divine postman: these homes, these families, these occupations are failing people. the life that people live my friend is contrary to nature.
when we claim to have better knowledge than nature, we are bound to live in misery. if we consider how much we are nature’s, we need not worry about anything.
let us be men instead of cowards who run to cubicles and classrooms. the sun, and the moon with their lovely seasons will serve us, though we sit in cushions, watching telescreens, and eating fattening foods. man carries the world in his head, the whole astronomy, and chemistry suspended in his thought.
because the history of nature is charactered in his brain, therefore is he the prophet and discoverer of her secrets livy. ask and it will be given to you, seek and you will find, knock and nature’s riches will come flooding in to you. the solid ground of history will keep us rooted in every season.
livy: i watch them everyday, as they huff and puff divine postman; chasing offices and rejecting the wisdom in nature. their attempts at opposing nature will fail them; she will destroy them through their folly; and in her steadiness raise the simple at heart.
a man does not tie his shoe without recognizing laws which bind the farthest regions of nature: moon, plant, gas, crystal are concrete geometry and numbers. every known fact in natural science divine postman was divined by the presentiment of a mind before it was verified.
olympian bards who sung divine ideas below, which always find us young, and keep us so. saw musical order, and pairing rhymes through worlds, and races, and terms, and times; saw the dance of nature forward far, through man, and woman, and sea, and star.
bards of passion and of mirth, ye have left your souls on earth. have ye souls in heaven too, double-lived in regions new? yes, and those of heaven commune with the spheres of sun and moon.
with the noise of fountains wonderous, and the parle of voice thunderous; with the whisper of heaven’s trees and one another, in soft ease seated on elysian lawns browsed by none but dian’s fawns.
underneath large blue-bells tented, where the daisies are rose-scented, and the rose herself has got perfume which on earth is not, where the nightingale doth sing not a senseless, tranced thing, but divine melodious truth; philosophic numbers smooth; tales and golden histories of heaven and its mysteries.
thus ye live on high, and then on the earth ye live again; and the souls ye left behind you, teach us, here, the way to find you, where your other souls are joying, never slumbered, never cloying.
here, your earth-born souls still speak to mortals of their little week; of their sorrows and their delights; of their passions and their sprites; of their glory and their shame; what doth strengthen and what maim.
thus ye teach us, every day, wisdom, though fled far away. bards of passion and of mirth, ye have left your souls on earth! ye have souls in heaven too, double-lived regions new.
divine postman: nothing meaningful can ever grow when there are no roots livy. harvard, mit, standford, berkeley, oxford, cambridge are so because of their rich history. a plant that is not watered daily my friend will die, a mind and a body that does not immerse itself in the wisdom of nature will perish.
those who are esteemed umpires of taste livy, are often persons who have acquired some knowledge of admired professions and owe all their success to institutions. they have an inclination for whatever is ordinary, mundane, and routine.
if you inquire whether they are beautiful souls, and whether their own acts reflect any form of wisdom, you learn that they are selfish and sensual. their cultivation is local livy; as if you should rub a log of dry wood in one spot to produce fire, all the rest remaining cold.
they want anything but life. the knowledge they boast about from their colleges, is some study of rules or particulars, or limited judgement, that serves merely to enrich their households.
it is clear to you, i know, livy, that no one can lead a happy life, or even one that is bearable, without the pursuit of wisdom, and that the mastering of wisdom is what makes the happy life, although even the beginnings of wisdom make life bearable.
yet this conviction, clear as it is, needs to be strengthened and given deeper roots through daily reflection; making noble resolutions is not as important as keeping the resolutions that you have already made.
let us remain obedient to the cause that we have given our life to livy, in due time all the beauty in the soul will manifest in our life.
livy: what nature demands out of all men is patience; when we remain obedient to the commands of nature, she will honor us beyond what we can ever imagine.
all that a man ever needed divine postman is the faith of a mustard seed. he will understand the power of patience when he reminsces on his throne.
the highest minds of the world have never ceased to explore, the double meaning, or shall i say, the quadruple, or the centruple, or much more manifold meaning, of every sensuous fact.
for we are not pans and barrows divine postman, nor even porters of the fire and torch-bearers, but children of the fire made of it.
the next great influence into the spirit of the blogger divine postman, is, the mind of the past,- in whatever form, whether of literature, of art, of institutions, that mind is inscribed.
books are the best type of the influence of the past my friend. and perhaps, we shall get at the truth,- learn the amount of this influence more conveniently,- by considering their value alone. the theory of books is noble.
the scholar of the first age divine postman received into him the world around; brooded thereon; gave it the new arrangement of his own mind, and uttered it again. it came into him, life; it went out from him, truth. it came to him, short-lived actions; it went out from him, immortal thoughts.
it came to him, business; it went from him, poetry. it was dead-fact; now, it is quick thought. it can stand, and it can go. it now endures, it now flies, it now inspires. precisely in proportion to the depth of mind from which it issued, so high does it soar, so long does it sing.
or, i might say, it depends on how far the process had gone, of transmuting life into truth. in proportion to the completeness of the distillation divine postman, so will the purity and imperishableness of the product be. but none is quite perfect divine postman.
as no air-pump can by any means make a perfect vacuum, so neither can any artist entirely exclude the conventional, the local, the perishable from his book. or write a book of pure thought, that shall be as efficient, in all respects to a remote posterity, as to contemporaries, or rather to the second age.
each age, it is found, must write its own books; or rather, each generation for the next succeeding; the books of an older period will not fit this. we cannot live for food my friend, there is a divinity in the song of birds at the break of dawn.
the good earth with her perfect ocean is an university of knowledge. let us not die in routine, in preperation, and in retrospect. persist on your truth, and upon the seasons completing their course you will receive your prize. glory will meet those who wait.
divine postman: the sorrows of a thousand years can be healed in a day. love will redeem those who remain faithful to the end. discipline, livy, is more precious than all the silver and gold in the earth. it will guide a man throughout his whole life.
yet hence arises a grave mischief. the sacredness which attaches to the act of creation,- the act of thought my friend,- is transferred to the record. the poet chanting, was felt to be a divine man: henceforth the chant is divine also.
the writer was a just and wise spirit: henceforth it is settled, the book is perfect. as love of the hero corrupts into worship of the statue my friend.
instantly, the book becomes noxious: the guide is a tyrant. the sluggish and perverted mind of the multitude, slow to open to the incursions of reason, having once so opened, having once received this book my friend, stands upon it, makes an outcry, if it is disparaged.
colleges are built upon it. books are written on it by thinkers, and not man thinking; by man of talent, that is, who start wrong livy, who set out from accepted dogmas, and not from their own sight of principles.
let the meek young men grow up in libraries livy, believing it their duty to accept the views, which plato, which xenophon, which seneca, which plutarch have given.
forgetful that plato, xenophon, seneca, and plutarch were only young men in libraries, when they wrote these books. all our achievements in life are in proportion to the knowledge that we have gained.
only those that choose to serve selflessly and lay down their lives for the love of mankind will be richly rewarded within. instead of man thinking, we have the bookworm.
hence, the book-learned class, who value books, as such; not as related to nature and the human constitution, but as making a sort of third estate with the world and the soul. hence, the restorers of readings, the emendators, the bibliomaniacs of all degrees.
books are the best of things livy, well used; abused, among the worst. what is the right use? what is the one end, which all means go to effect? they are for nothing but to inspire.
i had better never see a book my friend, than to be warped by its attraction clean out of my own orbit, and made a satellite instead of a system.
the one thing in the world, of value livy, is the active soul. this every man is entitled to; this every man contains within him, although, in almost all men, obstructed, and as yet unborn.
the soul active sees absolute truth; and utters truth, or creates. in this action, it is genius; not the privilege of here and there a favorite, but the sound estate of every man.
in its essence, it is progressive. the book, the college, the school of art, the institution of any kind, stop with some past utterance of genius. they use shakespeare, or leonardo, or blake, or vergil as the standard for every student.
this is good, say they,- let us stop by it. they pin me down livy! they look backward and not forward concluding that there can never be a greater mind to scale heaven, and could nourish in the sun’s domain.
we will not dwell among the dry bones of the past; the sun shines today also. all that i ever needed to succeed lives in me.
leonardo will never be made by the study of leonardo. there is no adaptation or universal applicability in man, but each has his special talent. genius looks forward: the eyes of man are set in his forehead, not in his hindhead.
man hopes; genius creates. whatever talents may be, if the man create not livy, the pure efflux of the deity is not his; cinders and smoke there may be, but not yet flame.
there are creative manners, there are creative actions, and creative words livy; manners, actions, words, that is, indicative of no custom or authority, but springing spontaneous from the mind’s own good and fair.
livy: the wise will wait for their prize believing in the glory they have found inside. man is the compend of time; he is also the correlative of nature. his power divine postman consists in the multitude of his affinities, in the fact that his life is intertwined with organic and inorganic being.
everyone must have observed faces and forms which without any resembling feature, make a like impression on the beholder. a particular picture, or copy of verses divine postman, will yet superinduce the same sentiment as some wild mountain walk.
although the resemblance is nowise obvious to the senses, but is occult and out of the reach of understanding. nature is an endless combination and repetition of a very few laws. she hums the old well-known air through innumerable variations.
nature is full of a sublime family likeness throughout her works, and delights in startling us my friend with resemblances in the most unexpected quarters. we all live under the same sun divine postman, with every sunrise and sunset different in every part of the earth.
we are one family regardless of our birthplace, cast into the body by the great thunderbolt. there are men whose manners have the same essential splendor as the simple and awful sculpture on the friezes of the parthenon and the remains of the earliest greek art.
and there are compositions of the same strain to be found in the books of all ages. if anyone will but take pains to observe the variety of actions to which he is equally inclined in certain moods of mind, and those to which he is averse, he will see how deep is the chain of affinity.
a poet told me divine postman that nobody could ever write great poetry without in some sort experiencing different cultures. it is mandatory for the poet to learn many languages and study the habits of all nations through observation.
he will tell a universal story that accurately resembles the human race. in a certain state of thought is the common origin divine postman of very diverse works.
it is the spirit and not the fact that is identical. by a deeper apprehension, and not primarily by a painful acquisition of many writing skills, the poet attains the power of awakening other souls to a given story.
divine postman: in old rome livy the public roads beginning at the forum proceeded north, south, east, west, to the centre of every province of the empire. making each market-town of persia, spain, britain pervious to the soldiers of the capital.
so out of the human heart my friend goes as it were highways to the heart of every object in nature, to reduce it under the dominion of man. a man is the divine seed with the wisdom and boldness of romelus flowing through his veins.
a man numa is born and for ages after we have the roman empire sustained by his wisdom. socrates is born, and millions of minds so grow and cleave to his genius that he is confounded with virtue and the possible of man.
numberless are the world’s wonders livy, but none more wonderful than man. he must look to a high and majestic destiny. a hovering eagle will swoop gently down his head, as he leaves behind his past accepting the invitation of the future.
all history my friend resolves itself very easily into the biography of a few stout and earnest persons. history will honor the brave, who decided to create a better world.
had xerxes not marched to greece his name would not echo with immortal fame. and alexander would not have had the ambition to unite persia and greece. let a man then know his worth livy, and keep things under his feet.
let him not peep or steal, or skulk up and down with the air of a charity boy, a bastard or an interloper, in the world which exists for him. he is to move by faith, and reason from the seen to the unseen. the poem waits for my verdict; it is not to command me livy, but i am to settle its claim to praise.
that popular fable of the sot my friend who was picked up dead drunk in the street, carried to the duke’s house, washed and dressed and laid in the duke’s bed, and, on his waking, treated with all obsequious ceremony like the duke, and assured that he had been insane.
owes its popularity to the fact that it symbolizes so well the state of man, who is in the world a sort of sot, but now and then wakes up exercises his reason and finds himself a true prince.
when private men shall act with original views, the lustre will be transferred from the actions of kings to those of gentlemen.
livy: but today man is a shadow of his former glory. he is weak and useless divine postman. happy to be called the herd, stupid and base, servile, unstable, and continually swirling in the storm of conflicting passions, that drive them to and fro, depending entirely on others.
he has lost faith in his divine roots and fills his heart with fleeting pleasures. in his food and in his wine he lulls his griefs my friend; but when he awakes in the morning they attack him more viciously.
he does not eat with wisdom neither does he enjoy his wine in the presence of the wise. man is always in a gang of fools depriving themselves of reasoning. a great truth will sustain us in every season of our life.
you cannot do wrong without suffering wrong. no man had ever a point of pride that was not injurious to him divine postman. the exclusionist in philosophy does not see that he shuts the door of wisdom on himself, in striving to shut out others.
treat men as pawns and ninepins and you shall suffer as well as they. if you leave out their heart divine postman, you shall lose your own.
the senses would make things of all persons; of women, of men, of children, of the poor. the vulgar proverb: i will get it from her purse or from her skin, is sound philosophy. self-indulgence will only yield death.
all infractions of love and equity in our social relations are speedily punished. they are punished by fear my friend. whilst i stand in simple relations to my fellow-man, i have no displeasure in meeting him.
we meet as water meets water divine postman, or as two currents of air mix, with perfect diffusion and interpenetration of nature.
but as soon as there is any departure from simplicity, and attempt at halfness, or good for you that is not good for me, my heart feels the wrong divine postman; i shrink from you as far as you have shrunk from me. our eyes no longer seek each other; there is fear in you and hate in me.
divine postman: every man livy is to make a discovery in his life that will deliver him from his ignorance. and we can only rewrite our dna upon returning to nature. in the mountain, in the stacked rocks, in the perfect sea, in the grass of the field, there our history is found livy.
the soul of man lives in the morning star and evening light. there is hope in the promise of the sun and moon. we can only receive our riches that dwell in the ends of the earth, when we choose to die to ourselves my friend.
when we embrace our history we will live our destiny. there is a prophecy in the winds of the morning that iAM to find. the old will be lost in the new. all the old abuses in society livy, universal and particular, all unjust accumulations of property and power, are avenged in the same manner.
fear is an instructor of great sagacity my friend, and the herald of all revolutions. one thing this whelping beast teaches, that there is rottenness where he appears.
fear is a carrion crow, and though the people see not well what he hovers for, there is death somewhere. fear holds dominion over all men. a diet rich in fresh fruits and vegetables supplemented with constant exercise will conquer fear.
our houses are timid, our laws are timid, our cultivated classes are timid. fear for ages has boded and mowed and gibbered over state and family. that obscene bird is not there for nothing livy. he indicates great wrongs which must be revised. let there be purpose in our earning and spending of the dollar my friend.
of the like nature is that expectation of change which instantly follows the suspension of our voluntary activity. the terror of cloudless noon, the emerald of alexander, the awe of prosperity.
the instict which leads every generous soul to impose on itself tasks of a noble asceticism and vicarious virtue livy, are the tremblings of the balance of justice, through the heart and mind of man.
the best debt that a man can ever pay is that of his talent. all that he needs will follow him. his faith in his purpose will sustain him. a new age will dawn through the work of his hands. i believe in grace livy.
the water that quenches my thirst, the wind that dries my skin, the sun that gives me warmth, the crickets that lull me to sleep, the ocean breath that i breathe,- is evidence of the mercy that nature shows to me. i worry not about the future, i treasure the moment.