See if this chaff of life
Is worth the trouble spent.


Is pride thy heart's desire?
Is power thy climbing aim?
Is love thy folly's fire?
Is wealth thy restless game?
Pride, power, love, wealth, and all
Time's touchstone shall destroy,
And, like base coin, prove all
Vain substitutes for joy.


Dost think that pride exalts
Thyself in other's eyes,
And hides thy folly's faults,
Which reason will despise?
Dost strut, and turn, and stride,
Like walking weathercocks?
The shadow by thy side
Becomes thy ape, and mocks.


Dost think that power's disguise
Can make thee mighty seem?
It may in folly's eyes,
But not in worth's esteem,
When all that thou canst ask,
And all that she can give,
Is but a paltry mask
Which tyrants wear and live.


Go, let thy fancies range
And ramble where they may;
View power in every change,
And what is the display?
--The country magistrate,
The meanest shade in power,
To rulers of the state,
The meteors of an hour.


View all, and mark the end
Of every proud extreme,
Where flattery turns a friend,
And counterfeits esteem;
Where worth is aped in show,



That doth her name purloin,
Like toys of golden glow
That's sold for copper coin.


Ambition's haughty nod
With fancies may deceive,
Nay, tell thee thou'rt a god,
And wilt thou such believe?
Go, bid the seas be dry;
Go, hold earth like a ball,
Or throw thy fancies by,
For God can do it all.


Dost thou possess the dower
Of laws to spare or kill?
Call it not heavenly power
When but a tyrant's will.
Know what a God will do,
And know thyself a fool,
Nor, tyrant-like, pursue
Where He alone should rule.


O put away thy pride,
Or be ashamed of power
That cannot turn aside
The breeze that waves a flower.
Or bid the clouds be still:
Though shadows, they can brave
Thy poor power mocking will:
Then make not man a slave.


Dost think, when wealth is won,
Thy heart has its desire?
Hold ice up to the sun,
And wax before the fire;
Nor triumph oer the reign
Which they so soon resign;
In this world's ways they gain,
Insurance safe as thine.


Dost think life's peace secure
In house and in land?
Go, read the fairy lure
To twist a cord in sand;
Lodge stones upon the sky,
Hold water in a sieve,
Nor give such tales the lie,
And still thine own believe.


Whoso with riches deals,
And thinks peace bought and sold,
Will find them slipping eels,



That slide the firmest hold:
Though sweet as sleep with health
Thy lulling luck may be,
Pride may oerstride thy wealth,
And check prosperity.


Dost think that beauty's power
Life sweetest pleasure gives?
Go, pluck the summer flower,
And see how long it lives:
Behold, the rays glide on
Along the summer plain
Ere thou canst say 'they're gone,'
And measure beauty's reign.


Look on the brightest eye,
Nor teach it to be proud;
View but the clearest sky,
And thou shalt find a cloud;
Nor call each face ye meet
An angel's, cause it's fair,
But look beneath your feet,
And think of what they are.


Who thinks that love doth live
In beauty's tempting show,
Shall find his hopes ungive,
And melt in reason's thaw.
Who thinks that pleasure lies
In every fairy bower,
Shall oft, to his surprise,
Find poison in the flower.


Dost lawless passions grasp?
Judge not thou deal'st in joy:
Its flowers but hide the asp,
Thy revels to destroy.
Who trusts an harlot's smile,
And by her wiles are led,
Plays, with a sword the while
Hung dropping oer his head.


Dost doubt my warning song?
Then doubt the sun gives light,
Doubt truth to teach thee wrong,
And wrong alone as right;
And live as lives the knave,
Intrigue's deceiving guest;
Be tyrant, or be slave,
As suits thy ends the best.


Or pause amid thy toils



For visions won and lost,
And count the fancied spoils,
If eer they quit the cost:
And if they still possess
Thy mind, as worthy things,
Plat straws with bedlam Bess,
And call them diamond rings.


Thy folly's past advice,
Thy heart's already won,
Thy fall's above all price,
So go, and be undone;
For all who thus prefer
The seeming great for small
Shall make wine vinegar,
And sweetest honey gall.


Wouldst heed the truths I sing,
To profit wherewithal,
Clip folly's wanton wing,
And keep her within call.
I've little else to give,
What thou canst easy try;
The lesson how to live
Is but to learn to die.

The Peasant Poet

He loved the brook's soft sound,
The swallow swimming by.
He loved the daisy-covered ground,
The cloud-bedappled sky.
To him the dismal storm appeared
The very voice of God;
And when the evening rack was reared
Stood Moses with his rod.
And everything his eyes surveyed,
The insects in the brake,
Were creatures God Almighty made,
He loved them for His sake--
A silent man in life's affairs,
A thinker from a boy,
A peasant in his daily cares,
A poet in his joy.

The Godlike

NOBLE be man,
Helpful and good!
For that alone
Distinguisheth him
From all the beings
Unto us known.


Hail to the beings,
Unknown and glorious,
Whom we forebode!
From his example
Learn we to know them!


For unfeeling
Nature is ever:
On bad and on good
The sun alike shineth;
And on the wicked,
As on the best,
The moon and stars gleam.


Tempest and torrent,
Thunder and hail,
Roar on their path,
Seizing the while,
As they haste onward,
One after another.


Even so, fortune
Gropes 'mid the throng--
Innocent boyhood's
Curly head seizing,--
Seizing the hoary
Head of the sinner.


After laws mighty,
Brazen, eternal,
Must all we mortals
Finish the circuit
Of our existence.


Man, and man only
Can do the impossible;
He 'tis distinguisheth,
Chooseth and judgeth;
He to the moment
Endurance can lend.


He and he only
The good can reward,
The bad can he punish,
Can heal and can save;



All that wanders and strays
Can usefully blend.
And we pay homage
To the immortals
As though they were men,
And did in the great,
What the best, in the small,
Does or might do.


Be the man that is noble,
Both helpful and good.
Unweariedly forming
The right and the useful,
A type of those beings
Our mind hath foreshadow'd!

The Brethren

SLUMBER and Sleep, two brethren ordain'd by the gods to their service,

Were by Prometheus implored, comfort to give to his race;
But though so light to the gods, too heavy for man was their burden,
We in their slumber find sleep, we in their sleep meet with death.

On The Divan

HE who knows himself and others

Here will also see,
That the East and West, like brothers,
Parted ne'er shall be.
Thoughtfully to float for ever
'Tween two worlds, be man's endeavour!


So between the East and West
To revolve, be my behest!

Neither This Nor That

IF thou to be a slave shouldst will,
Thou'lt get no pity, but fare ill;
And if a master thou wouldst be,
The world will view it angrily;
And if in status quo thou stay,
That thou art but a fool, they'll say.

Lines On Seeing Schiller's Skull

WITHIN a gloomy charnel-house one day

I view'd the countless skulls, so strangely mated,
And of old times I thought, that now were grey.
Close pack'd they stand, that once so fiercely hated,


And hardy bones, that to the death contended,


Are lying cross'd,--to lie for ever, fated.
What held those crooked shoulder-blades suspended?
No one now asks; and limbs with vigour fired,


The hand, the foot--their use in life is ended.


Vainly ye sought the tomb for rest when tired;
Peace in the grave may not be yours; ye're driven
Back into daylight by a force inspired;


But none can love the wither'd husk, though even


A glorious noble kernel it contained.
To me, an adept, was the writing given
Which not to all its holy sense explained,


When 'mid the crowd, their icy shadows flinging,


I saw a form, that glorious still remained.
And even there, where mould and damp were clinging,
Gave me a blest, a rapture-fraught emotion,


As though from death a living fount were springing.


What mystic joy I felt! What rapt devotion!
That form, how pregnant with a godlike trace!
A look, how did it whirl me tow'rd that ocean


Whose rolling billows mightier shapes embrace!


Mysterious vessel! Oracle how dear!
Even to grasp thee is my hand too base,
Except to steal thee from thy prison here


With pious purpose, and devoutly go


Back to the air, free thoughts, and sunlight clear.
What greater gain in life can man e'er know
Than when God-Nature will to him explain


How into Spirit steadfastness may flow,
How steadfast, too, the Spirit-Born remain.

Genial Impulse

THUS roll I, never taking ease,
My tub, like Saint Diogenes,
Now serious am, now seek to please;
Now love and hate in turn one sees;
The motives now are those, now these;
Now nothings, now realities.
Thus roll I, never taking ease,
My tub, like Saint Diogenes.

Epitaph


As a boy, reserved and naughty;
As a youth, a coxcomb and haughty;
As a man, for action inclined;
As a greybeard, fickle in mind.--
Upon thy grave will people read:
This was a very man, indeed!

A Symbol

THE mason's trade Observe them well,
Resembles life, And watch them revealing
With all its strife,--How solemn feeling


Is like the stir made And wonderment swell
By man on earth's face. The hearts of the brave.
Though weal and woe The voice of the blest,
The future may hide, And of spirits on high
Unterrified Seems loudly to cry:


We onward go "To do what is best,
In ne'er changing race. Unceasing endeavour!
A veil of dread "In silence eterne
Hangs heavier still. Here chaplets are twin'd,
Deep slumbers fill That each noble mind


The stars over-head, Its guerdon may earn.--
And the foot-trodden grave. Then hope ye for ever!"

A Legacy

No living atom comes at last to naught!
Active in each is still the eternal Thought:
Hold fast to Being if thou wouldst be blest.
Being is without end; for changeless laws
Bind that from which the All its glory draws
Of living treasures endlessly possessed.


Unto the wise of old this truth was known,
Such wisdom knit their noble souls in one;
Then hold thou still the lore of ancient days!
To that high power thou ow'st it, son of man,
By whose decree the earth its circuit ran
And all the planets went their various ways.
Then inward turn at once thy searching eyes;


Thence shalt thou see the central truth arise
From which no lofty soul goes e'er astray;
There shalt thou miss no needful guiding sign-
For conscience lives, and still its light divine
Shall be the sun of all thy moral day.
Next shalt thou trust thy senses' evidence,
And fear from them no treacherous offence
While the mind's watchful eye thy road commands:
With lively pleasure contemplate the scene
And roam securely, teachable, serene,
At will throughout a world of fruitful lands.
Enjoy in moderation all life gives:
Where it rejoices in each thing that lives
Let reason be thy guide and make thee see.
Then shall the distant past be present still,
The future, ere it comes, thy vision fill-
Each single moment touch eternity.
Then at the last shalt thou achieve thy quest,
And in one final, firm conviction rest:
What bears for thee true fruit alone is true.
Prove all things, watch the movement of the world
As down the various ways its tribes are whirled;
Take thou thy stand among the chosen few.
Thus hath it been of old; in solitude
The artist shaped what thing to him seemed good,
The wise man hearkened to his own soul's voice.
Thus also shalt thou find thy greatest bliss;
To lead where the elect shall follow-this
And this alone is worth a hero's choice.

We Must Believe

_'Lord, I believe: help Thou mine unbelief.'_

We must believe--
Being from birth endowed with love and trust--
Born unto loving;--and how simply just
That love--that faith!--even in the blossom-face
The babe drops dreamward in its resting-place,
Intuitively conscious of the sure
Awakening to rapture ever pure
And sweet and saintly as the mother's own,
Or the awed father's, as his arms are thrown
O'er wife and child, to round about them weave
And wind and bind them as one harvest-sheaf
Of love--to cleave to, and _forever_ cleave....
Lord, I believe:
Help Thou mine unbelief.


We must believe--
Impelled since infancy to seek some clear
Fulfillment, still withheld all seekers here;--
For never have we seen perfection nor
The glory we are ever seeking for:
But we _have_ seen--all mortal souls as one--
Have seen its _promise_, in the morning sun--
Its blest assurance, in the stars of night;--
The ever-dawning of the dark to light;--
The tears down-falling from all eyes that grieve--
The eyes uplifting from all deeps of grief,
Yearning for what at last we shall receive....
Lord, I believe:
Help Thou mine unbelief.


We must believe--
For still all unappeased our hunger goes,
From life's first waking, to its last repose:
The briefest life of any babe, or man
Outwearing even the allotted span,
Is each a life unfinished--incomplete:
For these, then, of th' outworn, or unworn feet
Denied one toddling step--O there must be
Some fair, green, flowery pathway endlessly
Winding through lands Elysian! Lord, receive
And lead each as Thine Own Child--even the Chief
Of us who didst Immortal life achieve....
Lord, I believe:
Help Thou mine unbelief.

The Best is Good Enough

I quarrel not with destiny,
But make the best of everything-
The best is good enough for me.


Leave discontent alone, and she
Will shut her mouth and let you sing.
I quarrel not with destiny.


I take some things, or let 'em be-
Good gold has always got the ring;
The best is good enough for me.


Since fate insists on secrecy,
I have no arguments to bring-
I quarrel not with destiny.


The fellow that goes 'haw' for 'gee'
Will find he hasn't got full swing.
The best is good enough for me.


One only knows our needs, and he
Does all of the distributing.
I quarrel not with destiny:
The best is good enough for me.

If I Knew What Poets Know

If I knew what poets know,
Would I write a rhyme
Of the buds that never blow
In the summer-time?
Would I sing of golden seeds
Springing up in ironweeds?
And of rain-drops turned to snow,
If I knew what poets know?


Did I know what poets do,
Would I sing a song
Sadder than the pigeon's coo
When the days are long?
Where I found a heart in pain,
I would make it glad again;
And the false should be the true,
Did I know what poets do.


If I knew what poets know,
I would find a theme
Sweeter than the placid flow
Of the fairest dream:
I would sing of love that lives
On the errors it forgives;
And the world would better grow
If I knew what poets know.

As My Uncle Used To Say

I've thought a power on men and things,
As my uncle ust to say,--
And ef folks don't work as they pray, i jings!
W'y, they ain't no use to pray!
Ef you want somepin', and jes dead-set
A-pleadin' fer it with both eyes wet,
And _tears_ won't bring it, w'y, you try _sweat_,
As my uncle ust to say.


They's some don't know their A, B, Cs,
As my uncle ust to say,
And yit don't waste no candle-grease,
Ner whistle their lives away!
But ef they can't write no book, ner rhyme
No ringin' song fer to last all time,
They can blaze the way fer the march sublime,
As my uncle ust to say.


Whoever's Foreman of all things here,
As my uncle ust to say,
He knows each job 'at we 're best fit fer,
And our round-up, night and day:
And a-sizin' _His_ work, east and west,
And north and south, and worst and best
I ain't got nothin' to suggest,
As my uncle ust to say.

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.