The forum is so full of many beautiful comments, testimonials, and insights. Recently, I began to reread the poems of a great American spiritual poet, Walt Whitman (1819 - 1892). He wrote profusely and his poems are some of the longest in American English, so what I will include are just excerpts. The guiding principle here is that the excerpts chosen will be certain to invoke the echoes in the heart of Pangu philosophy. Although we in the English speaking world have less access to the books of Master Ou in English at this time, we nevertheless see his philosophy expressed in many forms. So enjoy if you desire, this poet’s vision of the soul. Often times, when he used the word “I”, it is not the common I of the ego, but rather the soul. His goal was to give song to the soul as he knew it.
Excerpts from the poet Walt Whitman; poems range from circa 1855 to 1892
Come, said my Soul,
Such verses for my Body let us write, (for we are one,)
That should I after death invisibly return,
Or, long, long hence, in other spheres,
There to some group of mates the chants resuming,
(Tallying Earth’s soil, trees, winds, tumultuous waves,)
Ever with pleas’d smile I may keep on,
Ever and ever yet the verses owning – as, first, I here and now,
Singing for Soul and Body, set to them my name,
Starting from Paumanok
Was somebody asking to see the soul?
See, your own shape and countenance, persons, substances, beasts,
The trees, the running rivers, the rocks and sands.
All hold spiritual joys and afterwards loosen them;
How can the real body ever die and be buried?
Of your real body and any man’s or woman’s body,
Item for item it will elude the hands of the corpse-cleaners and pass to fitting spheres,
Carrying what has accrued to it from the moment of birth to the moment of death.
Behold, the body included and is the meaning, the main concern, and includes and is the soul;
Whoever you are, how superb and how divine is your body, or any part of it!
Song of Myself
I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
I loafe and invite my soul…
Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with linguists and contenders,
I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait.
I believe in you my soul, the other I am must not abase itself to you,
And you must not be abased to the other.
Has any one supposed it lucky to be born?
I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I know it.
I pass death with the dying and birth with the new-washed babe,
and am not contain’d between my hat and my boots.
And peruse manifold objects, no two alike and every one good,
The earth good and the stars good, and their adjuncts all good.
I am not an earth nor an adjunct of the earth,
I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immortal and
Fathomless as myself,
(They do not know how immortal, but I know.)