Weekly Day Life

The morning was so wonderful, but in the afternoon and evening, the ecstasy perished like a nipped thing, like a bud in a false spring. It was bitter as it drew on the dawn, flat and stale. I was dark-faced and disconsolate. The passion was not there. It's just like an ordinary day and hearts were aflame. Upon me was a kind of absent-mindedness, as ever, as if I were exiled for all my life.

Where was the fiery heart of joy, now the coming was fulfilled? Where was the star, the thrill of new being that shook the earth? It was still there, even if it were faint and inadequate. The ecstasy slowly sank and changed. Each day followed another day, trailing a fine movement, a finely developed transformation over my heart that was filled with joy. I had seen the star and followed to the inner walls of the life within me, that there had swooned in the great light, now feel the light slowly withdrawing, a shadow falling, darkening.

The chill crept in silence came over the earth, and then all was darkness. The veil of my heart gave up the ghost and sank dead. Is heaven impatient for me and bitter against this earth, that I should hurry off or that I should linger pale and untouched? Gradually the cloud of self responsibility gathered upon me. I became aware of myself, that I was a separated entity in the midst of an inseparable obscurity, that I must go somewhere, must become something, and I am afraid troubled.

Why must one grow up? Why must one inherit this heavy numbing responsibility of living an undiscovered life? Out of nothingness and the undifferentiated mass, to make something of myself! But, what? In the obscurity and pathlessness to tale a direction! But whither? How to take even one step? And yet, how to stand still? This was torment indeed to inherit the responsibility of one's own life. There could be within limits of my life, I know. I had come to the point where I held that, which I cannot experience in daily life is not true for oneself.

So the old quality of life, wherein there had been world of absolute truth and living mystery of walking upon the earth. Sometimes I feel the world was not real, or at least, not actual. And one lived by actions. Only weekly day world mattered to me. I must know how to take the weekly day life. My body must be a weekly day body, held in the worlds estimate. My soul must have a weekday value, known according to the worlds knowledge.

Well, then there was a weekday life to live, of actions and deeds. And so there was a necessity to choose one's actions and one's deeds. One was responsible more to the world. One was responsible to one's self. There was some puzzling residue of hatred in this world within me, some persistent earthly self. How to act, that was the question?

Whether to go, how to become oneself? One was not oneself, how to know the question and the answer of oneself. When one was unfixed something-nothing, blowing about like the winds of heaven undefined, unstated.