Merton and Merwin

On a normal day when I find myself somewhat lost my inclination is to read some Thomas Merton. At this moment, currently I feel a little lost.  Meaning, the meaning of life is eluding me right now.  A dose of Merton would help.  When the late monk talked about saying mass alone in his hermitage and noticing the light playing off the spider web by a window, there was a joy in the simplest and most holy parts of existence.  The light playing off simple silk explained eternity far better than any philosopher’s musing. Merton’s writing has a way of putting human angst in its place.

But I am in a winding up mindset and I have been emptying out my office of all things personal.  About the only things left that reflect “me” are two photographs, one with my late brothers and one with the school board I once was a part of.  There is an admission certificate to the Delaware State Bar.  A set of five Buddhist prayer flags is tacked up on what used to be a bulletin board.  Finally, there is a copy of a book of poetry from a former United States Poet Laureate, W.S. Merwin.

Merwin does not address the holy and divine as Merton does.  But they have similar threads in their respective work.  Merwin focuses on the transient, the beauty of the fleeting.  Merwin is a Buddhist seeking a way forward toward enlightenment.  Merton is a mystic seeking the closest connection with an articulated nature of God.  Merton acknowledges the limitations of this life we live but has a greater hope, a higher hope. Lacking Merton, I must turn to Merwin.

Dew Light

Now in the blessed days of more and less
when the news about time is that each day
there is less of it I know none of that
as I walk out through the early garden
only the day and I are here with no
before or after and the dew looks up
without a number or a present age

Who needs meaning?  There is now and then there isn’t.