PENTECOST
I71
270
275
280
285
295
300
305
Such view our normal consciousness !
Tells us. VII quote you now if you list
From Tennyson. It isn’t much;
(Skip this and ’twill be even less)
He says: “I am not what I see,§
And other than the things I touch.”*
How lucid is our Alfred T. !
The Hindu, an Advaitist,
Crosses off Maya from the list ;
Believes in one—exactly so,
Dhyana-consciousness, you know !
May it not be that one step further
*?Tis lotused Buddha roaring murther !” ?”
Nibbana is the state above you
Christians and them Hindus—Lord love you !—-
Where Nothing is perceived as such.
This clever thought doth please me much.
But if das Essen ist das Nichts—
Ha! Hegel’s window! Ancient Lichts!
And two is one and one is two—
‘** Bother this nonsense! Go on, do !”
My wandering thoughts you well recall !
I focus logic’s perfect prism :
Lo! the informing syllogism !
The premiss major.
Life at best
Is but a sorry sort of jest ;
At worst, a play of fiends uncouth,
Mocking the soul foredoomed to pain.
In any case, its run must range
Through countless miseries of change.
So far, no farther, gentle youth !
The mind can see.
So much, no more.
So runs the premiss major plain ;
Identical, the Noble truth
First of the Buddha’s Noble Four !
The premiss minor.
I deplore
These limitations of the mind.
I strain my eyes until they’re blind,
And cannot pierce the awful veil
* In Memoriam.
+ All is Sorrow.
Bard is pleased
with himself.
Poetee mani-
fests a natural
irritation.
Sabbé pi Duk-
kham ! ¢
Beyond
thought, is
there hope?
Maya again.
Vision of the