THE CUP
177
His ,
dispersed
me , gave
me
death ."
This
is
pure
Buddhism
.
In
death
is
found
release ,
freedom
from
desire ,
which
fools alone reject .
In the spiritual contemplation
of life the slags of existence
fall to the bottom
of the
burning furnace of the human
soul ; the power of em
pire and glory is shattered , “ The golden
image with
the feet of
clay ,” and
the marred
vessels of the (
All)
mighty potter
are cast outside
,
from the wheel
of
Fate
—why contemplate
what
is
so
unprofitable
and use
less
?
Yet
in
this mysticism
which
is
more intrinsically
of
the East
,
we find
an
intricate web
of
Egotism tangled
with the utilitarianism
of
the West
;
for
it
seems on
reading
further that
it
is
not
in
mere abstraction
of
the real
,
but rather
in
the total
absorption
of
the real
,
that
the Nirvana
of
bliss
is
to
be
arrived
at
.
It
is
terrible
sailing this
,
Scylla lies
to
our left
,
Charybdis
to
our
right
,
the blood
-
flecked foam
of
life
is
dashed
on
our lips
,
it
is
acrid
and intoxicating
.
XII
.
No prostitution
may
be
shunned
by
him
Who would
achieve
this Heaven
.
No satyr
-
song
,
No maniac
dance shall ply
so
fast
a
thong
Of lust's imagining perversely
dim
That
no
man's spirit
may keep pace
,
so
strong
Its pang
must pierce
;
Nor
all
the pains
of
hell may
be
one tithe
as
fierce
.
XIII
.
All degradation
,
all
sheer infamy
,
Thou shalt endure
.
Thy head beneath
the mire
And dung
of
worthless
women
shall desire
As
in
some hateful
dream
,
at
last
to
lie
;
Women
must trample
thee
till
thou respire
That deadliest
fume
;
The vilest worms
must crawl
,
the loathliest
vampires
gloom
.
N