Toward the Gulf Part 24

His nose was long and fleshy at the point, Was tilted to one side. His eyes were gray, The iris flecked. They looked as if a light As of a sun-set shone behind them. Ears Were very large, projected at right angles.

His neck was slender, womanish. His skin Of finest texture, white and very smooth.

His voice was quiet, musical. His manner Patient and gentle, modest, reasonable.

His parents, as I learned through inquiry, Were Methodists, devout and greatly loved.

The mother healthy both in mind and body.

The father was eccentric, perhaps insane.

They were first cousins.

I knew Jacob Groesbell Ten years before he died. I knew him first When he was sent to mend my porch. A workman With saw and hammer never excelled him. Then As time went on I saw him when he came At my request to do my carpentry.

I grew to know him, and by slow degrees He told me of his readings in the Bible, And gave me his interpretations. At last Aged forty-six, had ulcers of the stomach, Which took him off. He sent for me, and said He wished me to attend him, which I did.

He told me I could have his body and brain To lecture on, dissect, since some had said He was insane, he told me, and if so I should find something wrong with brain or body.

And if I found a wrong then all his visions Of G.o.d and archangels were just the fancies That come to madmen. So he made provision To give his brain and body for this cause, And here's his brain and skull, and I am lecturing On Jacob Groesbell as a paranoic.

As I have said before, in making tests And observations of the patient, have His conversation taken stenographically, In order to preserve his speech exactly, And catch the flow if he becomes excited.

So we determine if he makes new words, If he be incoherent, or repeats.

I took my secretary once to make A stenographic record. Strange enough He would not talk while she was writing down.

And when I asked him why, he would not tell.

So I devised a scheme: I took a satchel, And put in it a dictaphone, and when A cylinder was full I'd stoop and put My hand among my bottles in the satchel, As if I was compounding medicine, Instead I'd put another cylinder on.

And thus I got his story in his voice, Just as he talked, with nothing lost at all, Which you shall hear. For with this megaphone The students in the farthest gallery Can hear what Jacob Groesbell said to me, And weigh the thought that stirred within the brain Here in this jar beside me. Listen now To Jacob Groesbell's voice:

"Will you repeat From the beginning connectedly the story Of your religious life, illumination, Vhat you have called your soul's escape?"

"I will, Since I shall never tell it again."

"I grew up Timid and sensitive, not very strong, Not understood of father or of mother.

They did not love me, and I never felt A tenderness for them. I used to quote: 'Who is my mother and who are my brothers?'

At school I was not liked. I had a chum From time to time, that's all. And I remember My mother on a day put with my luncheon A bottle of milk, and when the noon hour came I missed it, found some boys had taken it, And when I asked for it, they made the cry: 'Bottle of milk, bottle of milk,' and I Flushed through with shame, and cried, and to this hour It hurts me to remember it. Such days, All misery! For all my clothes were patched.

They hooted at me. So I lived alone.

At twelve years old I had great fears of death, And h.e.l.l, heard devils in my room. One night During a thunderstorm heard clanking chains, And hid beneath the pillows. One spring day As I was walking on the village street Close to the church I heard a voice which said 'Behold, my son'--and falling on my knees I prayed in ecstacy--but as I prayed Some pa.s.sing school boys laughed, threw stones at me.

A heat ran through me, I arose and fled.

Well, then I joined the church and was baptized.

But something left me in the ceremony, I lost my ecstacy, seemed slipping back Into the trap. I took to wandering In solitary places, could not bear To see a human face. I slept for nights In still ravines, or meadows. But one time Returning to my home, I found the room Filled up with visitors--my heart stopped short, And glancing at the faces of my parents I hurried, bolted through, and did not speak, Entered a bed-room door and closed it. So I tell this just to ill.u.s.trate my shyness, Which cursed my youth and made me miserable, Something I fought but could not overcome.

And pondering on the Scriptures I could see How I resembled the saints, our Saviour even, How even as my brothers called me mad They called our Saviour so.

"At fourteen years My father taught me carpentry, his trade, And made me work with him. I seemed to be The b.u.t.t for jokes and laughter with the men-- I know not why. For now and then they'd drop A word that showed they knew my secrets, knew I had heard voices, knew I loathed the l.u.s.ts Of women, drink. Oh these were sorry years, G.o.d was not with me though I sought Him ever And I was persecuted for His sake. My brain Seemed like to burst at times, saw sparkling lights, Heard music, voices, made strange shapes of leaves, Clouds, trunks of trees,--illusions of the devil.

I was turned twenty years when on an evening Calm, beautiful in June, after a day Of healthful toil, while sitting on the porch, The sun just sinking, at my left I heard A voice of hollow clearness: "You are Christ."

My eyes grew blind with tears for the evil Of such a thought, soul stained with such a thought, So devil stained, soul d.a.m.ned with blasphemy.

I ran into my room and seized a pistol To end my life. G.o.d willed it otherwise.

I fainted and awoke upon the floor After some hours. To heap my suffering full A few days after this while in the village I went into a store. The friendly clerk-- I knew him always--said 'What will you have?

I wait first always on the little boys.'

I laughed and went my way. But in an hour His saying rankled, I began to brood On ways of vengeance, till it seemed at last His life must pay. O, soul so full of sin, So devil tangled, tortured--which not prayer Nor watching could deliver. So I thought To save my soul from murder I must fly-- I felt an urging as one does in sleep Pursued by giant things to fly, to fly From terror, death, from blankness on the scene, From emptiness, from beauty gone. The world Seemed something seen in fever, where the steps Of men are m.u.f.fled, and a futile scheme Impels all steps. So packing up my kit, My Bible in my pocket, secretly I disappeared. Next day took up my life In Barrington, a village thirty miles From all I knew, besides a lovely lake, Reached by a road that crossed a bridge Over a little bay, the bridge's ends Cl.u.s.tered with boats for fishermen. And here Night after night I fished, or stood and watched The star-light on the water.

I grew calmer Almost found peace, got work to do, and lived Under a widow's roof, who was devout And knew my love for G.o.d. Now listen, doctor, To every word: I was now twenty-five, In perfect health, no longer persecuted, At peace with all the world, if not my soul Had wholly found its peace, for truth to tell It had an ache which sometimes I could feel, And yet I had this soul awakening.

I know I have been counted mad, so watch Each detail here and judge.

At four o'clock The thirtieth day of June, my work being done, My kit upon my back I walked this road Toward the village. 'Twas an afternoon Of clouds, no rain, a little breeze, the tinkle Of cow bells in the air, a heavenly silence Pervading nature. Reaching the hill's foot I sat down by a tree to rest, enjoy The greenness of the forests, meadows, flats Along the bay, the blueness of the lake, The ripple of the water at my feet, The rythmic babble of the little boats Tied to the bridge. And as I sat there musing, Myself lost in the self, in time the clouds Lifted, blew off, to let the sun go down Over the waters gloriously to rest.

So as I stared upon the sun on the water, Some minutes, though I know not for how long, Out of the splendor of the shining sun Upon the water, Jesus of Nazareth Clothed all in white, the nimbus round his brow, His face all wisdom, love, rose to my view, And then he spake: 'Jacob, my son, arise And come with me.'

"And in an instant there Something fell from me, I became a cloud, A soul with wings. A glory burned about me.

And in that glory I perceived all things: I saw the eternal wheels, the deepest secrets Of creatures, herbs and gra.s.s, and stars and suns And I knew G.o.d, and knew all things as G.o.d: The All loving, the Perfect One, the Perfect Wisdom, Truth, love and purity. And in that instant Atoms and molecules I saw, and faces, And how they are arranged order to order, With no break in the order, one harmonious Whole of universal life all blended And interfused with universal love.

And as it was with Sh.e.l.ley so I cried, And clasped my hands in ecstacy and rose And started back to climb the hill again, Scarce knowing, neither caring what I did, Nor where I went, and thinking if this be A fancy only of the Saviour then He will not follow me, and if it be Himself, indeed, he will not let me fall After the revelation. As I reached The brow of the hill, I felt his presence with me And turned, and saw Him. 'Thou hast faith, my son, Who knowest me, when they who walked with me Toward Emmaus knew me not, to whom I told All secrets of the scriptures beginning at Moses, Who knew me not till I brake bread and then, As after thought could say, Did not our heart Within us burn while he talked. O, Jacob Groesbell, Thou carpenter, as I was, greatly blessed With visions and my Father's love, this walk Is your walk toward Emmaus.' So he talked, Expounding all the scriptures, telling me About the race of men who live and move Along a life of meat and drink and sleep And comforts of the flesh, while here and there A hungering soul is chosen to lift up And re-create the race. 'The prophet, poet Must seek and must find G.o.d to keep the race Awake to the divine and to the orders Of universal and harmonious life, All interfused with Universal love, Which love is G.o.d, lest blindness, atheism, Which sees no order, reason, no intent Beat down the race to welter in the mire When storms, and floods come. And the sons of G.o.d, The leaders of the race from age to age Are chosen for their separate work, each work Fits in the given order. All who suffer The martyrdom of thought, whether they think Themselves as servants of my Father, or even Mock at the images and rituals Which prophets of dead creeds did symbolize The mystery they sensed, or whether they be Spirits of laughter, logic, divination Of human life, the human soul, all men Who give their essence, blindly or in vision In faith that life is worth their utmost love, They are my brothers and my Father's sons.'

So Jesus told me as we took my walk Toward my Emmaus. After a time we turned And walked through heading rye and purple vetch Into an orchard where great rows of pears Sloped up a hill. It was now evening: Stretches of scarlet clouds were in the west, And a half moon was hanging just above The pears' white blossoms. O, that evening!

We came back to the boats at last and loosed One of them and rowed out into the bay, And fished, while the stars appeared. He only said 'Whatever they did with me you too shall do.'

A haziness came on me now. I seem To find myself alone there in that boat.

At mid-night I awoke, the moon was sunk, The whippoorwills were singing. I walked home Back to the village in a silence, peace, A happiness profound.

"And the next morning I awoke with aching head, spent body, yet With spiritual vision so intense I looked Through things material as if they were But shadows--old things pa.s.sed away or grew A lovelier order. And my heart was full.

Infinitely I loved, and infinitely was loved.

My landlady looked at me sharply, asked What hour I entered, where I was so late.

I only answered fishing. For I told No person of my vision, went my way At carpentry in silence, in great joy.

For archangels and powers were at my side, They led me, bore me up, instructed me In mysteries, and voices said to me 'Write' as the voice in Patmos said to John.

I wrote and printed and the village read, And called me mad. And so I grew to see The deepest truths of G.o.d, and G.o.d Himself, The geniture of all things, of the Word Becoming flesh in Christ. I knew all ages, Times, empires, races, creeds, the human weakness Which makes life wearisome, confused and pained, And how the search for something (it is G.o.d) Makes divers worships, fire, the sun, and beasts Takes form in Eleusinian mysteries Or festivals where s.e.x, the vine, the Earth At harvest time have praise or reverence.

I knew G.o.d, talked with G.o.d, and knew that G.o.d Is more than Thought or Love. Our twisted brains Are but the wires in the bulb which stays, Resists the current and makes human thought.

As the electric current is not light But heat and power as well. Our little brains Resist G.o.d and make thought and love as well.

But G.o.d is more than these. Oh I heard much Of music, heard the whirring as of wheels, Or buzzing as of ears when a room is still.

That is the axis of profoundest life Which turns and rests not. And I heard the cry And hearing wept, of man's soul, heard the ages, The epochs of this earth as it were the feet Of mult.i.tudes in corridors. And I knew The agony of genius and the woe Of prophets and the great.

"From that next morning I searched the scriptures with more fervid zeal Than I had ever done. I could not open Its pages anywhere but I could find Myself set forth or mirrored, pointed to.

I could not doubt my destiny was bound With man's salvation. Jeremiah said 'Take forth the precious from the vile.' Those words To me were spoken, and to no one else.

And so I searched the scriptures. And I found I never had a thought, experience, pang, A state in human life our Saviour had not.

He was a carpenter, and so was I.

He had his soul's illumination, so had I.

His brethren called him mad, they called me mad.

He triumphed over death, so shall I triumph.

For I could, I can feel my way along Death's stages as a man can reach and feel Ahead of him along a wall. I know This body is a sh.e.l.l, a b.u.t.terfly's Excreta pushed away with rising wings.

"I searched the scriptures. How should I believe Paul's story, not my own? Did he not see At mid-day in the way a light from heaven Above the brightness of the sun and hear The voice of Jesus saying to him 'Saul,'

Why persecutest thou me?' And did not Festus, Before whom Paul stood speaking for himself, Call Paul a mad man? Even while he spake Such words as none but men inspired can speak, As well as words of truth and soberness, Such as myself speak now.

"And from the scriptures I pa.s.sed to studies of the men who came To great illuminations. You will see There are two kinds: One's of the intellect, The understanding, one is of the soul.

The x-ray lets the eye behind the flesh To see the ribs, or heart beat, choose! So men In their illumination see the frame-work Of life or see its spirit, so align Themselves with Science, Satire, or align Themselves with Poetry or Prophecy.

So being Aristotle, Rabelais, Paul, Swedenborg.

"And as the years Went on, as I had time, was fortunate In finding books I read of many men Who had illumination, as I had it. Read Of Dante's vision, how he found himself Saw immortality, lost fear of death.

Read Swedenborg, who left the intellect At fifty-four for G.o.d, and entered heaven Before he quitted life and saw behind The sun of fire, a sun of love and truth.

Read Whitman who exclaimed to G.o.d: 'Thou knowest My manhood's visionary meditations Which come from Thee, the ardor and the urge.

Thou lightest my life with rays ineffable Beyond all signs, descriptions, languages.'

Read Blake, Spinoza, Emerson, read Wordsworth Who wrote of something 'deeply interfused, Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, And the round ocean and the living air, And the blue skies, and in the mind of man-- A motion and a spirit that impels All thinking things, all objects of all thought And rolls through all things.'

"And at last they called me The mad, and learned carpenter. And then-- I'm growing faint. Your hand, hold ..."

At this point He fainted, sank into a stupor. There I watched him, to discover if 'twas death.

But soon I saw him rally, then he spoke.

There was some other talk, but not of moment.

I had to change the cylinder--the talk Was broken, rambling, and of trifling things, Throws no light on the case, being sane enough.

He died next morning.

Students who desire To examine the skull and brain may do so now At their convenience in the laboratory.