(INCHOATE* FORMS)[30th April 1987]

[Redbook3:216][19870430:2210b](INCHOATE* FORMS)[30th April 1987]

19870430.2210

[continued]

Wordsworth's description of the peak above the lake is mentioned in Dodd** (It is apparently anthologised also in a selection on sport in literature, in connection with which it was described delightfully by the T[imes] L[iterary] S[upplement] as: “Wordsworth rowing across the lake pursued by the mountain”). *** 'For many days, my brain / Worked with a dim and undetermined sense / Of unknown modes of being'; and 'But huge and mighty forms, that do not live / Like living men, moved slowly through the mind / By day, and were a trouble to my dreams.' Appropriately or not, this reminded me that at one time I used to be aware of 'unverbalised' ideas but be unable readily to articulate them; now, perhaps through much writing, I am as if instantly aware of their articulate forms, and find it difficult to conceive of or grasp them before that stage, with the conscious mind; and something, perhaps, of their intensity is lost. It would be an interesting exercise to try to return to the earlier, less choate(?) state.****

*(?) [Yes, “inchoate”, and “choate” (see final sentence), would seem to be exactly right.]

**[C.H. Dodd, 'The Authority of the Bible' (1928): cf. [Redbook3:202-204][19870417:1845](NUMINOSITY AND UNITY)[17th April 1987] & [Redbook3:204-210][19870418:1030](MORALITY AND ETHICS)[18th April 1987]]

***[...

'Dust as we are, the immortal spirit grows 

Like harmony in music; there is a dark

Inscrutable workmanship that reconciles

Discordant elements, makes them cling together

In one society. How strange, that all

The terrors, pains, and early miseries,

Regrets, vexations, lassitudes interfused

Within my mind, should e'er have borne a part,

And that a needful part, in making up

The calm existence that is mine when I

Am worthy of myself! Praise to the end! 

Thanks to the means which Nature deigned to employ;

Whether her fearless visitings, or those

That came with soft alarm, like hurtless light

Opening the peaceful clouds; or she would use

Severer interventions, ministry

More palpable, as best might suit her aim.

One summer evening (led by her) I found

A little boat tied to a willow tree

Within a rocky cave, its usual home.

Straight I unloosed her chain, and stepping in 

Pushed from the shore. It was an act of stealth

And troubled pleasure, nor without the voice

Of mountain-echoes did my boat move on;

Leaving behind her still, on either side,

Small circles glittering idly in the moon,

Until they melted all into one track

Of sparkling light. But now, like one who rows,

Proud of his skill, to reach a chosen point

With an unswerving line, I fixed my view

Upon the summit of a craggy ridge, 

The horizon's utmost boundary; far above

Was nothing but the stars and the grey sky.

She was an elfin pinnace; lustily

I dipped my oars into the silent lake,

And, as I rose upon the stroke, my boat

Went heaving through the water like a swan;

When, from behind that craggy steep till then

The horizon's bound, a huge peak, black and huge,

As if with voluntary power instinct,

Upreared its head. I struck and struck again, 

And growing still in stature the grim shape

Towered up between me and the stars, and still,

For so it seemed, with purpose of its own

And measured motion like a living thing,

Strode after me. With trembling oars I turned,

And through the silent water stole my way

Back to the covert of the willow tree;

There in her mooring-place I left my bark,--

And through the meadows homeward went, in grave

And serious mood; but after I had seen 

That spectacle, for many days, my brain

Worked with a dim and undetermined sense

Of unknown modes of being; o'er my thoughts

There hung a darkness, call it solitude

Or blank desertion. No familiar shapes

Remained, no pleasant images of trees,

Of sea or sky, no colours of green fields;

But huge and mighty forms, that do not live

Like living men, moved slowly through the mind

By day, and were a trouble to my dreams. 

Wisdom and Spirit of the universe!

Thou Soul that art the eternity of thought

That givest to forms and images a breath

And everlasting motion, not in vain

By day or star-light thus from my first dawn

Of childhood didst thou intertwine for me

The passions that build up our human soul;

Not with the mean and vulgar works of man,

But with high objects, with enduring things--

With life and nature--purifying thus 

The elements of feeling and of thought,

And sanctifying, by such discipline,

Both pain and fear, until we recognise

A grandeur in the beatings of the heart.

[… etc.; from William Wordsworth, THE PRELUDE, Or, Growth Of A Poet's Mind;

An Autobiographical Poem (1799-1805): Book First: Introduction--Childhood And School-Time.] [Self-obsessed, moi?]

]

{(cf. p.201 [Presumably, [Redbook3:201][19870416:1730e]{Quality relationships (3): Dynamic Independence [continued(5)]}[16th April 1987], although it is not clear to what exactly this refers.]}

****Or would this return occur naturally as a life-cycle return [sic] to Death at (final) Crisis? <870817>

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