I feel, sometimes, the overwhelming sense that I love almost everything in the world. That the world and the peoples of the world, in whatever endeavor, in whatever circumstance are divine creatures and save themselves by the simple gesture, the kind act.

In youth this feeling is poignant and is poised against the horrendous problems facing the people of the earth and, at times, the feeling is extinguished out of the pain of awareness that the horrendous problems will mortally wound the precious and divine substance that has resolved itself in the human being.

But that love must win out. It must emerge from the crevice, from the craggy peaks of our pride, from the lead-encasing we've allowed ourselves to become all out of foolishness.

The love of the creation. The manifestation of nature’s eternity; the embracement of the cosmos. Indeed, we are the privileged. We live in so many riches we are poor if we don’t dance every day to the awakened spirit.

Cast out the terrible news that we punish ourselves with! Cast it out and immerse in the richness of life, in the divine ignorance of the peoples of the earth, in the beauty of the soul evidenced in every hovel, every gritty avenue.

The species must survive and empty itself and fill itself with the riches once more.

There are days when one understands the full of life. The simple things that go into this fullness such as unself-conscious activity punctuated by laughter and conversation. All is well. Ah, you bookmen! You with your nose in the abstract furies of the world’s gloom-awake! Come out and dance with the fullness of life. Nothing will destroy you, you will dance through the fire and everything you have learned will become burnished, strong; will reach out to the furthest circle and embrace that life that never dies; alive 5000 years ago and alive 5000 years from now.

Gloom! This is a substance one wants to flee with the speed of light. Gloom, gloom, ah the world is too much. It crushes and demoralizes and the spirit resists, wakes up and rises and for a time see's nothing but gloom. The world will destroy itself and the germ of life will float ceaselessly to the black emptiness that has absorbed our glittering probes.

And measureless years will reveal the old substances and it will begin again. Those primitive brains knew a thing or two. Progress meant nothing to them. After the mundane problems were solved the mind travelled out into its destiny and filled it with passion.

1979

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