a condition of complete simplicity

 This morning in prison:

Final section of 1942 poem Little Gidding, by T.S. Eliot (1888-1965)

 

V 

What we call the beginning is often the end

And to make an end is to make a beginning.

The end is where we start from. And every phrase

And sentence that is right (where every word is at home,

Taking its place to support the others,

The word neither diffident nor ostentatious,

An easy commerce of the old and the new,

The common word exact without vulgarity,

The formal word precise but not pedantic,

The complete consort dancing together)

Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning,

Every poem an epitaph. And any action

Is a step to the block, to the fire, down the sea's throat

Or to an illegible stone: and that is where we start.

We die with the dying:

See, they depart, and we go with them.

We are born with the dead:

See, they return, and bring us with them.

The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree

Are of equal duration. A people without history

Is not redeemed from time, for history is a pattern

Of timeless moments. So, while the light fails

On a winter's afternoon, in a secluded chapel

History is now and England. 

With the drawing of this Love and the voice of this Calling 

We shall not cease from exploration

And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time. 

Through the unknown, unremembered gate

When the last of earth left to discover

Is that which was the beginning;

At the source of the longest river

The voice of the hidden waterfall

And the children in the apple-tree

Not known, because not looked for

But heard, half-heard, in the stillness

Between two waves of the sea.

Quick now, here, now, always--

A condition of complete simplicity

(Costing not less than everything)

And all shall be well and

All manner of thing shall be well

When the tongues of flames are in-folded

Into the crowned knot of fire

And the fire and the rose are one.

—The Little Gidding is the last of T. S. Eliot's Four Quartets. For a good biographical site on Eliot and some analysis of his poetry, go to the Academy of American Poet's website.

Before the poem a strong conversation about transgender issues, homosexuality, choice and chromosomes. The longing to understand the cultural and scientific changes.

DC is getting out next week. His final meetingbrook conversation. We’ll miss him and hope we never see him again in prison.

TS Eliot sends him off referencing Julian of Norwich: “And all shall be well and /

All manner of thing shall be well.”

So mote it be, friend!

neither here nor there (an epitaph)

 Then, where?

Funny you should ask ...

No-        (really)

where

do not fancy

Me?

Don’t mind me. 

Our real mind

Has no beginning,

No end;

Do not fancy

That we are born, and die.

— Ikkyu (1394-1481) 

 

Unminded me disappears.

What remains?

Peach kefir, water in cat’s bowl, pain in tailbone.

Middle of night.

The usual.

conceived by

I grew up as a youth in Brooklyn with the Baltimore Catechism. I studied it. Not understandable, but readable.

LESSON 1 -- The Purpose of Man's Existence
1. Who made us?

God made us.

In the beginning, God created heaven and earth. (Gn 1,1)


2. Who is God?

God is the Supreme Being, infinitely perfect, who made all things and keeps them in existence.

In him we live and move and have our being. (Ac 17,28)

3. Why did God make us?

God made us to show forth His goodness and to share with us His everlasting happiness in heaven.

Eye has not seen nor ear heard, nor has it entered into the heart of man, what things God has prepared for those who love him. (1Co 2,9)

4. What must we do to gain the happiness of heaven?

To gain the happiness of heaven we must know, love, and serve God in this world.

Lay not up to yourselves treasures on earth; where the rust and moth consume and where thieves break through and steal. But lay up to yourselves treasures in heaven; where neither the rust nor moth doth consume, and where thieves do not break through nor steal. (Mt 6,19-20)

5. From whom do we learn to know, love, and serve God?

We learn to know, love, and serve God from Jesus Christ, the Son of God, who teaches us through the Catholic Church.

I have come a light into the world that whoever believes in Me may not remain in darkness. (Jn 12,46)

6. Where do we find the chief truths taught by Jesus Christ through the Catholic Church?

We find the chief truths taught by Jesus Christ through the Catholic Church in the Apostles' Creed.

He that heareth you heareth me; and he that despiseth you despiseth me; and he that despiseth me despiseth him that sent me. (Lc 10,16)

7. Say the Apostles' Creed. 

I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth; and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, Our Lord; who was conceived by the Holy Ghost, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died and was buried. He descended into hell; the third day He arose again from the dead; He ascended into heaven, sitteth at the right hand of God, the Father Almighty; from thence He shall come to judge the living and the dead. I believe in the Holy Ghost, the Holy Catholic Church, the communion of Saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting. Amen.

Baltimore's Catechism, A Catechism of Christian Doctrine, Revised Edition of the BALTIMORE CATECHISM No. 2, Confraternity of Christian Doctrine 1941 

A Catechism of Christian Doctrine, Prepared and Enjoined by Order of the Third Council of Baltimore, or simply the Baltimore Catechism,^[1] was the national Catholic catechism for children in the United States, based on Robert Bellarmine's 1614 Small Catechism. The first such catechism written for Catholics in North America, it was the standard Catholic school text in the country from 1885 to the late 1960s. From its publication, however, there were calls to revise it, and many other catechisms were used during this period.^[2] It was officially replaced by the United States Catholic Catechism for Adults in 2004,^[3] based on the revised universal Catechism of the Catholic Church.  

 Not understandable, but readable. A lot like my life. And, maybe, yours.

Things seemed simple. A revised edition in 1941. Three years after it was published I was born. Perhaps it was revised for me. In graduate school my degree read Doctrina Religiosa, (Religious Teachings). 

I never stopped studying. The central point of my studies just kept widening.:Comparative religion, comparative philosophy, comparative spirituality, ethics, mythology, poetry. Until, these days, my inquiry seems edgeless. As I soon will be.

Looking back, a good beginning.

Looking forward, no end to it.

for even a short time

We gesture. 

‘Stay, hi, see ya, c’mon closer, I honor you, pass the biscuits.’

Our bodies are a language unto themselves. We speak by appearance, presence, movement and stillness.

When one displays the buddha mudra

with one's whole body and mind,

sitting upright in this samadhi

for even a short time,

everything in the entire dharma world

becomes buddha mudra,

and all space in the universe

completely becomes enlightenment.

—Dogen (1200-1253)

Our bodies are signatures to unspoken statements urging toward understanding and respect.

We are a standing or sitting panegyric. Our bodies say ‘look through this’ and ‘see what is being pointed to’.

Become the path to enlightenment.

Travel yourself along the trail covered by oak leaves to open vistas and stand in reverence with everything watching with you.

my oh my

 Mississippi 

Has new senator

Congratulations 

sterkowski, poland

 All these hats

Only one head

Yeah yeah

Don’t ask

There’s no 

Excuse 

no-where to go

 It's true, i've been thinking about death. It took a turn off barnestown road and drove into dooryard. It took me to visit the ct scan and mri machines at the hospital, the cancer care folks, the pharmacy in town, the tired naps and slow realization there's no need to buy an electric bike or renew passport. I order gifts for son, niece, and nephew who'll visit at thanksgiving. 

I read and listen to books, novels and scholarly works. When I feel up to it I go into prison on monday and friday mornings.

I sit a lot. My coccyx is dissatisfied with so much sitting. 

I sit with God. God is silent. Unloquacious, as I am.

"Nothing in all creation is so like God as stillness." (--Meister Eckhart)

 I'm at the age people die. I see it every day. Octogenarians fill NYTimes newsprint. The famous get their own columns. The hoi polloi get an inch in back pages.

I think my epitaph should read "Neither here nor there."

I suspect there's no-where to go.

So, I will.

When time un-presents Itself.

invitatory

 First light

Tree limbs bare

Is that you

on our blindness

 to all veterans

well done

thank you

for your service

to all who didn't

serve

stand and wait

recognize when 

it arises

what is asked

say yes, act with

decency and honor

then just return

 Has it been hundreds of years? I'm aware of 82. Perhaps a little more sitting and kinhin and it will become clear.

Turn around the light to shine within,
then just return.
Let go of hundreds of years
and relax completely.
Open your hands and walk,
innocently.

--Shitou Xiqian (700-790) 

 石頭希遷 Shitou Xiqian (700–790)  參同契 Cantongq Rōmaji:) Sekitō Kisen: Sandōkai English:) Harmony of Difference and Equality / Identity of Relative and Absolute / Inquiry into Matching Halves

Happy that the US election turned out as it did. Looking forward to the diminishing of corruption.

As for my soul -- looking forward to the diminishing of corruption.

The universe comprises all of existence: all forms of matter and energy in space and time, and the structures they form, from subatomic particles to entire galactic filaments. Since the early 20th century, the field of cosmology has established that the universe has been expanding for 13.8 billion years, starting from a dense fireball in an event called the Big Bang.^[9] The observable portion of the universe is approximately 93 billion light-years in diameter at present. The total size of the universe is not known.^[10]  wikipedia

Pretty big, pretty old.

When I die I'm told i will dissolve back into the size and duration of the universe. Mommy and daddy. The stories told. The explanations, the interpretations, the heuristics.

Is God that which the universe explicates? Or is the universe our supposition of God?

It is Tuesday. I need coffeemilk, diet tonic and hormone treatment preparation pills from town.

Life doesn't end. 

It becomes Itself.

Open your hands and walk 

innocently. 

morning, after stroll with ensõ

 cats get midday treat

dog gets biscuit

i get boost 

november shrivels

oak leaves on path

to (again) running brook

just beyond yurt

an infinity times bigger?

 This poem goes into prison this morning.

God Is Not a Father 

BY JASWINDER BOLINA

When you ask, I tell you God is just a word for things

We don’t understand yet. Outside the packed tavern,

A solitary drunk staggers into a sudden shaft of sun

Like he’s about to be raptured or transported

Onto a starship. The furry waveform of a squirrel

Bounds into the hard particles of traffic. You look small

Even for a little kid eating Goldfish® crackers

In a booster seat in the rearview mirror. When you ask,

I tell you some call it God, but others call it Om

Or Satnam or Unkulunkulu, and some call it Father,

But god is not a father. Because god is a mommy?

You ask. I tell you maybe, but some say god is

Something greater than a mommy or a daddy.

You say, Nothing is greater than mommy.

I tell you maybe, but some say god is the first cause,

And some say God is the last word, and some don’t

Say anything at all because      is supposed to be

A sound louder than the mouth, an idea bigger

Than the mind. A billion or a quadrillion

Or an infinity times bigger? I tell you

Nothing is bigger than the mind. I tell you

Infinity is just a word for things we haven’t

Figured out yet. Some say it isn’t even real.

But you say, Infinity is real, and I tell you maybe

Because a father doesn’t need to be a zealot or a cudgel.

It starts to rain. The wipers wave back and forth

Like arms above a revival. You inhale

A boxful of raisins. You pound a pouchful of yogurt.

I call you a bottomless bunny, and you giggle

Like a windchime. We drive through the downpour

Listening to human music. You ask, How did I learn

How to talk? You ask, How does the rain rain?

You ask, Who was the first person? Was he lonely?

The rain stops. A sunburst douses the road

In a nearly intolerable light. I tell you, By listening.

I tell you, By gravity. I tell you the first person

Was a squiggle of nucleotides dropped

From a meteorite into a bubble of petroleum

In a tide pool on the Proterozoic earth. You ask,

When will we be home? I want to see Mommy.

I tell you maybe six minutes.

I tell you probably ten.

Source: Poetry (November 2026

Those four minutes . . . truly, an infinity times bigger.

the overcoat of logos

 I read

(A joyful vice)

Words 

Entice thought

A worthy gift

Of aught and sought

corpus dilectum

 Where have you

Carried me, body

To that tick’s mouth

On lower leg

The drop of blood

The itch, the ointment

mar atá dia

pills

proliferate

glasses of water

sink them

down esophagus 

returning glass

to sink

empty

ready for

evening diet tonic-

water with ice

watching britbox

through 6pm pill

10pm pill

bedtime pills

I’m sick

of them,

medicines for

WM, plus another

stage IV, my

semi-cranky 

attitude

as body

folds into Itself, 

mar atá Dia

(as God is)

saturday

 Everything has changed

Nothing

To look forward to

What a gift

A rainy day

This bed

A nap

Such joy

of course death with dignity, just not yet

Rain soaked 

Fog nestles in trees

A new treatment

For new cancer

To begin

Doctor is optimistic

Forestalling hospice

We leave hospital office

Drink coffee at harbor

An incoming tide

Creamy quiche

Demasted sailboats

bottom line

 God doesn’t

Care if I believe

In God

God only

Cares that 

Love occurs

stepping out

 rain

wet leaves

barn door

is itself each stasis

The frugality of Robert Creeley.

With metaphor, we are being carried within and through what seems to be right there, before us, into something off to the side, unimposing, while showing us through and through.

The author affirms that the poetical work 

with language oscillates between voice and

thought, presence and absence. This argument

contributes to his statement which says that

every true poet can perfectly develop precise

reasoning and abstract thought, since the most

authentic philosophy is in the objects we

observe and reflect upon, as well as in the act of

thinking itself and its maneuvers (idem, p. 208).

Valéry approximates the act of philosophical

thought to the poet’s process of thinking, and affirms

that the poet has his/her abstract thought and, as some

say, a particular philosophy, for the poetical work

implies reflections, decisions, choices and

combinations. The author also states that the value of

a poem is in the indissolubility of sound and sense,

and the poet’s task is to give us the feeling of intimate

union between sound and spirit. He goes beyond when

he shows that this desire to get sound and sense

together is part of language itself, because there is a

priori relation between the sounds of the letters, their

union, and the meaning attributed to them. How can

“horse”, “cheval” and “cavalo” designate the same

object? According to Valéry, this process that

approximates sounds and letters and constitutes ideas

is a characteristic of metaphor. 

 

 https://www.academia.edu/82668949/Robert_Creeley_The_Minimal_Self_s_Metaphorical_Transportation_Robert_Creeley_A_transporta%C3%A7%C3%A3o_metaf%C3%B3rica_do_m%C3%ADnimo_eu_

Self’s Metaphorical 

Robert Creeley: A transportação metafórica do mínimo eu, by Rubelise da Cunha)

It is both sweet and unimaginable to be carried away, to travel through and through, the unexpected and the revelation of it.

    “Focus” e “Shadow”: the minimal self’s gaze 

FOCUS  

 

Patches of grey 

sky tree’s 

lines window 

frames the 

plant hangs 

in middle. 

SHADOW  

 

There is a shadow 

to intention a place 

it comes through and 

is itself each stasis 

of its mindedness ex- 

plicit walled into 

semblance it is a 

seemingly living place 

it wants it fades it 

comes and goes it puts 

a yellow flower in a pot 

in a circle and looks. 

 (--ibid)

 There are tired leaves holding on to nearby nearly bare branches off northeast edge of house before barnestown road.

I glance at them.

They are seen.