Sunday, March 30, 2014

Nunc et Hora Mortis

When I have been taught, when I have learned,
Truly been taught, been silenced so as to learn;
When I have ceased to babble and to quibble
Ceased to quarrel, grouch, gripe, grumble
Ceased to mumble
Ceased to fumble about for words, ceased to frustrate
The prostrate center by the erect mind,
Ceased to demonstrate, remonstrate, illustrate
(As even now I seek to illustrate my own absurd
Illustrations by the multiplication of words)
When, I say, I am silent and learn to turn inward
Out of words, away from myself, and burn with thirst,
With urgent yearning for that which is not I…
In short, when I number my days aright
Then shall I concern myself with two moments only:
And the hour of my death.
For they are the same moment.

The same point of intersection, the same cross
Between the horizontal and the vertical,
Between the point which is my “I” and something
Probably quite dimensionless
Or at any rate beyond all dimension.
Now is the timeless hour of death,
The hourless moment of utter decreasement
To make way for His increase.
The hour of my death, which is His Life
As His death is my life and my life is now no more mine
Since I have been nourished on flesh and blood
Not mine. The only food
The only medicine to do me any good
Is Him. And He is only here and now
Which is everywhere and always.

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