2. Self-Control SELF-DEPENDENCE MATTHEW ARNOLD Weary of myself and sick of asking And a look of passionate desire "Ye who from my childhood up have calmed me, "Ah, once more," I cried, "ye stars, ye waters, On my heart your mighty charm renew; Still, still, let me, as I gaze upon you, Feel my soul becoming vast, like you!" From the intense, clear, star-sown vault of heaven, In the rustling night air came the answer: "Unaffrighted by the silence round them, "And with joy the stars perform their shining, "Bounded by themselves, and unregardful Oh, air-born voice! long since, severely clear, THE STUPID OLD BODY EDWARD CARPENTER Do not pay too much attention to the stupid old Body. When you have trained it, made it healthy, beautiful, and your willing servant, Why, then do not reverse the order and become its slave and attendant. (The dog must follow the master, not the master the dog.) Remember that if you walk away from it and leave it behind, it will have to follow you-it will grow by following, by continually reaching up to you. Incredibly beautiful it will become, and suffused by a kind of intelligence. But if you turn and wait upon it-and its mouth and its belly and its sex-wants and all its little ape-tricks-preparing and dishing up pleasures and satisfactions for these, Why, then, instead of the body becoming like you, you will become like the body, Incredibly stupid and unformed-going back in the path of evolution-you too with fish-mouth and toad-belly, and imprisoned in your own members, as it were an Ariel in a blundering Caliban. Therefore quite lightly and decisively at each turning-poiut in the path leave your body a little behind With its hungers and sleeps, and funny 'little needs and vanities -Pay no attention to them; Slipping out at least a few steps in advance, till it catch you up again, Absolutely determined not to be finally bound and weighted down by it, Or fossilized into one set form Which alone after all is death. THE WANDERING LUNATIC MIND EDWARD CARPENTER Do not pay too much attention to the wandering lunatic Mind. When you have trained it, informed it, made it clear, decisive, and your flexible instrument and tool, Why, then, do not reverse the order and become the mere fatuous attendant and exhibitor of its acrobatic feats (like a keeper who shows off a monkey). Remember that if you walk away from it, leaving it as dead, paying it no attention whatever-it will have to follow you -it will grow by following, by reaching up to you, from the known to the unknown, continually; It will become at last the rainbow-tinted garment and shining interpreter of Yourself, and incredibly beautiful. But if you turn and wait always upon it, and its idiotic cares and anxieties, and endless dream-chains of argument and imagination Feeding them and the microbe-swarms of thoughts continually, wasting upon them your life-force; Why, then, instead of your Mind becoming your true companion and interpreter, it will develop antics and a St. Vitus's dance of its own, and the form of a wandering lunatic, Incredibly tangle-haired and diseased and unclean, In whose features you, in sadness and in vain, will search for your own image-terrified lest you find it not, and terrified too lest you find it. Therefore quite decisively, day by day and at every juncture, leave your Mind for a time in silence and abeyance; With its tyrannous thoughts and demands, and funny little fears and fancies-the long legacy of ages of animal evolution; Slipping out and going your own way into the Unseen-feeling with your feet if necessary through the darkness-till some day it may follow you; Absolutely determined not to be bound by any of its conclusions; or fossilized in any pattern it may invent; For this were to give up your kingdom, and bow down your neck to death. MY MINDE TO ME A KINGDOM IS SIR EDMUND DYER Altered by William Byrd, 1588 My minde to me a kingdom is, Content I live; this is my stay,- I see how plentie surfeits oft, And hastie clymbers soonest fall; Mishap doth threaten most of all. These get with toile, and keepe with feare; No princely pompe nor welthie store, No wylie wit to salve a sore, No shape to winne a lover's eye,- Some have too much, yet still they crave; They are but poore, though much they have, I laugh not at another's losse, I grudge not at another's gaine; I joy not in no earthly blisse; I weigh not Cresus' wealth a straw; For care, I care not what it is; I feare not fortune's fatal law; My minde is such as may not move For beautie bright, or force of love. I wish but what I have at will; I wander not to seeke for more; I like the plaine, I clime no hill; In greatest stormes I sitte on shore, And laugh at them that toile in vaine To get what must be lost againe. I kisse not where I wish to kill; I feigne not love where most I hate; The court ne cart I like ne loath,— Extreames are counted worst of all; The golden meane betwixt them both Doth surest sit, and feares no fall; This is my choyce; for why, I finde No wealth is like a quiet minde. |