Domesday Book Part 17

The blessed Lord Says, ye deluded by unwisdom say: This day is won, this purpose gained, this wealth Made mine, to-morrow safe--behold My enemy is slain, I am well-born-- O ye deluded ones, slaves of desire, Self-satisfied and stubborn, filled with pride, Power, l.u.s.t and wrath--haters of me, the gate Of h.e.l.l is triple, bitter is the womb In which ye sink deluded, birth on birth, These not renouncing. But O soul attend, Yield not to impotence, shake off your fears, Be steadfast, balanced, free from hate and anger, Balanced in pleasure and pain, and active, Yet disregarding action's fruits--be friendly, Compa.s.sionate, forgiving, self-controlled, Resolute, not shrinking from the world, But mixing in its toils as fate may say; Pure, expert, pa.s.sionless, desire in leash, Renouncing good and evil, to friend and foe, In fame and ignominy dest.i.tute Of that attachment which disturbs the vision And labor of the soul. By these to fix Eyes undistracted on me, the supreme And Sole Reality. And O remember Thou soul, thou shalt not sin who workest through Thy Karma as its nature may command.

Strive with thy sin and it shall make the muscles, And strength to take thee to another height.

But cleave to the practice of thy soul forever, Also to wisdom better still than practice, To meditation, better still than wisdom, To renunciation, better than meditation, Beholding Me in all things, in all things Me who would have you peace of soul attain, And soul's perfection.

Well, I say here lies Profounder truth and purer than the words That Jesus spoke. Let's take forgiveness: Forgive your enemies, he said, and bless Them even that hate you. What did Jesus do?

Did he forgive the thief upon the cross, Who railed at him? He did forgive the hands Who crucified him, but he had a reason: They knew not what they did; well, as for that Who knows the thing he does? Did he forgive Judas Iscariot? Did he forgive Poor Peter by specific words? You see In instances like these the idealist, Pa.s.sionate and inexorable who sets up His soul against the world, but do you see The esoteric wisdom which takes note Of the soul's health, just for the sake of health, And leaves the outward recompense alone?

Yes, what has Jesus done but make a realm Of outward law and force to strain and bind The sons of men to this thing and to that, Bring the fanatic and the dogmatist In every neighborhood in America.

And radical with axes after trees, And clergymen with curses on the fig trees?

And even bring this Kaiser and his dream Of G.o.d's will in him to destroy his foes, And launch the war therefor, to make his realm And Christian culture paramount in time.

When all the while 'tis clear life does not yield Proof positive of exoteric things.

Why the great truth of life is this, I think: The soul has freedom to create its world Of beauty, truth, to make the world as truth Or beauty, build philosophies, religions, And live by them, through them. It does not matter Whether they're true, the significant thing is this: The soul has freedom to create, to take The void of unintelligible air, or thought The world at large, and of it make the food, Impulse and meaning for its life. I say Life is for nothing else, truth is not ours; That only ours which we create, by which We live and grow, and so we come again By this path of my own to India.

What shall we do, you ask, if business dies, If the western world, the world for socialism Lops off its leaves and branches, and the sap Is thrown back in the trunk unused, or if This light upon the lotus quiets us And makes us mind entirely? Well, I say, Men have not lived, enjoyed enough before.

Our strength has gone to get the means for strength.

We roll the rock of business up, and see The rock roll down, and roll it up again.

And if the new day does not give us work In finding what our minds are, how to use them, And how to live more beautifully, I miss A guess I often make.

But now to close: Only the blind have failed to see how truly This Elenor Murray worked her Karma out.

And how she put forth strength to cure her weakness, And went her vital way, and toiled and died.

Peace to all worlds, and peace to Elenor Murray.

The coroner had heard that Elenor Murray Once crossed the Arctic Circle. What of that?

She traveled, it was proved. What happened there?

What hunter after secrets could find out?

But on a day the name of Elenor Murray Is handled by two men who sit and talk In Fairbanks, and the talk is in these words:

AT FAIRBANKS

Bill, look here! Here's the _Times_. You see this picture, Read if you like a little later. You never Heard how I came to Fairbanks, chanced to stay.

It's eight years now. You see in nineteen eleven I lived in Hammond, Indiana, thought I'd like a trip, see mountains, see Alaska, Perhaps find fortune or a woman--well You know from your experience how it is.

It was July and from the train I saw The Canadian Rockies, stopped at Banff a day, At Lake Louise, and so forth. At Vancouver Found travelers feasting, Englishmen in drink, Flirtations budding, coming into flower; And eager spirits waiting for the boat.

Up to this time I hadn't made a friend, Stalked silently about along the streets, Drank Scotch like all the rest, as much besides.

Well, then we took the steamship _Princess Alice_ And started up the Inland Channel--great!

Got on our cheeks the breezes from the crystal Cradles of the north, began at once To find the mystery, silence, see clear stars, The whites and blacks and greens along the sh.o.r.es.

And still I had no friend, was quite alone.

Just as I came on deck I saw a face, Looked, stared perhaps. Her eyes went over me, Would not look at me. At the dinner table She sat far down from me, I could not see her, But made a point to rise when she arose, Did all I could to catch her eye--no use.

So things went and I gave up--still I wondered Why she had no companion. Was she married?

Was husband waiting her, at Skagway?--well I fancied something of the sort, at last, And as I said, gave up.

But on a morning I rose to see the sun rise, all the sky First as a giant pansy, petals flung In violet toward the zenith streaked with fire; The silver of the snows change under light, Mottled with shadows of the mountain tops Like leaves that shadow, flutter on a lawn.

At last the topaz splendors shoot to heaven, The sun just peeks and gilds the porcelain Of snow with purest gold. And in the valleys Darkness remains, Orician ebony Is not more black. You've seen this too, I know, And recognize my picture. There I stood, Believed I was alone, then heard a voice, "Is it not beautiful?" and looked around, And saw my girl, who had avoided me, Would not make friends before. This is her picture, Name, Elenor Murray. So the matter started.

I had my seat at table changed and sat Next to my girl to talk with her. We walked The deck together. Then she said to me Her home was in Chicago, so it is Travelers abroad discover they are neighbors When they are home. She had been teaching school, And saved her money for this trip, had planned To go as far as Fairbanks. As for me, I thought I'd stop with Skagway--Oh this life!

Your hat blows off, you chase it, b.u.mp a woman, Then beg her pardon, laugh and get acquainted, And marry later.

As we steamed along She was the happiest spirit on the deck.

The Wrangell Narrows almost drove her wild, There where the mountains are like circus tents, Big show, menagerie and all the rest, But white as cotton with perennial snow.

We swum past aisles of pine trees where a stream Rushed down in terraces of h.o.a.ry foam.

The nights were glorious. We drank and ate And danced when there was dancing.

Well, at first, She seemed a little school ma'am, quaint, demure, Meticulous and puritanical.

And then she seemed a school ma'am out to have A time, so far away, where none would know, And like a woman who had heard of life And had a teasing interest in its wonder, Too long caged up. At last my vision blurred: I did not know her, lost my first impressions Amid succeeding phases which she showed.

But when we came to Skagway, then I saw Another Elenor Murray. How she danced And tripped from place to place--such energy!

She almost wore me out with seeing sights.

But now behold! The White Pa.s.s she must see Upon the principle of missing nothing-- But oh the grave of "Soapy" Smith, the outlaw, The gambler and the heeler, that for her!

We went four miles and found the cemetery, The grave of "Soapy" Smith.--Came back to town Where she would see the buildings where they played Stud poker, Keno, in the riotous days.

Time came for her to go. She looked at me And said "Come on to Fairbanks." As for that, I'd had enough, was ready to return, But sensed an honorarium, so I said, "You might induce me," with a pregnant tone.

That moment we were walking 'cross the street, She stopped a moment, shook from head to heels, And said, "No man has talked to me that way."

I dropped the matter. She renewed it--said, "Why do you hurry back? What calls you back?

Come on to Fairbanks, see the gardens there, That tag the blizzards with their rosy hands And romp amid the snows." She smiled at me.

Well, then I thought--why not? And smiled her back, And on we went to Fairbanks, where my hat Blows off, as I shall tell you.

For a day We did the town together, and that night I thought to win her. First we dined together, Had many drinks, my little school ma'am drank Of everything I ordered, had a place For more than I could drink. And truth to tell At bed time I was woozy, ten o'clock.

We had not registered. And so I said, "I'm Mr. Kelly and you're Mrs. Kelly."

She shook her head. And so to make an end I could not win her, signed my name in full; She did the same, we said good night and parted.

Next morning when I woke, felt none too good, Got up at last and met her down at breakfast; Tried eggs and toast, could only drink some coffee; Got worse; in short, she saw it, put her hand Upon my head and said, "Your head is hot, You have a fever." Well, I lolled around And tried to fight it off till noon--no good.

By this time I was sick, lay down to rest.

By night I could not lift my head--in short, I lay there for a month, and all the time She cared for me just like a mother would.

They moved me to a suite, she took the room That opened into mine, by night and day She nursed me, cheered me, read to me. At last When I sat up, was soon to be about, She said to me, "I'm going on to Nome, St. Michael first. They tell me that you cross The Arctic Circle going to St. Michael, And I must cross the Arctic Circle--think To come this far and miss it. I must see The Indian villages." And there again I saw, but clearer than before, the spirit Adventuresome and restless, what you call The heart American. I said to her, "I'm not too well, I'm lonely,--yes, and more-- I'm fond of you, you have been good to me, Stay with me here.--She darted in and out The room where I was lying, doing things, And broke my pleadings just like icicles You shoot against a wall.

But here she was, A month in Fairbanks, living at expense, Said "I am short of money--lend me some, I'll go to Nome, return to you and then We'll ship together for the States."

You see I really owed her money for her care, Her loss in staying--then I loved the girl, Had played all cards but one--I played it now: "Come back and marry me." Her eyes looked down.

"I will be fair with you," she said, "and think.

Away from you I can make up my mind If I have love enough to marry you."

I gave her money and she went away, And for some weeks I had a splendid h.e.l.l Of loneliness and longing, you might know, A stranger in Alaska, here in Fairbanks, In love besides, and mulling in my mind Our days and nights upon the steamer _Alice_, Our ramblings in the Northland.

Weeks went by, No letter and no girl. I found my health Was vigorous again. One morning walking I kicked a twenty dollar gold piece up Right on the side-walk. Picked it up and said: "An omen of good luck, a letter soon!

Perhaps this town has something for me!" Well, I thought I'd get a job to pa.s.s the time While waiting for my girl. I got the job And here I am to-day; I've flourished here, Worked to the top in Fairbanks in eight years, And thus my hat blew off.

What of the girl?

Six weeks or more a letter came from her, She crossed the Arctic Circle, went to Nome, Sailed back to 'Frisco where she wrote to me.

Sent all the money back I loaned to her, And thanked me for the honor I had done her In asking her in marriage, but had thought The matter over, could not marry me, Thought in the circ.u.mstances it was useless To come to Fairbanks, see me, tell me so.

Now, Bill, I'm egotist enough to think This girl could do no better. Now it seems She's dead and never married--why not me?

Why did she ditch me? So I thought about it, Was piqued of course, concluded in the end There was another man. A woman's no Means she has someone else, expects to have, More suited to her fancy. Then one morning As I awoke with thoughts of her as usual Right in my mind there plumped an incident On shipboard when she asked me if I knew A certain man in Chicago. At the time The question pa.s.sed amid our running talk, And made no memory. But you watch and see A woman when she asks you if you know A certain man, the chances are the man Is something in her life. So now I lay And thought there is a man, and that's the man; His name is stored away, I'll dig it up Out of the cells subliminal--so I thought But could not bring it back.

I found at last The telephone directory of Chicago, And searched and searched the names from A to Z.

Some mornings would p.r.o.nounce a name and think That is the name, then throw the name away-- It did not fit the echo in my brain.