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On September 13, 1968, at Christ in the Desert Monastery, Thomas Merton wrote in his journal: "Bardo of small bad hermitage, empty small, quiet musty, cobweb, some cardboard boxes."

If he had been given a cozy hermitage in New Mexico, he still would have made the trip to Asia, where he was "suddenly, almost forcibly, jerked clean out of the habitual, half-tied vision of things, and an inner clearness, clarity, as if exploding from the rocks themselves, became evident and obvious," standing by the giant standing and reclining buddhas at Polonnaruwa, Ceylon. And he still would have been electrocuted a few days later by a faulty electric fan in Bangkok.

Two stone ghosts rise from a fountain's circular basin conversing in a language known only to themselves. I think: All those academic discussions on ecology, the conferences and on-line chatter, is so much dribble. Since they began, Arctic and Antarctic ice, along with most glaciers in the world, have been melting even faster! Nor will activism stop the failure of our psyches to metaphoricalize realitiy.

Trees, benches, various tropical plants cast shadows across a flat steppingstone path. A leaf drops to the ground, a slim green body grading to dark yellow. As the environment deteriorates, will the best of our art survive, or only that which the market has chosen?

A lovely letter today from David Rosen, thanking me for forty years of friendship. Our book will emerge next year, hand-bound, from the bardo of out-of-print....

"Hermes, who is given the epithets polytropos, many-turning, and psychopompos, guide of souls, is the god of the alternative possibility, of the next step." [S. Post, In, Arche: Notes and Papers on Archaic Studies. #1-2, 1980.]

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suddenly, almost forcibly: The Asian Journal of Thomas Merton. New York, 1975

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