In Response to Arnold

September 26, 2004

The quiet work of the poor laborer,
Poor in heart, and therefore blessed,
Is the goal of the hasty businessman
Who heeds not signs of his failing,
Who curses the truth (isn't it charming?)

But "toil unsever'd from tranquility"
Is so far off, so far off. (Or too close to see.)
If only,
In a dream, we could be aware,
And yell at the phantasm "Begone! Thou art not real!"
And chastising our dreaméd self
For foolishly fearing the fangs of an unknown beast
We would awake, and be saved.

Then why, you who yearns for the vasty halls,
Do you not also stand up straight, finding the mean of the mind,
And stare at what is, always becoming what it is not,
Challenging it to show itself as real, or begone?

But you are gone. Have you seen the stars? Were you right, after all?

One thing I ask, one thing I desire: Awareness of the dream.
Brought on by sight of the courts of the Lord,
So real, that to imagine them pains my flesh
And mortifies it (that is, both kills and embarrasses).

And to gaze forward, tripping on shoelaces, and falling as well into Thales' well,
"My, so nice to see you. Have a scone. Have you seen the stars?"

Glory to God alone.