Heavens
(To Helen my Kinswoman)
Aching with many ignorances,
With the Supreme Ignorance
Hardest of all to bear,
I laid myself down upon my bed
Longing to win through sleep
To the Place of Blueness;
There are many places in many lands of sleep
Where I have wandered wondering
Through all my life of dreaming, —
Places sweetly or terribly familiar as those of earth,
But this that I call the Place of Blueness
Is by far the loveliest and most marvellous.
Its peace is as the stillness of beings invisible
Waiting for the Great Disclosure
That shall bring fulfillment of unimaginable beatitude
To all that was, or is, or ever shall be.
Its blueness is more ineffable
Than skies and flowers of long vanished Aprils
Remembered by one dying in a desert.
If there are children angels with blue eyes,
Such is the blue of its fields of lilies
Blowing lightly even to the mild horizon:
Such also is the blue of its blossoming orchards
And the far hills that float above them.
If the Maiden Mary indeed wears veils of blue in heaven,
Of that colour is the shining scarf of water
That girdles this fairest of the lands of dreaming
Blue are all the stars in its blue heaven
And a moon of crystal azure hangs above it
Like a magic jewel
Swung from threads of silver.
There is also the pool that I call " Expectation, "
Rayed with five rays of light like a star-sapphire, —
The pool beside which I love to rest from living,
Hoping always that some compassionate angel
May trouble the rapt waters,
May descend and interpret for me
The wonders that lie veiled in the depths of my ignorance
Which has no rays of light wheeling through it
Like the wonderful pool of expectation.
And suddenly as I lay longing,
The Place of Blueness unfolded about me like a flower,
And the starry pool gleamed beside me,
And in my heart I said with exultation:
This night will the waters surely be troubled,
This night there will be answering.
Yet when the waters trembled,
I saw coming toward me no lordly angel
But a little maid girt with silvery wings,
Having buds of blue heaven-flowers in her hair —
A little child that I had loved dearly
When she dwelt on earth.
Smiling, answering my thought, she called to me:
" I know! It's about heaven that you want me to tell you! "
And balancing happily on the blue lilies
In her little frock of spun glass
And rainbow shoes,
Furling and unfurling her silvery wings
Like a celestial butterfly
She told me of Heaven in these words:
" Heaven is a place where you can play all the time,
Where you have new toys every hour that don't break,
Where you can pick all the flowers and fruit you want to
And nobody says anything cross to you about it,
Where you can eat heavenly sugar plums by the bushel
And never, never be sick afterwards.
Heaven is a place where there are no nurses or nurse maids
To put soap in your ears and eyes,
Or to curl your hair on horrid curl-papers
That are so bumpy you can't sleep at night;
It's a place where you never have to go to bed
Or to school,
And can play even on Sunday
Because there aren't any Churches or Sermons there.
And where you don't have to say your prayers,
Because what's the use? When God is there with you,
Always thinking up nice, new joys for you:
It's a place where you can wish for any sort of frock
And there it is on you, without having to be hooked or buttoned up,
And doesn't ever get dirty;
And where people always kiss you and never slap you,
And where you dance and sing beautifully
Without having to learn how;
And where there are no books
But the grown-up angels tell you fairy tales
Out of their heads, as many as you want,
Forever and ever.
There! one is calling me now!
I'll really have to go
Because she's the best fairy-tale teller in heaven!
Good -by! "
And blowing me a kiss she was gone,
The little, radiant one,
Gone back to heaven.
" Ah, yes, " I thought, " yes, yes, — of course, —
That is truly heaven — for little Cynthia. "
But my heart was not satisfied,
And I waited, eagerly hoping that another angel
More grown-up than little Cynthia
Would descend to trouble the waters
And tell me something further of heaven.
And presently the waters trembled again
And a young man-angel of whom I had been very fond
When he lived upon earth,
Came rather shyly towards me,
Balancing on strong, beautiful wings
As if a little embarrassed by them,
And he said to me, nodding back at them,
" These aren't really there, you know.
It's only because of your dream that you see them. "
I said " Of course, " and made him welcome
To the Place of Blueness,
And he remarked presently,
" This is really a very jolly sort of place you've dreamed of. "
Then I ventured to ask him what sort of a place heaven is,
And he answered:
" It's really not at all unlike earth,
Only much more beautiful, —
There are trees, flowers, colours, — all that sort of thing;
And awfully interesting people.
We work a bit, and amuse ourselves a bit.
Music, of course, — perfectly wonderful music —
On all sorts of instruments,
Better than those we had on earth
But still very much like them, —
No pianos though. "
He told me a good deal more of such things
And then I asked him with reverence
About the Holy Family.
(He was an ardent Catholic)
Had he seen the Madonna?
" Oh, yes! She is wonderfully kind,
Amazingly gracious,
It helps a chap not to miss his own mater so awfully,
Our Blessed Lady is so understanding and motherly. "
The Lord Jesus he had seen also,
But only for a moment.
" There was such a tremendous crowd about Him,
All more fit to be there than I was, " he answered humbly,
As if relieved to change the subject
He added suddenly,
" I'm going on with my painting, you know;
The angels are most awfully obliging —
Michael is posing for me now in full armour.
It's simply ripping to paint with heavenly pigments,
They're like those on earth but better.
I wish I could explain exactly. "
" And you are happy? " I murmured.
" Oh, perfectly! I wouldn't come back to earth for anything.
Don't you see? It's almost exactly like earth
Only a thousand times better....
And then one's so much nearer to God....
As for ceremonial ...
You should hear High Mass chanted by the Seraphim! "
I was sorry when he had to go back to heaven,
And yet my heart was not satisfied.
Two or three more of the angels who had been men and women
Descended to tell me about heaven,
Yet though they spoke very eloquently,
With none of the heavens that they described
Was my heart satisfied.
And there even came down to me my dear black " Mammy, "
Though how I knew it was my " Mammy " I cannot tell,
For she did not look in the least as she did on earth,
But this is all that she said to me about heaven:
" Honey, heaven is a place where every nigger is white! "
And when she had left me I cried out bitterly:
" Oh, if some angel who had never been child, or man, or woman,
Would come down and tell me of his heaven! "
And immediately the waters shook as with awe,
And there stood before me one that I could see but as light,
Who spoke to me with a voice that I could hear only as music remembered,
Yet so beautiful he was,
And so wonderful his speaking,
That my spirit shook like the waters.
" How shall I tell you of heaven? " he questioned me,
" How shall I tell you of the illimitable,
You that are sealed within your five wits,
Like a djinn sealed within an iron vessel
With five imprints of the seal of Solomon?
In heaven there is a colour unknown to earth,
It is not blue, nor green, nor red, nor yellow, nor violet, nor orange,
It's name is called Zervâdin ,
And it is more glorious than sunrise and sunset.
Can you see it through my words?
Does its name set it before you?
" In heaven there is a sound unknown on earth,
It is not a sound of wind, or of water, or of thundering, or of fire, —
Harp-strings and oboes and cymbals,
Viols and lutes, — children's voices and the songs of birds
Are as silence compared with it,
Its name is called Lâreth ,
And it is sweeter than the voice of love sounding back across death.
Can you hear it through my words?
Does its name set it within the porches of your ears?
" In heaven there is a form.
And upon earth exists not even the shadow of the illusion of its likeness,
Yet is it more marvellous a million fold
Than the imagining of poets creating through thought
The image of the Supernal.
Its name is called Valt├┤ran ,
And he who hath seen it hath seen behind the seventh veil
Of the Holy of Holies which is Mystery.
Can you behold it through my words?
Does its name set it before you?
Hear and remember
Throughout that other dream which is life:
As many as are the cups
They shall be filled,
Whether cups on mosses of earth
Or the cup of space,
Or the great and little cups of souls,
All shall be filled.
" As for the heaven which men imagine with their five wits,
How should it satisfy them when their wits shall be myriad?
I say to you as one said of old, being truly enlightened:
The heaven imagined of men while yet they are men,
Is as a little hut on the mountain side of Reality. "
Aching with many ignorances,
With the Supreme Ignorance
Hardest of all to bear,
I laid myself down upon my bed
Longing to win through sleep
To the Place of Blueness;
There are many places in many lands of sleep
Where I have wandered wondering
Through all my life of dreaming, —
Places sweetly or terribly familiar as those of earth,
But this that I call the Place of Blueness
Is by far the loveliest and most marvellous.
Its peace is as the stillness of beings invisible
Waiting for the Great Disclosure
That shall bring fulfillment of unimaginable beatitude
To all that was, or is, or ever shall be.
Its blueness is more ineffable
Than skies and flowers of long vanished Aprils
Remembered by one dying in a desert.
If there are children angels with blue eyes,
Such is the blue of its fields of lilies
Blowing lightly even to the mild horizon:
Such also is the blue of its blossoming orchards
And the far hills that float above them.
If the Maiden Mary indeed wears veils of blue in heaven,
Of that colour is the shining scarf of water
That girdles this fairest of the lands of dreaming
Blue are all the stars in its blue heaven
And a moon of crystal azure hangs above it
Like a magic jewel
Swung from threads of silver.
There is also the pool that I call " Expectation, "
Rayed with five rays of light like a star-sapphire, —
The pool beside which I love to rest from living,
Hoping always that some compassionate angel
May trouble the rapt waters,
May descend and interpret for me
The wonders that lie veiled in the depths of my ignorance
Which has no rays of light wheeling through it
Like the wonderful pool of expectation.
And suddenly as I lay longing,
The Place of Blueness unfolded about me like a flower,
And the starry pool gleamed beside me,
And in my heart I said with exultation:
This night will the waters surely be troubled,
This night there will be answering.
Yet when the waters trembled,
I saw coming toward me no lordly angel
But a little maid girt with silvery wings,
Having buds of blue heaven-flowers in her hair —
A little child that I had loved dearly
When she dwelt on earth.
Smiling, answering my thought, she called to me:
" I know! It's about heaven that you want me to tell you! "
And balancing happily on the blue lilies
In her little frock of spun glass
And rainbow shoes,
Furling and unfurling her silvery wings
Like a celestial butterfly
She told me of Heaven in these words:
" Heaven is a place where you can play all the time,
Where you have new toys every hour that don't break,
Where you can pick all the flowers and fruit you want to
And nobody says anything cross to you about it,
Where you can eat heavenly sugar plums by the bushel
And never, never be sick afterwards.
Heaven is a place where there are no nurses or nurse maids
To put soap in your ears and eyes,
Or to curl your hair on horrid curl-papers
That are so bumpy you can't sleep at night;
It's a place where you never have to go to bed
Or to school,
And can play even on Sunday
Because there aren't any Churches or Sermons there.
And where you don't have to say your prayers,
Because what's the use? When God is there with you,
Always thinking up nice, new joys for you:
It's a place where you can wish for any sort of frock
And there it is on you, without having to be hooked or buttoned up,
And doesn't ever get dirty;
And where people always kiss you and never slap you,
And where you dance and sing beautifully
Without having to learn how;
And where there are no books
But the grown-up angels tell you fairy tales
Out of their heads, as many as you want,
Forever and ever.
There! one is calling me now!
I'll really have to go
Because she's the best fairy-tale teller in heaven!
Good -by! "
And blowing me a kiss she was gone,
The little, radiant one,
Gone back to heaven.
" Ah, yes, " I thought, " yes, yes, — of course, —
That is truly heaven — for little Cynthia. "
But my heart was not satisfied,
And I waited, eagerly hoping that another angel
More grown-up than little Cynthia
Would descend to trouble the waters
And tell me something further of heaven.
And presently the waters trembled again
And a young man-angel of whom I had been very fond
When he lived upon earth,
Came rather shyly towards me,
Balancing on strong, beautiful wings
As if a little embarrassed by them,
And he said to me, nodding back at them,
" These aren't really there, you know.
It's only because of your dream that you see them. "
I said " Of course, " and made him welcome
To the Place of Blueness,
And he remarked presently,
" This is really a very jolly sort of place you've dreamed of. "
Then I ventured to ask him what sort of a place heaven is,
And he answered:
" It's really not at all unlike earth,
Only much more beautiful, —
There are trees, flowers, colours, — all that sort of thing;
And awfully interesting people.
We work a bit, and amuse ourselves a bit.
Music, of course, — perfectly wonderful music —
On all sorts of instruments,
Better than those we had on earth
But still very much like them, —
No pianos though. "
He told me a good deal more of such things
And then I asked him with reverence
About the Holy Family.
(He was an ardent Catholic)
Had he seen the Madonna?
" Oh, yes! She is wonderfully kind,
Amazingly gracious,
It helps a chap not to miss his own mater so awfully,
Our Blessed Lady is so understanding and motherly. "
The Lord Jesus he had seen also,
But only for a moment.
" There was such a tremendous crowd about Him,
All more fit to be there than I was, " he answered humbly,
As if relieved to change the subject
He added suddenly,
" I'm going on with my painting, you know;
The angels are most awfully obliging —
Michael is posing for me now in full armour.
It's simply ripping to paint with heavenly pigments,
They're like those on earth but better.
I wish I could explain exactly. "
" And you are happy? " I murmured.
" Oh, perfectly! I wouldn't come back to earth for anything.
Don't you see? It's almost exactly like earth
Only a thousand times better....
And then one's so much nearer to God....
As for ceremonial ...
You should hear High Mass chanted by the Seraphim! "
I was sorry when he had to go back to heaven,
And yet my heart was not satisfied.
Two or three more of the angels who had been men and women
Descended to tell me about heaven,
Yet though they spoke very eloquently,
With none of the heavens that they described
Was my heart satisfied.
And there even came down to me my dear black " Mammy, "
Though how I knew it was my " Mammy " I cannot tell,
For she did not look in the least as she did on earth,
But this is all that she said to me about heaven:
" Honey, heaven is a place where every nigger is white! "
And when she had left me I cried out bitterly:
" Oh, if some angel who had never been child, or man, or woman,
Would come down and tell me of his heaven! "
And immediately the waters shook as with awe,
And there stood before me one that I could see but as light,
Who spoke to me with a voice that I could hear only as music remembered,
Yet so beautiful he was,
And so wonderful his speaking,
That my spirit shook like the waters.
" How shall I tell you of heaven? " he questioned me,
" How shall I tell you of the illimitable,
You that are sealed within your five wits,
Like a djinn sealed within an iron vessel
With five imprints of the seal of Solomon?
In heaven there is a colour unknown to earth,
It is not blue, nor green, nor red, nor yellow, nor violet, nor orange,
It's name is called Zervâdin ,
And it is more glorious than sunrise and sunset.
Can you see it through my words?
Does its name set it before you?
" In heaven there is a sound unknown on earth,
It is not a sound of wind, or of water, or of thundering, or of fire, —
Harp-strings and oboes and cymbals,
Viols and lutes, — children's voices and the songs of birds
Are as silence compared with it,
Its name is called Lâreth ,
And it is sweeter than the voice of love sounding back across death.
Can you hear it through my words?
Does its name set it within the porches of your ears?
" In heaven there is a form.
And upon earth exists not even the shadow of the illusion of its likeness,
Yet is it more marvellous a million fold
Than the imagining of poets creating through thought
The image of the Supernal.
Its name is called Valt├┤ran ,
And he who hath seen it hath seen behind the seventh veil
Of the Holy of Holies which is Mystery.
Can you behold it through my words?
Does its name set it before you?
Hear and remember
Throughout that other dream which is life:
As many as are the cups
They shall be filled,
Whether cups on mosses of earth
Or the cup of space,
Or the great and little cups of souls,
All shall be filled.
" As for the heaven which men imagine with their five wits,
How should it satisfy them when their wits shall be myriad?
I say to you as one said of old, being truly enlightened:
The heaven imagined of men while yet they are men,
Is as a little hut on the mountain side of Reality. "
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