[The Wind, the Edge of the Sea, and Fusion Child][To 1st May 1973]

[Redbook1:265A,297A-I;2:1A-1G][19730501:0000][The Wind, the Edge of the Sea, and Fusion Child][To 1st May 1973]

(197211041126)

The Wind.

I will go where the wind takes me

I will become a free agent

And when the wind fades into silence

I shall die.

[(PreviouslyPostedBlogger28112013)]

The Edge of the Sea.

(197302070012)Copy

(&197302152222)

Through wet rocks thundering

I came to the last shore:

Standing alone, wind-blown,

Healed with the slow rolling heave,

The shuddering crash of the great breakers,

The endless trouble of the Sea.

Like the fair people of a darker, clearer age

I carry the Sea always with me

My clearest vision of Creation.

At the end I shall come so to the final shore;

I shall stand in the wind of the long strand;

I shall feel the Wind die into silence;

And when the Wind fails

                                    I shall die.

The Sea in my Blood:

And the blood of the land

And the bones of it; turn

From the point of your ending,

The death of your being, the end: from

The edge of the Sea.

Turn to the land

And the blood and the bones of it.

Sea-birds wheeling call my heart

But I will not go back.

This is my land:

Fusion Child.

19730501.1539.

So he took the train;

And whirring through the grey country, felt

The weight of Men, the press of endless years

Upon him.

‘I cannot go back. I cannot go back.’ Still,

As gliding on some empty estuary we

Race our own reflection to the shore,

And scattered gulls wheel crying through the fog:

Still ‘I am lost!’ he cries

And buries half his face within his arms;

So that old ladies turn and stare,

And purse their lips, frowning, and -- turn to look

Out of the window: the old lady, is not there.

‘Is nothing real?’ Out to Sea

A tiny fishing smack charges the waves,

And stoops, and climbs again: charges,

And stoops, and climbs. ‘Is nothing real?’

The fool cries: ‘I am alone!’

‘I flounder in an endless clinging fog

And that is all I have: the Fog.

God help me when the Endless Testing comes.’

Perhaps, is this the endless testing time?

‘God help me when the Endless Testing ends!’

No, no – poor fool, quieten your tiny mind

(He said). This is no time to end.  Look!

All is around you: All is one is all.

Totality’s effects are very strange

But they are true.

                        ‘True? True to what?’

True to Itself.  But Itself is All!

Let’s try another tack, late out of tune:

This is my land.

                        The Sea is gone:

And all around, the fields turn

And pass, turn and pass

And fall away.

Cows chew, sheep graze; more cows

And still more cows huddle under the woodland’s dripping edge

Where the greentrees gathering

            Swell to the wooded uplands’ beckoning murk:

Last remnant of an ancient forest realm

That lay across the land from Lyonesse

Into the icy North --

            Releasing from its heartlands’ rooted grip

Only the Chalk.

                        Now we are all Chalk.

And still I love this country, spite of all:

This country and its chalk-faced, bitter folk

Who have lost more in a lifetime’s silent watch

Than have most peoples in a thousand years:

No, we have not yet finished.  Still we are one,

Spite of everything, and will be:

One with the land,

                        And all that is in it.

So it is with the rest:

                        The Land is just a corner of the World;

The World is little in the Universe…

                        … As Space is in Creation.

All is One.

We clatter past deserted, weed-grown sidings

And rattle through a silent Sunday town.

My friend taps gently on the window-pane.

‘I see – I think I see…. I see, I think,

I know that what is wrong is what I see

Not what I think – I think.  Is nothing real?’

‘Oh yes.’ I say, and snap my fingers, once.

The Child of Laughter comes.

The fair-haired Child who sits beside my friend

And watches him with clear and laughing eyes

Is known to all.

                                    So that makes three of us.

‘Oh God.’ He says. ‘Why did you bring the Child?’

‘I? I brought nothing.  We are all One.

You said: “Is nothing real?”  Why fear these ghosts?’

‘I’m not afraid of ghosts.’ he mumbles; then

‘Is nothing real?’

                        ‘Of course it is!’ I said.

The Child of Laughter smiled, put out a hand:

I held it. ‘All reversed.’  I told them both.

‘All you perceive is real, and all implied,

To its degree; the rest can keep itself.

The whole is subject to the same One Law:

The problem is to find where It’s applied.

We are All One: Creation is All One.

Creation isolates Its Particles

And limits them in opposition vile.

Don’t ask me why – Give me your hand!

                                                            ‘I said

That everything that you perceive is “real”,

And all implied is “real”: it stands as One –

Though not to us: our limited percept

Will corrugate perspective (till we die?).

Now that’s the point: there is one thing more “real”

Than all the Stuff that great Creation springs,

More real (to us, and It) since, less direct.

It is the very structure of Creation –

And since not even All can form Itself

It must through limitation be procured.

So here we are – especially, here you are:

A splinter of the All (as we of you):

A mortal gathering-vessel of the Core,

Immortal form, that we might call – experience.’

He nods.  ‘It has a horrid logic smell.

It fits in with religions here and there.

It gives me back my tottering self-respect.

I’ll buy it.  Good.’  He frowns.  ‘But who are you?’

‘You could have worked it out from what I said.

Dear friend! But tell, me, first, just who you are?’

‘Well… now….’  He smiles.  ‘All right then: you tell me.’

‘I will.  We three are one – within the All.

You are Awareness; and – you kicked us out!

You are the gatherer of the immortal Core.

Apparently it’s all a bit too much:

D’you think it’s time you turned, and took us back?’

He stares, and hardly breathes.  ‘But who are you?’

‘I? I am Reason.  Rather dull it’s been

Alone – but useful.  Still, I had the Child.

You know you need my Rule; you need that Power.

I know we need your purpose and your Core.’

He smiles.  ‘Reason I’ll take.’

                                                Surprise: you have.

But who’s the Child?

                                    The Child is called creation.

creation! (-- breathed)  And that is what I feared!

There is the clearest vision of the All:

There is the closest to the Power of One.

Yours is the Life from All, collecting Mind;

The Child’s is Its Mind, constructing Life.

And yours?

            Oh, Reason guards the bounds – and keeps

The Limits clear – it keeps experience clear:

And disciplines creation – holds it near.

I will take creation.

                                    So the Child

Flings golden arms around his neck – so wild

The love, so close the hold, they seem to turn

To one, the fusion child: the light we burn.

Paddington: and through the echoing crowd

We three walk hand in hand, into the Sun.

And left behind unsatisfied Old Lady

Frowned, and pursed her lips, muttering: ‘Young people!’

(19730501.1953)

[End of Redbook1]

[PostedBlogger02022014]