Week 51: Winter Solstice
Sonnets of the Spirit: A Song, a Creed, a Toast and a Dance.
Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata. By the spirit within me I sing, I believe,
I feel and I live. Peace Peace Peace
12/16:
TWL, Lines 433-434: The Peace Mantra
433 Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.
434 Shantih shantih shantih
433. MADNESS: See Brooks (note 330): The mad prince may be ”mad for a purpose.” See also Shakespeare, Hamlet 2.2. 202-203: “Though this be madness, yet there is method in’t.” What first appears as gibberish (see Dadaism, note 419) on a closer look reveals a deeper design.
434. PEACE: Eliot: “Shantih. Repeated as here, a formal ending to an Upanishad. 'The Peace which passeth understanding' is a feeble translation of the conduct of this word.”
This is a peace mantra, uttered conclusively even as it is not fully understood. Many of the Upanishad passages have an “Om Shanti Shanti Shanti” ending, a basic mantra that might loosely translate as “Let there be peace, peace, peace.” See Brihadaranyaka Upanishad 1.3.28 (note 400), which often includes the same “shanti” ending (although Hume’s 1921 translation regularly left it out): “From the unreal lead me to the real! From darkness lead me to light! From death lead me to immortality! [Let there be peace, peace, peace.]”
This is also the third instance in the poem that Eliot employs a repetitive one word mantra, each time in relation to eastern allusions; see also burning burning burning (line 308) and da da da (note 400). See also the three uses of “after” at lines 322-324.
Compare this to the threefold observations noting those “departed,” next to the threefold pleas calling out to “sweet Thames,” at lines 175-184. The song, once painfully complex, has evolved and simplified to its final one word mantra.
Eliot’s translation of Shantih is taken from Philippians 4:7:
“And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.”
Eliot confessed to a feeble understanding of that peace which all would-be believers seek, but this, in time, would change for him (see The Four Quartets†, note 306); indeed, after this later work he would direct that his epitaph be etched with words from East Coker (see note 306):
“In my beginning is my end. In my end is my beginning.”
Eventually. But for now it is the poet’s words in this final note, so easy to overlook, that have intrigued my own understanding and encouraged these annotations.
12/17:
Sabbath
December is the Sabbath of the year,
Or should be so: We need a month of rest
After eleven months of business,
Before the year ahead of us no less
And more: we need this restful moment here
To bless the coming year.
I wonder if it wasn’t by design,
If God’s own resting was a matter more
Of looking forward, getting ready for
The days to come, the challenges in store
And less of looking backwards and behind,
No matter how divine.
Thus, when in God’s own image we look back
We ought to simply say how good it was
And turn toward tomorrow —with a pause,
Of course, for all it’s worth and what it does:
This holi-month allows us to reflect,
Compels us to project.
As every end ignites a new beginning,
As every prayer concerns continuation,
As silent nights turn into celebration,
As cheers turn into wishes, as ovations
Build to the encore, as the show is ending
The Sabbath world keeps spinning.
12/18:
Sonnet of the Wind
The gift of breathe:
The air supply made of green leaves,
The chemistry of oxygen
the lungs receive,
The circulatory cells they feed,
The appetite and hunger’s power
of needing more,
The muscles that refuse to sleep,
The will to keep
the moments of a given day,
The way we live in increments,
The breath we give back to the green,
The whole routine
Beyond belief or comprehension,
Uncontrolled, unspecified,
The spirit of the simplest soul:
The gift of breathe.
12/19:
Sonnet of Earth and Essence
I am earth,
my God is essence
and in between
The wind blows,
the water flows,
the fire burns.
All that is made
my God creates;
I am created
With heart and lungs,
with sweat and tears,
with want and will,
And without these
my God is absent
and I am only earth.
12/20:
Sonnet of the Water
The gift of quench, the grace of flow,
The stir of raindrops on the soil,
The tears we cry, the salt we show.
The way we wash away our toil.
A soak to soothe, a drip to feed,
The air that we’re conditioned to,
The life we’re given and all we need,
Our vehicle and avenue,
The force that cuts from source to sea,
Before we’re born, after we die,
The waves of time and destiny,
Our means to cleanse and purify,
The drink we drink, to all things new
and from all that we should let go:
I fill my glass and lift it to
the gift of quench, the grace of flow.
12/21:
Sonnet of the Fire
The gift of spirit,
The dance within,
The forge that makes me
more than clay.
The wheel that turns,
The heat that burns,
The fire’s fingers
forming me.
The fragile flame,
The sparks of time,
The fickle flicker
of the glaze:
The soul for 30,000 days,
each longing for eternity.
12/22:
Moleskin 6.2: Serenity
Carter’s professed respect was towards what Niebuhr perceived as a theological duty in the realm of politics, to try to do justice in a sinful world —maybe, as it would turn out, more than a peanut farmer could handle, although Carter would maintain a dedication to this duty beyond his political presidency. But Niebuhr is also known, and perhaps better known, as the author of a bit of wisdom that may seem to fit less into politics, or rather shows the higher nobility of theology over our more human policies: it is the wisdom of a prayer, one that prays for wisdom itself, as well as courage , each in their proper place. First, though, the prayer is for serenity: “God grant me the serenity to accept...” More grant than a twelve year old can possibly be expected to grasp. And yet, on the riverbanks of youth, without any knowledge of Niebuhr’s wisdom, the thoughts, the prayers were forming.
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