The Reckoning

Have you ever once seen a sign of impatience in the natural workings of the universe in and around you? Devoid of ego, the universe cannot be perturbed; it makes no mistakes, and is a calm, glorious happening of its own accord. It matters not when or if it began, when or if it will end, or by what agency. That is, in itself, a definition of perfection; and to be part of that perfection, and to recognize that no separation exists between it and ourselves, is a reckoning of joy supreme. For it means that you are the bird splashing in a puddle of rainwater; it means the bird is inside you feathering her nest and tapping on the computer keys. To see oneself as separate from the universe, is the very root and cause of all tragedy. Without this idea of separation, Shakespeare would not have written Hamlet, or have dreamt of it in his philosophy. Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, and thus the native hue of resolution is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought, and enterprises of great pith and moment with this regard their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action. And at the heart of this reckoning of joy supreme, is compassion.

[ 1946 ]