The Sword of Song

PENTECOST 29 Such view our normal consciousness Tells us. I’ll quote now if you list From Tennyson. It isn’t much ; (Skip this and ’twill be even less) He say : “I am not what I see,38 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 “’This lotused Buddha roaring murther !” ?39 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 270 275 280 285 290 295 300 305 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