A translation and partial revision of La nouvelle creation (Paris 1929)
English translation @1973 Carlo Suares and Edouard Roditi
Introduction 0 1973 Carlo Suares
Post-Script 0 1973 Edouard Roditi
Biographical and bibliographical notes @ 1973 The Menard Press
Cover design by Brenda Rudolf
ISBN 0 903400 07 3
No part of this book may be reproduced without permission from the publisher, except for the quotation of brief passages in critical articles or reviews.
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|Preface to La Nouvelle Creation 1930 by Louis Martin-Chauffier|
There is noone in the world in front of whom I feel as dense as I do in front of Carlo Suares. In front of whom, should I say, I can acutely feel my thickness.
There is also noone else making me aware of how mystically lacking my soul is, how little flow I have, how I lack a certain fire, as well as a certain ability to see beyond the mundane and discover there a more essential reality; or, having found it, still unable to experience it powerfully.
May no other friendship ever be, nonetheless, more fertile and dear than his, no exchange more complete, more uninhibited, more simple and certain than ours. May these words shed some precious light on what friendship ought to be.
It delights me to undertake in the name of friendship, a study which shall gain from this foreword some amount of clarity, that even an applied critical mind might not achieve.
Our friendship, born of our initial encounter, therefore assured to be genuine, burst forth out of the very springs of Existence: it still has a few discoveries to make, but intuition tells it there are no more surprises to fear.
By defining it, I also define Suares: not truly complete, but true... which justifies my writing this preface.
I was just saying how in front of him I would be testing my limits.
The first benefit of friendship: it helps you to penetrate yourself.
And the knowledge of one's own limits is the hardest and most necessary one for whoever wishes to realize oneself.
I knew them, wasn't suffering because of them ( it's all about being organized and not whining about what one lacks), I wasn't trying to hide them. In front of Suares, there is no blinding oneself and no place for deceit.
There is neither the desire or the means to do so:
His purity is too perfect, and his sincerity too naked; he possesses the inflexible lucidity of souls stripped bare, luminescent and shining, able to sense instinctively the wall we raise, the garment we cover our shame with, the stain that shatters the light beam. And he, though not simple per se, being a Man, is without shadow; complex, but not complicated.
Naked, clear, candid. And yet a perpetual motion, a perpetual transformation: fearing stagnation, fleeing his form whenever he notices it, unsure what metamorphosis shall come next, but certain come it shall.
The nemesis of immobility, where chains get tangled, where one settles down, where "being", as he puts it, becomes "having", where death awaits.
The second benefit of friendship: it enriches and extends you. Friendship isn't born of similarity, rather, accepting and integrating contraries, it requires at least some conformity of views, a certain common quality, similar hobbies, which make sharing possible and fruitful. And there the miracle happens: without losing oneself, or the other, both add to their own substance a wealth easy to absorb, but impossible to produce alone.
And even if you keep that increase to yourself, the fact is you are now both tapping the same source, a union, a fusion that truly makes you participate in each other's soul: he isn't a stranger anymore, this impenetrable "other" who used to leave you on your own in dark alleys, but rather a reality that won't melt in your hand, with a pulse you can feel, a heartbeat you can relate to, which echoes through you in unison.
This is how powerful Suares is: he broadcasts himself, forces you to broadcast yourself, makes you take part in universal life.
He himself is a locus of universal life.
Stripped of himself, free of all chains, restored to "being", he watches the world to see through it, comprehend it, confuse it and render it unto himself.
And if he expresses himself, it is in order to try and reunite the world with its sense of essence. Full of love, he is the enemy of society. Except for the Holy Scriptures, I do not know of such violently passionate condamnation of the world, of such tender call to life as his contrasting motions which, in "Sur un Orgue de Barbarie" and in this "La Nouvelle Creation", reproduce an unbroken rhythm.
Whether he likes it or not, he is animated by the breath of the biblical prophets and of the Apocalypse. The world is getting denser: it's not about being anymore, but rather about owning; prejudices replace truths, capital sins replace the life force of the entity. The Automatic Man, hedonist, fearful, submissive, has become nothing more than gratification instinct, a cog in a nameless machine. Instead of seeking liberation, he forges new chains for himself; and even liberating words, coming out of unworthy lips, become monetized assets. In a single breath, Suares blows away the frosting to reveal the rot beneath, grinds it to dust with his hands, and from all that confusion and the resulting happy ruins springs forth The Animator, The Liberator, restoring the true nature of things, pumping through the now unclogged vessels of the world a fresh and living blood of Love.
Let us not discuss Suares' art. Who says art says artifice, choice, consensus, the opposite of the spontaneous stream from an inexhaustible spring visible within him. The miracle of this natural state is that order is present, as well as "rigueur" (Note: strictness, but originally means "to the fullest extent, interesting word). But an order and a rigueur which precede expression," and even conception itself, and which are received fully tempered and fully cocked and ready. Suares' intelligence, wide and sharp, isn't the source of any of it, as it doesn't follow the norm. It only understands after the fact what Suares has been up to. What really feeds his experience is his visions. And it is indeed as visions that his inner activity manifests (itself?). 'tis not as symbols, for symbols are the opposite of visions, which display truth in its naked forms, upending the world to show its true face, its root wet with Life. Hence the oft seemingly dark nature of expression: it is a direct transcription of a world bathed in light, but to which we are blind.
Images(symbols) cannot explain, cannot convey the abstract notions that come before ideation, that are its sap.
Whence could this stream spring. Where are visions born, precipitated yet free of confusion? Here enters the mystery. I would wager that they come naturally to pure and unfettered beings, like a lightning bolt, albeit an intimate one, as naturally as we give birth to images of this world we are bound to. Pure beings like him are not doing anything special: like us they translate what they see, and meditate on it. But when dealing with the heart of things, which is also his own, he takes it all in stride, looking straight at it, in a simpler, internal way. And as he sees how things truly are, in their essence, parts of himself, unlike us he has no need for this perpetual rectification born of the lie of appearances, which imposes on truth-seeking spirits the need to recognize their own flawed sight before they can try parsing this great confusion of objects that has perverted all.
How I agree with Suares on almost every topic, and with the condamnation he bears, and with the salvation he offers, and with this culture of personality being the first wound we need to dress. But what a gap in method between us. What difference between my pedestrian way and his flight.
He expands my horizon in ways I would have never imagined, and while still far beyond my reach they bring me no suffering as my inner canvas got suddenly so much larger.
It isn't about becoming like him but rather to become, thanks to him, more like oneself. To each his own: for it is in no way a special gift from him only I am worthy of. Anyone sincerely and seriously willing to understand what this book is about, need only undress themselves. There is indeed a moral effort required: and that is both the hardest part and the most rewarding.
I wish I could have more hope in how many people will agree to try.
Trans. Tensaibatake Sedo
La Nouvelle Creation was first published in French, by
Editions "Au Sans Pareil", in Paris in 1929, and has never been reprinted. By now, it has long been out of print. Soon after its first publication, there was some talk of publishing an English edition of it and Edouard Roditi, encouraged by John Middleton Murray, Sir Richard Rees and other London friends who were then connected with the editing of The Adelphi, undertook an English translation which, like many other literary projects in those years of financial and political crisis, never saw the light of day. Some four decades later, however, typescripts of this translation turned up again in my own archives and in those of its translator, but we decided to revise them for the present publication, if only because the English language, in the past half-century, has undergone a considerable evolution.
After re-reading my original French text for the purpose of the present English edition, I decided moreover that its whole first chapter needed to be rewritten. The opening chapter of the present English text is thus entirely new and has never been published in French.
If this book happens now to be reprinted in an English version, this may well be because it has meanwhile acquired, in many a new significance. Its author has indeed been able, in the last few years, to develop his basic philosophy in a number of other published works of which this one remains, although he may not have been fully aware of it in 1929, the real forerunner. This philosophy consists in a revival of a very ancient science which is generally misunderstood or forgotten under the name of Cabbalah, and which is concerned with revealing the structure of universal energy. According to this science, the Vital energy of the universe consists in the union of two opposing forces which become one, both centrifugal and centripetal, both explosive and compressive, known indeed to Taoist Chinese philosophers as Ying and Yang.
The rejuvenated creativity of the psyche, achieved through the transcending exaltation of the seven "deadly" sins, thus becomes an illustration of this whole process of the releasing of universal energy. Pride, both explosive and centrifugal, avarice, both compressive and centripetal, and lechery, in which one finds an interaction of these two forces, represent "the major Genesis", which in turn produces the other "deadly" sins that, reflected in the waters separated from the heavens, are otherwise impotent. The reflection of pride is anger, that of avarice is jealousy, and that of lechery is greed.
If one then constructs a triangle by placing the first three major sins with one of them as its apex so that the three minor sins are reflected beneath it as an inverted triangle, and if one adjusts the two triangles so that they are superimposed and form the "Star of David" with a motionless center of gravity around which revolves the whole star, this center becomes the seventh "deadly"sin, which is sloth.
The author is convinced that the whole tradition of "seven deadly sins", like that of many other ancient tales, legends and popular beliefs, riddles or games, has a very distant gnostic origin which has survived, if at all, mainly in Cabbalah. In order to achieve true maturity, the individual, as proposed in this book, must first become fully aware of the energies of these "sins" and of their real values, so as to be able to integrate them in himself. They then cease to be degraded and corrupted as mere sins of pride, avarice, lechery, anger, jealousy, greed and sloth in a re-created and rejuvenated individual.
I was barely twenty-one years old when I translated La Nouvell Creation. Sir Richard Rees, John Middleton Murray and George Orwell were encouraging me to do the job and the editoirs of The Adelphi planned to publish it as a pamphlet. By the time I had finished a year later, the political and financial crisis of the 'thirties led to abandonment of this prroject. Forty years later, I chanced to read a recent issue of the American periodical Tree, where I saw that works of Suares are now being translated and published in English.
This encouraged me to search, in a trunk full of old papers stored in my sister's basement in Washington, for the typescript of my old translation. I found it and communicated it to Anthony Rudolf, who decided to publish it. I then phoned my old friend Suares, whom I had not seen for many years. Together, we revised my translation, but Suares then rewrote the who first section of the French orginal, though in English which I only edited a revised slightly.
In spirit, Genesis Rejuvenated, I feel, needed to be published in English: only readers familiar with William Blake's Marriage of Heaven and Hell can appreciate its full significance.
Ehouard Roditi, Paris, 1973
Utterances from a Living PastThc Sun
I know not when I became truth.
Was it the night when truth's silent voice was heard from hidden dcpths of thc forest, while skies and earth and trees communed in timeless prayer with infinity?
Or was it that brave noon, pregnant with lust for con- quest, when my nakedness had made all armors become obsolete?
Or that sweet morning bathed in flowers and colors, when the most intoxicating sunlight descended into my heart?
The truth of immemorial timelessness had called to me unheard, and I no longer know when I answered its call. To hear was to become, and the flow of time is now drowned in amnesia. Could night await the sun or disappear, never knowing it? Can sunlight but summon dancing shadows, swift and fleeting? Oh, to quarter my soul, to open it, slit it with a scalpel and light up this darkness so as to extirpate desires for eternal rebirths!
The fugitive moment when night is no longer there and day not yet, the disturbing moment-no-moment when myster- ious darkness and mysterious light co-exist and assert their mutual negations: such is the becoming of truth. Had I expected to paint its portrait?
The original unknown and unfelt anxiety had not been dispelled or understood. The positive emotional impact had not sent out sparks. Nothing had happened when all Was fulfilled. Later, much later, an activity took possession of me, so that I knew that I was and had always been inhabited.
My astounded mind sought to witness its own creations, not heeding their clumsiness, and carefully noted all circumstanctial evidence of a suspected happening.
Any doubt would be fatal, yet doubt was the driving force, so
that the mind lost its way, not preceiving the fictitious.
The mind foolishly declared: the proof is in the results. But what results are proofs in themselves and, for that matter, what are the criteria for appreciation?
The intellect's pleasure or disapproval, its partaking or not: what was that to me? Nothing created was still part of me. I was a renegade and denied all my own doings. Creation was always in the process of becoming. Only the unpredictable future was alive, and the present was already a dead past.
My inspiration -- let us call it by that name -- invented its own techniques as it went ahead, declining all responsibility and leaving it to the man I was supposed to be, with his skills and tools.
But the problem was solved at once: I had no skills and no tools. My disintegrated armors had left me innocent of all materials previously gathered along trodden paths and from past experiences.
In vain I tried to plead guilty. In vain I attempted to gather past shadows of active sins, lost capacities for mistaken activities that had never been my real vocation: the intellect was granted no entry to the secret ways of materialisations so new, so varied, slow and opaque or quick and clear, warm and heavy with golden fruit or dry, frozen and keen, all now loading my emptiness.
I -- but where was the "I"? -- thus recorded the course of events: a call, another call, physical sensations, emotions, desires, great joys, unconscious sufferings, search for happiness, wild and forlorn ramblings, new contacts with life, vibrations, swift impulses and then a halt.
The sudden halt of the intellect's intervention, labors, mach- inery, mental annihilation of clothing, furniture, houses, caves, shrines, pet ideas, prisons, categories.
An imaginary leap over the moon, flight in reverse, skipping on one foot, limbering up, breaking, hacking into fragments, damn it all, and casting all into the furnace.
Everything going full speed ahead at its best, then a crash against a brick wall and my brain in smithereens, shooting down with no parachute, but nut-crackers to finish off the small bones.
That, after all, was in a way a vicarious but quite enjoyablc experience. The man I was said to be rested, and in turn the assertion "I am truth", whose meaning eluded and still eludes me, seemed amply to satisfy the tumultuous IT in me, heedlessly picking random words here and there for the sake of my exhibitIonism.
A day came, however, when all this was no longer enough. My mind needed to see my body involved in its adventure, and my body needed to accompany my mind. This was a time of abject servility, of yielding to what, by all standards of reason, was and was not sheer lunacy.
I seemed to be inoculated against fear and against the loss of -- as I see it today -- a strange unnamed faith in a nothingness that is the all-that-is, a nothingness of self, of course.
It was no merit of mine: I simply could not locate my ego. It must have been suspended in that fleeting space where heaven and hell co-exist and negate each other, in the No-man's- land which is the home and presence of truth.
Had I longed for a structure or image to dispell my un- certainties, fear would have been lying there in ambush, waiting for the split second that is the moment of reckoning and threat- ening me with sudden grinning death.
But my luck was in my enjoyment of uncertainty. I loved the not-knowing and the not-belonging, and my savior was thus my own stupid mind which, unwilling to lose or be lost, clung obstinately to its old habits.
Imposing its authority like that of a strict accountant, the intellect forced every fantasy to become a clear materiali- zation expressed and offered in the realm of weights and meas- ures.
Truth was thus made to become fictitious, and fiction to become truth. Intent, absorbed, swallowed up and lost in the flow of my own thoughts, I meanwhile forgot to panic and thus even forgot to be.
But I now strongly suspect that I penetrated as a trespasser through the windows of my own abandoned habitation and then rebuilt it by destroying it in order to create it anew.
When I emerged at long last from all this, younger by countless centuries, I found myself surrounded by incalculable millions of words, all scattered in no particular order, while all the symbols of my own personal myth stood facing me, as if they were still staring at my living past.
A multidimensional sunlit space filled me, an inscrutable wanderer, with an infinity of earthly gestures. The veiled antin- omy that had been a source of anguish was no more. Responding to these gestures and images, an eyeless vision now dissolved them all in nothingness.
The fear which, for fear of itself, had deserted the bless- ed battleground of life now revived, coiled like a snake in the dark mental recesses of righteous humanitarian souls and pious pillars of their church. Responding now to a challenge, this fear could not help but reveal and declare itself.
It thus appeared in the form of panic in the eyes of those witnesses who looked without seeing or saw without look- ing, who are too sterile to tolerate any mysteries and who flourish in their sense of ritual, liturgy, ceremony, rank and accumulated honors.
It likewise made its presence felt in the heavy load of morality and transgressions, in quests for truth and in its dis- covery, in good made manifest and in evil still unspoken. It appeared innumerable and singular, as the fear of death.
By now it has proliferated in the form of countless titled squatters, all well entrenched behind their protective walls. Friends and companions, our island floats high above their fortresses and is driven ahead by indomitable desires!
I would smash a cage, rather than come to terms with it. I would puncture inflated bladders, rather than minister to them, and would knock down a man who relies on props, rather than help support him. I would unleash all my desires, free every atom of their multitudinous oneness.
I would be alone, yet in the company of all. I would love, but not feel, and awaken but not sleepwalk. I would be all worlds in one, and one in nothing. I would not belong: freedom is the all-unknown.
I would give and harvest my own gifts. I would be rich in immanent affection, I would love in order to love, but I would not know what love is.
I would be confident in my vulnerability and rest on my own helplessness. I would ignore my own creations and be an apostate.
I would thank and not demand, acknowledge grace and never pray. I would seek no peace, but would rest in strife. I would absolve.
Paltry desires had swept paltry desires away. Petty longings had tumbled over petty longings. All wishes had succumbed, for lack of energy, or had vanished in temporary satisfactions. A breach had thus been made in the outer defences of consecrated morality, so that the way lay open for the passage of mighty desires, superb and blood-guilty warriors who, until now, had been confined in servitude.
These now burst through the heavily restrictive gates of reasonable judgement and invaded their battlefield of flesh. The body which was said to be the man I was then awoke in flaming madness and shook off its chains of cosmic degradation.
The dancing fury of nature's delights grasped in its inescapable grip the vaguely hovering spirit of abstraction, but infinity, always equal to itself in its relentless emanations, never yielded for a moment.
The fabulous struggle that ensued then nourished and vitalized both contending energies. In their constantly increased and accelerated speed and impetus, they penetrated each other so as to be borne by the single perception of their common embrace.
Duration seemed to have been torn in shreds and a new timelessness was thereby created as heaven's visitations responded to hell's pleasures. The mental void between these two had at last been bridged by a speeding arrow that was blue. As it pierced my heart, the voice of IT then spoke to me:
"I am blue," it said, "though my wake is purple. I am your ultimate desire, born of your own death. I draw my words from your decaying flesh, but my strength is my own. I am you, but you are not I. Transcending the ruthless agitation of mankind, I feed myself on myself."
Such was my ultimate desire in my regenerated blood. Now it leaps ahead and rushes along at my beck and call. When I rest, it is content. When I toil, it is pleased. Both in success and in failure, it remains satisfied.
You may name it love or joy, or rock or heavens, or reality or bliss, or affirmation or necessity, or freedom or resurrection, or power or wanderings, or goal or game, or projection or forcefulness, or the Word or the All, or fragmentation or whatever you will. It is IT.
I am a disciple of indeterminate love, dependent on its probability.
Beneath the calm waters, the blue waters of love are the link bctwccn the world and myself. The cosmic blue, the deep indigo, buries itself in my heart. Within me and around me, a powerful and rich sound re-echoes: a direct appeal to the heart, from the heart of the universe that is blue.
And in this divine heart, divinely blue, in this blue that is the heart of the universe, I become love, love of the universe, purified in turn by love alone, just as the light of the sun also becomes pure white only because it first pierces boundless blue spaces; and just as summer skies shine blue, so I too, by puri- fication alone, become love,
I then met Beelzebubbzy, on an evening that was heavily burdened with all the dust of a heavy day, an evening of craving for rest, when discouraged enthusiasms fell on one's shoulders with all the weight of a tomb-stone. Around me the vast city snorted, shrieked and stirred up its spites in a nightmare. Pale faces, calloused hands, exhausted bodies, all reduced to dust, fell back quite bloodless in the streets, violated, emptied and vomited again by their joyless toil.
And Bubbzy came towards me, tall, bent, his brow furrowed, but still of no definite age. An old battered felt hat, a long and filthy raincoat and his thin pointed beard, a vestige of a heroic past, all gave him a slovenly, medieval and familiar appearance. He limped slightly, perhaps as a reminder of the days when he could still display a cloven hoof. His eyes, however, were laughing, for Bubbzy was wildly happy and, coming thus after his tragic past greatness, his joy now assumed the value of a fulfillment. On his face, still ravaged and stormy, one could note, as after an inhuman tempest, the serene reappearance of new youth. But one could also detect, on his deeply graven features, the pitilessly carved tracings of the most agonizing path that the spirit has ever assigned itself as a sacrifice to itself: to bear within itself, even in its most abysmal depths, the memory of its own life.
The evening meanwhile descended on us in a drizzle, gently weeping its tears of ashes onto the city with the deceptive torpor of an anguished and enshrouding gloaming which is not yet there, though its horizontal shadows must soon extinguish the lights that yet crown the peaks of the tallest buildings. Soon the solar play of light and shadow would be followed by night, then night too would again be followed by shadows and reflections, inescapable rhythm and alternation, play of life and death ever revolving on its own axis ...
Bubbzy is before me, grey against a grey background.
One light, two lights, ten. A thousand lights let loose in wild freedom. Mad lights many-colored lights swift lights sparkling lights shimmering splendor lights that flee like arrows whirling lights spiraling lights onslaught of lights shouts of lights invinciblc tide of lights of discordant lights and they shriek and shriek out their passions and their throbbing lives; lights of men light or heavy famished or magnetic unbelievable movement of animated lights convulsive lights implacable strife within me on me every- where around no more sky no more earth nor houses full of shadows nor refuge nor peace but surging waves furrowing machinery powerful metallic rows of teeth driven to their utmost debauch of rockets ejaculated spirting mad night night of arrival ...   And here, out of the mad unleashed tempest of men of shrieking conquering men conquerors of the earth and the sky and of the waters spread out everywhere no color is lacking and the call the call of I Am is there and the colors respond and come and fight and place side by side all desires all passions all defeats all conquests; the terrible shock is fulfillment.
THE NEW ADOLESCENT
And the new adolescent is before me, gold against a background of white, Satan vanquished glorious archangel beautiful radiant archangel purified brought to earth yet conqueror. Golden dust of passions, iridescent ashes of accumulated remorse and 6f dead strife and dead memories now resurrected.
Dead life which lives again, which does not choose, but overflows and does not hesitate and creates, out of vast chaos creating limpid light. Accumulation of desires that clash and are broken in fragments and again ground. Hungry- looking pale light of breadless days, red and blue and yellow lights all and all lights and now there are no more all are there all the sufferings and regrets are there and the hour has come when the cup is full. Suddenly everything is white. One spark was still lacking, only one, still one small suffering. Then everything is done. All at once everything is limpid with a smooth and shadowless light that is supremely blinding with its perfect inexistence, light of lights, unconquered by shadows and reflections, the light that is all.
And here are Beelzebub and Beelzebubbzy and Satan and all his thousand names and his thousand appearances and the terrors and the hells and the damnations and the chastisements and all those who considered themselves damned, all those especially who bore that burden which is too heavy for God. And now, in this Light, they are all melted together healed and appeased in this Light of the last Revolt.
And the new adolescent is no longer before me, he is gone out into the world, he is the world within and without and everywhere and his vast infinite eyes his deep eyes his eyes blue with love pierce with the blue of their love the iridescent light the light of lights, the white light of the last drop of suffering.
THE KISS OF PEACE.
And thus came about the contact, the kiss of Peace which the world granted to God, and the end of God's remorse, his remorse for having created the World. And this was the end of hell, for hell was God's remorse, his remorse for having created the World. And the new adolescent awoke, and h1S eyes brought to me all the love of his heart, his eyes of sky which are blue and his eyes of sea which are blue now brought me the heart of the World. And the heart of the World came into my own heart, his love, the reconciliation. And the distant And the distant echo of the remembrance of God's remorse which was no more became within my heart of love the remorse of not having been God. Resurrection, Easter of Joy, this distant echo my joy my joy of being He. My excruciating and ineffable joy of the body that cannot cope with this joy, leaping forward motionless to- wards this joy.
And the great city, tortured by its night and begetting from its night, is within me in my heart on a white page where its lights are sketched the songs of its many-colored lights, which are sketched there then fade away in the Light Regained in their redemption, the redemption of desires which fade into the ultimate desire.
The city is within me.
THE SONG OF THE CREATED.
From the ninth hour of that night, which was the last night until its twelfth hour, the last hour of night, which was day, there came strife and falls and regrets and ecstasies, and the bodies which the will crushes, and the vertigo of the will that spins and falls. Slowly the sparkling dust was washing away, one by one, the shadows of all desires which were being transmuted into an incandescent loftiness. The eternal adoles- cent, golden-haired with hair like beams of light, with eyes of sky and of ocean, sang and none knew who he was in this dawn of midnight. Every module within me a different being, a new being which sang, and each one of these songs was his life, an image like a drawing penned on my heart, a white page. And the page remained untouched and clear and the fleeting shadows never penetrated it. And when that which had been created died, there remained nothing in its heart, nothing of that which had once been its song, but only love. For the song of those created is the song of hunger, a hole piercing light, tracks of feet imprinted in the light and which the blue of love sweeps away.
THE FIRST VOICE.
The floating rippling voice penetrated and rose and be- came two when it reached the octave and then so many voices and a thousand and a thousand. And sang: why should I not sing of hell of hell of hell which I have carried so long of hell and of my weary shoulders and of remorse?
And it's all very fine and large
to have so huge a hell
to have been in so huge a hell this remorse since every hell is the foundation-stone of an universe and therefore God's uni- verse must be very vast since it has such vast foundations. And the universe within me is a point without foundations or roof- top, and neither good nor evil is any longer its foundation or indeed its summit. In the beginning of the very beginning of the beginning it was frightful and this remains a great mystery for hell was the seventh day of Genesis, Life's remorse for having wished to cease, and the remorse of the day before the first when God had been forced to begin again. And because of this mystery no one has ever yet said what God did on the eighth, the ninth or the tenth day and on all those that followed and on those that followed those that followed. Alas! the eighth day was again a Monday and because God had forgotten because of God's remorse he was forced to begin all over again and the ninth day was again a Tuesday and when the week hadjpassed on Sunday God forgot his remorse again in absolution and on Monday began again and again and always began.
And this is why because God tried to absolve himself of his sin of creation and because of his remorse which was born of creation God had always, ever since the birth of time- less time, had innumerable numberless things still to be done; for otherwise would he not have done everything in the first week in the first week already everything and already done everything and before this first week would he not have done nothing at all never done anything at all never done anything?
THE SECOND VOICE.
And the second voice rose: remembering this I come I who have known hell and vain absolution and implacable remorse and I tremble with the great fear that is past and here are my brothers all those who passed on the burden the flame the ghastly flame of unquenchable remorse my unappeased broth- ers my brothers in revolt and who have rejected and vomited all absolution. Who rejected the absolution of priests and of masters and of crowds and of cowards and of moral codes and of judges and their codes and their books and of books of revelations and of the whole world and of God the liar; and who rejected all peace which was not joy liberated and the end of slavery. And who were thus throughout the ages, the rock of the living. Painfully who were the cry of God the Mother who dared thus to rest after the pangs of giving birth.
THE THIRD VOICE.
And the third voice sang: I live these memories again, you vibrate with too fra ile an ether, the throbbings of the Last Judgement penetrate th&soul-and within me rise the faces all the dead faces of the past and their torments which hurt and their desires which bruise and their passions which tear the heart. And here comes a lovely supple clinging form which snatches me brutally from the intoxication of the Infinite. Life and death, two agonies, two crosses. O that agony which precedes life, cruel, cruel destruction of all that I love ! O that agony which precedes death, destroying all that I am! The tawny storm of my bleeding heart moans, its vast whirling carries me off, too great too strong for me! Scarlet shattering of my passions and I tremble! I caress gently these hideous shapes, I want them, I love them, fever, pity, pity ... torture me, break me again, my mad desires! The lightning flashes and golden splashes of your crashes sparkle in my heart in a hard implacable dust of diamonds.
THE FOURTH VOICE
And the fourth voice sang: anger, trembling of anger, imprisoned Spirit, ceaseless rhythm, free yourselves from me, deliver yourselves from me, from struggles and from spasms. Rhythm of routine, and passions alternating, of docility and ecstasy. The hand turns on the clock of my soul and points toward the sky towards the blue and then falls, falls, slowly into a memory and the memory grows cold and freezes and snows with tears and dust and ashes which say that they live ... then, brutal release, swift unforeseen and black! Unforeseen oh misery!
as if to be no longer in heaven were not a sudden fall that flattens one on the ground! Strange alternating rhythm, swift and slow, slow sadness and swift joy, slow fall and instantaneous rebound. Long suffering so long and grey suffering and dwindling stagnation and extinction which does not see the dying, illusion, memory that is nothing, that chews the cud, unable to create, tasteless colorless senseless and always waiting for news. Which waits for news in order to copy. In order to copy studiously and patiently and say: look I create. But immediately after this click of release, a crazy balloon in the sky and from this bouncing I have my greatest pleasure; the Spirit within me only finds when he is on the ground and surrounded by fragments. Then I sharpen and sing and resound and give forth that tone which is mine alone. And if others are greater and more bright I know at least that my light is my own. Then I consider myself all the more noble for having been hurled forth,
and live because
I knew now to die
for as 1 died 1 REMEMBERED.
THE FIFTH VOICE.
And then the fifth voice now sang thus of emptiness:
Ecstasy, useless and dank ecstasy
Foul fever of insistent desire
You hammer out your depressing calls
Within my brain as it slowly grows empty ...
Multiplying your treacherous pressure
In your hundred arms you grasp my body
And your suffocating breath puts to sleep
My rotting body as of all its blood it grows empty....
My soul crushed flat in the vice-like grip
Of its obsession which knows no pity
Frozen, cheerless, listless, void of all passion,
Wanders aimless around this earth that grows empty ...
And my genius which once headlong left me
Like a rocket to conquer space with all its stars
Falls zigzagging, a broken drunkard,
In the blind darkness of a sky that grows empty!
Roused by these tones in which one was struck by the sorrow of memories, where dwelt the strife and the fall and all regrets and bodies which grind the will, the supreme adolescent with locks of sunbeams and eyes of blue sky and blue ocean arose and it was midnight and he said peace, peace and joy to those who had been the created and divine joy: remorse has conquered and survived and is triumphant and God is liberated.
To those who were so long the creatures created by delirium and oblivion, peace and joy in the living eternal being. To those who did not fear life, peace and joy; to those who braved the wild storms and tawny tempests, to those who have never known an absolution, to those who have borne the Great Rebellion, peace and joy, I mean to those who have borne the rebellion against God the Creator for there is only one Life and no Creator and no created and no death and nothing but one Life only One. And the Great Rebellion was the return, the return to life after the Sabbath of pardon thus granted and of rest and of senseless forgetfulness, mad forgetfulness, for Life is Life and can never rest nor pardon nor condemn nor pronounce sentence nor justify nor be good nor evil nor anything nor nothing but only Life and never death repose absolution or such other things. And Life knows not what tomorrow it will do for Life is joy and free free free.
And those who never have known the fear of Life have never known the fear of themselves and have neglected confession of sins and badly damned themselves and have thereby lived.
But those who feared Life feared for themselves and slept soundly in confession of their sins and thereby died a little. And again slept and again died but now much more. And fell in great flocks by the wayside along the roads that are bordered with ditches. And slept fully in their seven sins, all committed and forgiven.   To these now bring perplexity! No peace except in Joy! Burn their crops, flood, kill, cut their throats, rob, thrash and thrash again and thrash! Out, out, cowards, traitors against life and against me and against all, leap and fall and fall and we thrash you. Out, out, impure untouchables, polluted with your wars your ruins your murders your famines your pierced eyes your fears, are all these things hell? No; no, for I am Life and I call ...   Ah! how they become corpses, such heavy corpses! Shall we call in vain?
And the eternal adolescent arose and called and his call was eternal and so vast that it was all, this call this call of all that lives, and it rent the bowels of the sky, and he called and wept the tears of all that lives, and called and sighed the sighs of all that lives, and called and loved the love of all that lives, and called as conqueror ...
THE FIRST DAY
And struck the first great stroke of the last hour of the last night.
And said peace and joy unto Pride not absolved not justified not forgiven not forgotten but conscious of its being. And this first great stroke will be the first day of my genesis that is free from forgetfulness and summits and foundations, being set in one infinite point of life.
And this day was like the First Day the so Splendid Day of the Pride of all creation that begins, but not after the forgetfulness of God, after the great remembering and the thou- sand lights when not one was missing in their clash.
Then arose the geniuses of the first genesis, the geniuses of Pride, the great Captains of the great luminous Parades. All of them, all the Captains poets and vast architects of the elements, and the Captains of men of nations and of races and of towers that are too lofty. And their pride raised harvests of sun and blood, lives and deaths, built and then killed, sowed love and fear and rebellion and obedience in vast shivering vibrations. And their pride raised also very far and high both men and elements and mountains of snow, and thrashed the oceans, and overflowed and spread to the five corners of the world and howled its echo and lunged forward, and went round and all the way round the world ... and with a ghastly shock fell upon itself; and palpitated and rebounded as high as the clouds and struck them and fell down again; and pierced the clouds and struck the sky and fell down again on itself; and contorted it- self in convulsions and cursed this cage-like world and this sky that is too small, and cried out and let loose tempests, and struck itself harder and even harder and wounded itself and tore itself to shreds and gnawed its own bones in its impotent unsatis- fied pride and wept with a pride more vast than the world. And wept broken smashed in fragments, vast, vast pride now scattered in crumbs, and suffered its sufferings and grieved with its yief and then in humility gathered its own fragments together and each one of them sang its Joy for this great purification of pride which broke itself through the very excess of its greatness.
And this was the First Day of the New Genesis of Joy which sang glory glory unto Pride unto exhausted Pride the liberator in humility, glory and joy unto Pride which was Life, which ever was Life and without absolutions or remorse or forgetfulness or sleep.
THE FIRST NIGHT
And hearing this hymn of Joy of Glory unto Life, from the depths of the houses and the cellars and the earth in grey and green and rotting sweat, there arose with a great hubbub and confusion and commotion all the flickering pygmy shadows, insect-shadows of the millions of tiny prides, of un- confessed prides of the old World, the one created by God. And they lived and acted and scrambled about and procreated and became a countless legion and did not know themselves. Some saw themselves naked and clothed themselves in uniforms and made the uniforms salute, and answered the salutes and glorified themselves; gave themselves names written down in books and said: see, I am that name; some glorified themselves for this and others were humiliated; some invented God and said: He is my cousin and glorified themselves; others made themselves even smaller and begged for a blessing and humiliated themselves; some were white and others black; and they glorified themselves and humiliated themselves according to their strength; some went to bed and others worked: and they glorified themselves and humiliated themselves according to the time they spent resting in bed. Small, very small prides, scarcely vain; fruitless small prides, seated on stools but not sweeping the mountains, for fear of the sun, for fear of Life. Vanities and morals associated in marriage, and eternal triangles with religions useful for the masses and comforting for personal vanities. Vanities small prides of the pontiffs in great humility vested with powers; small prides of chosen peoples, of revealed truths; of enlightened nations, of established elites; small prides of clans, scarcely even snobbery, justified explained and forgiven a thousand times daily; small prides which cannot help it: 'it's a fact, we are thus, different from the rest, and it is better;" pride of clean hands or of dirty hands; pride of clothes or of nakedness;   infinitesimal prides which say "pride is evil; we never," and disguise themselves for fear of hell or of public opinion or of remorse because remorse is all -the time there in their very hearts. Remorse for being pride, but not for being small!' Cowards, they give the show away; cowards, they do not aim at satisfaction; cowards, they will never burst, but will enter into the blood and rot and stagnate in thick stagnant green blood, quite contented; cowards and gnaw small bones, and will flatten themselves out and begin again, ever again, without ever knowing the joy or the great fulfillment;
but shivered painfully, weakling prides, never admitted but absolved and forgotten, prides and remorse quivered in response to the Life of the great compassion.
Then, seeing this vague quivering in the shadows, the supreme adolescent with locks of sunlight said: we will breathe Life into .this corpse and how heavy is this corpse; and his eyes were very blue with love and he struck the second great stroke of the last hour of night.
THE SECOND DAY
And said peace and joy unto Avarice not absolved not justified not forgiven not forgotten but conscious of its being, And this was the second day of the new Genesis that is free from forgetfulness and summits and foundations and hell.
Then fell headlong in showers of lead the geniuses of the second Genesis, of predatory Avarice, all of them, and wallowed and clung with hooked steel talons to all accumul- ations, and killed children so as not to feed them, and dug up the dead to feed themselves, and counted their gold and counted themselves beneath and never arose from their gold in order to remain above it, in order to be within it, in order to dig their talons into it, and hunched and twisted above their gold like dried up leaves they no longer fed themselves but shat on their gold for fear of leaving it if only for one minute, and with their hands full never possessed enough but imprisoned themselves and walled themselves up alive, with hands twist- ed up talon-like for fear of losing, and still did not possess, and then wanted the gold to be within them and themselves wanted to be the gold but could not swallow it and choked and could not possess it at all, accursed gold, madness, implacable separation, and they never possessed but withdrew ever deeper within themselves and were ever alone like dry leaves, and fell into the lowest depths of their starved being, never yet possessing any- thing, unable to possess, and cried out aloud proclaiming their implacable solitude, their unceasing torment, and were near unto death ... and wept. And just as under autumn rain the dry leaves soften and offer themselves to the earth and commune with themselves and yield themselves out of exhaustion, thus did they yield themselves in great abundance and prodigality, out of the very excess of their avarice, and gave nourishment and were the new Life.
And this was the Second Day of the new Genesis. of Joy which sang glory glory unto Avarice unto Avarice made fertile and liberated in abundance, glory and joy unto Avarice which was Life, which ever was Life and without absolution or remorse or forgetfulness or sleep.
THE SECOND NIGHT
And the small green patches of mildew of the avarices that dwell in the shadows quivered in the wind of cellars and shuttered houses. And gathered themselves in heaps in utter charity, real charity must begin at home. And they accumulated in their shuttered drawing-rooms genuine antique chairs wood- pannellings occasional tables embroidered curtains embroidered silks tapestry cushions lamps vases lampshades laces clocks watches candelabra porcelain statuettes sconces (brass bronze crystal) small bronzes small marble sculptures water-colors oils and black and white drawings chandeliers mirrors (complete with gilt frames) flowered carpets, paper flowers, paper on the walls. walls decorated with stucco, stucco on the ceilings and in flowers like the carpets and like everything ... and accumulated and said this is art and closed the windows on the lingering smell of rich cooking so that everything should be well preserved; and said this is art, and collected art because of its value (it's the best investment). And went out on Sundays and gave a few coppers for the poor of the parish. And felt virtuous and charit- able and let everyone know it. And lived off the agony and great pity of hands eaten away by labor and these hands they refused to see them for fear of softening their generous hearts. And sold their daughters for another bag of gold and said it is for her good. Obtained a thousand times absolution and died with the sacraments and their soul rested in peace because of the Masses paid in advance.
Avarices, small avarices scarcely even penny-pinching and satisfied with only a full belly, said that they were everything and anything rather than avarice because of their conscience and of what people might say; died as they were born: fruitless.
But quivered painfully when the great adolescent of pity and compassion came to life. And the adolescent said: how heavy too is this corpse! and breathed into it his Life of love. And struck the third great stroke of the last hour of night.
THE THIRD DAY
And said peace and joy unto Lechery not absolved not justified not forgiven but conscious of its being. And this was the third day of the new Genesis without summits or foundations, set in an eternal and infinite point.
And then came forward creeping and crawling and softly undulating the geniuses of the third creation of Lech- ery. All, all the geniuses of lechery; of the purple, profound and tenacious lecheries, and of the pale livid lecheries which cling to the blood. Lecheries like ploughed fields lying open to the sun and penetrating lecheries, irresistible abysms of mad- ness and destruction, which kill the geniuses and know it but can do nothing to avoid it and begin all over again their endless dissatisfaction and malediction. And they all wished to satisfy themselves endlessly, and quartered themselves all blood-stained and opened out the unfathomed depths of the soul, the pits of the Spirit cast headlong and which slowly drop by drop destroyed its life and knew it but could not refrain. And rushed forward and insisted on leaping forth in sparks and flames of eternal appease- ment but failed, failed to reach the bottom of the bottomless pit, failed to fall any further, hating the flesh which was offered and fled shrieking with disgust, then crept back on their hands and knees. Lecheries more vast than desire, more wide-spread than the flesh, lecheries which are never joined, thirsts never quenched of the geniuses of lechery which never could live and never could die.
And so great, this time, was the strife, such was the vibration which passed simultaneously through the two worlds of Life and of Flesh that they knew not whether they would survive. Ghastly impacts of battles of hates, and they knew not if they were love; wild embraces of love, and knew not if they were hate; despairing flights, and knew not if they were pursuits; desperate pursuits, and knew not if they wished to find; content- ments which were nevertheless suffering, sufferings which were nevertheless joy; words, but which said nothing; speeches, but which remained speechless; Spirit transmuted into Flesh, Flesh transmuted into Spirit ...
and the two Worlds were so entangled that they could not recognise one another, but were made One, becoming both He and She together.
Thus was Lechery quenched in the sublimation of the Integrated Being, being born to the dazzling crystalline purity of its own harmony. Lechery conscious of the geniuses refusing to die, strife moulding the Spirit and the Flesh, fertile, conquered by unity, purified by unity. And the renovated beings with their dazzling brows, standing proudly in the sunlight, on their twin legs like polished marble, with their feet on the earth and their brows in the sunlight, sang Joy to the great Purification, glory to lechery which became the great Purification because of its infinity.
These were the new geniuses of the Genesis, forming together the first trinity which in appearance was Pride which created, Avarice which preserved and lechery to unite them, but which became in the true edifice Humility which never asserted itself, Generosity which gave, and Purity the Mediator, in its development and fulfilment.
And in this fulfilment the appearance disappeared and the true edifice appeared in its Reality, without any building, but only in one point which was all three, infinite and eternal.
THE THIRD NIGHT
This was the first quarter of the twelve strokes of midnight, and the small lecheries of the shadows made a wild rush in their flight to hide in the houses with closed shutters. Legitimate brothels founded upon sacraments and weekly fornications, with or without offspring; illegitimate brothels where the laboring girls sink and die in moral dilapidation, all of them registered with the police for the good of their Society and of their families founded on sacraments. Pale wan lecheries at street-corners, painted and hungry, sainted ah saintly for they never set fire to the legitimate brothels founded upon sacraments. And the stiff-necked cruelty of so-called res- pectable women who say "poor creatures" with a bitter constipated look, but then protest to the vicar "really it's disgraceful, one sees them on all the street-corners and I have my young daughter with me"; and the greasy conspiratorial manner of the fat father who says "now, my boy, go, and if you can't be good, be careful", and the young girls watch out of the corner of their eye, and sigh, and wait, in morbid hysteria, for the exhausted bridegroom. Lecheries of heavy digestions, little shame-faced contented and forgiven lecheries, for the flesh is weak and God is forgiving, and everything will be settled and straightened out, and ah! what agony! I had chosen heaven but I'm behaving as if I had chosen hell, and what am I to do with temptations, all these temptations? Well, with a little asceticism when I am old (and, of course, impotent too), everything will work out evenly before my death, everything will bc neatly settled a fortnight ahead of it. Mediocre lcchcrics of the numberless petty repentances and numberless futile, sterile, little absolutions.
And the eternal adolescent with eyes of blue sky and locks of bright sunlight looked with great compassion at these flickering fleeing slimy shadows and sighed and said: this corpse is the most hideous of all three, being man and beast and ghoul. And his heart which is the heart of the World was illuminated with blue. Then he said: this corpse is the heaviest and most cruel of all because of the beauty it might have had. And he breathed his Life into it.
And this was the end of the first quarter or Major Genesis.
THE MINOR GENESIS.
And struck the fourth great stroke of the last hour which became day and said peace and joy unto Anger, unto Envy, unto Greed, not absolved nor justified nor forgiven nor forgotten but conscious of their being. And, so saying, struck also the fifth and the sixth great strokes of the last hour, which were the second quarter of the twelve, and the three days of the minor genesis, mingled as an inverted triangle with the first original triangle. Then Anger in bitterness coveted the major genesis and, tense and stiff in its powerlessness, as an im- potent pride, devoured itself in livid weakness. Envy desired but failed to obtain, obtained and no longer desired, always re- jecting and always desiring, rejecting in the moment of obtaining and desiring in the moment of rejecting. Lonely sad and wasted Envy, haggard and mad and running here and there, in a desert of hallucinating mirages, with eyes fixed on the lovely mirages of cool shade and singing springs, never ceased wandering and burning and died. Greed in impotent lechery seized and devour- ed and still wanted and insatiably ever devoured but never possessed and collapsed beneath the weight of what she had absorbed, carried away and vanquished by the weight of her obese dead omnipotent flesh overpowered by sleepy adipose death, weird death of flabby relaxed hypochondriacs and sunk again into a beast and its eyes grew dim and it was dead. And when all three had died leaving hollow instead of solid their tracks on the World of the new Genesis, their tracks moulded in the clay of the new World were their negation: and out of Anger came Patience; out of Envy, Abnegation; out of Greed, Sobriety, their tracks. And out of sobriety came detachment; out of abnegation, affection and friendship; out of patience, understanding and intelligent building of the Minor Genesis.
And from the World thus completed in wisdom and inter- laced triangles there arose the radiant joyous hymn of the whole Minor Genesis singing glory unto Anger who was so angry that she died, unto Envy who was so envious that she died, unto Greed so greedy that she died. Who all died unabsolved, who never justified nor forgave themselves, but fully lucid went to their death in order to give Life, without ever compromising or fearing damnation.
THE MINOR SHADOW
To this radiant hymn of New Genesis in Joy and Sincerity free from heaven and from hell and from absolution and damnation and from foundations and summits but set in one Point of Wisdom which is eternal Life and Truth, in response to this har- monious proud hymn of powerful vibrations summoning the supreme flight into the sky, there creaked and groaned all the small Angers, Envies and Greeds of the kingdom of shadows of the old Genesis which all refused to die. And, refusing to die, they said: Anger Envy and Greed are evil and we are different; and they feared repentance and absolved themselves in secret and in disguise. Anger said this is disgraceful and my legitimate indignation will prove it in due time; draped in my dignity. l am an important person; the creature dares ... and Anger said this whippersnapper has no manners and doesn't know right from wrong, no morals nor manners, and it's about time he learned; and Anger said it is for the good of honor and virtue and our ancestors and descendants and the family-traditions and the race and the land; what, you big bum, you dare say that I am ridiculous? and Anger refused to admit that he was purely and simply raging. Envy said I am Justice, and why must so-and-so have and not I? I do not covet, I am just; and said I know my worth and this post with so much salary per year was for me who am an expert in the field; and said I hate sucess because the masses are too foolish; and said oh my dear what a lovely necklace (yes and the old hag needs it to hide such a scrawny neck like a vulture's!) yes and I shall ne_ycr buy a car because I hate speed; oh! luxury, that's all right for them but it destroys all my spiritual joys and they mean so much to me. Pious red- cheeked Greed, its arse glued to a chair and its belly to a table, sings glory glory unto the Lord of good roasts; sips a wee drop and then another, and says, oh Lord be kind, I understand You too well, I am too fond of Your creatures (He will be flattered if I say this and will forgive); Greed says to eat well is an art just like music but more refined; and in its kitchen Greed prepares delicious sauces while the world starves and Greed says that's perfectly right, I'm hungry.
And this tiring turbulent multitude, shouting and struggling and climbing and push ing and pulling and rising and falling and rising again, and this petty tumult at our feet, and this vain ant- heap of innumerable compromises and conceited absolutions made what they thought was a terrific noise and we never heard it. But a smile of roseate gold hovered gently on the blue love of the adolescent ocean, and the beams of light which danced there in sunlight, and the blue of love said I will place upon this strife my heart of the world which is blue, and my love which is the heart of the world, and the strife must die. And those who know not how to die are in truth as heavy as corpses for they lack Love which is Life. And breathed into them his love and they were suffocated thereby.
THE FLIGHT OF THE SEVENTH DAY
Thus came the New Genesis in six days and the World was complete, and this was the first half of the twelve strokes of the new day. Being exactly half-way through the twelve, it struck the hour and we were suspended between two creations, between night and day, between reflecting moon and creating sun, and we felt the great impatience of eternal desires of flight and throbbing pulse-beats; and we were balanced in an equilibrium that was not yet upset and in conjunction that was not yet impact nor departure but in a secant and an arrow of purple ready-prepared.
And we heard the great silence of accomplishment, the solemn silence of vertiginous departures, silence straining ahead, quivering, silence ready to spring forward and quivering, silence already straining forward, containing within itself all future speed, silence more swift than speed, devouring the silence of spaces and of cataclysms.
Then we felt and were the cry, the vast cry, the tearing apart, the all in all; gone, gone, endless spaces, bottomless pits, joy, flow of Life, joy, sky, joy, gone carrying and carried away, breaking away from all bonds and pouncing ahead, joy, Genesis of Creation overflowing.
For the supreme Adolescent had struck the seventh stroke and said peace and joy unto Sloth not absolved nor justified nor forgiven nor forgotten but conscious of its being. And this was like the Last day of rest of all creation drawing to its close, not the forgetfulness of God but after the big remembering and the thousand lights when not one of them was missing in their clash and impact. And this rest, this sloth that was entirely sloth, did nothing and only was and relaxed; and let itself go and spread and opened up and did no more than open. And went down into the depths of the Being like a good artesian well to the live ground-water. And refused all wearisome and degrading toil, and rejected all rest from degrading toil, and did not sanctify the sweat of hated toil, and became the channels of the sap which surges up, the channels too of Desire that rises up, of Desire the only motor and motive of Life, and was the expression of Desire which rises, and was the steam of boiling Desire, and was the only toil that is fertile and inexhaust- ible, never tired never desiring rest, and was Life which neither rests nor toils, for real work is the resting of the Being who expresses himself, real rest is the toil of the Being who expresses himself.   And war not rest well earned by hard toil nor rest of God weary of his creation nor weekly-recurring forgetfulness of Life, nor Life which fears hell nor absolution nor remorse nor cessation of Life, but was the expression of Joy of the Being which expresses himself.
And from this new Genesis there disappeared all toil and rest and only Joy in Life was left and there disappeared forever remorse which breaks the impulse of Life, which stops the flowering of Life which makes Pride Avarice Lechery Anger Envy Greed and Sloth fail even to find the fertile fulfillment of their integral lives. And there also disappeared all sins, for to sin is to believe in sin. And there disappeared the forgetfulness of a Sunday which is only remorse and repentance and cessation of Life.
And the liberated beings sang glory unto hell for hell has ever remembered, for hell wished to die while remembering Life, for hell was free from absolution and forgetfulness but ever conscious of its being; for hell never rested, for hell was born of the unconscious rest of the Seventh Day when God- the-Mother desired rest after childbirth, for hell has been the Voice of the Conscience, the most agonising path that the Spirit ever assigned itself in self-sacrifice, for hell has carried within it- self in the utmost depths the memory of its life.
Then, after the Great fulfillment and the Joining-together of Good and of Evil, Man the Mediator between Life and Quos was at the same time both Creator and Creature and his song was that of Joy. And the old World rolled away and gave forth a great cry of distress and beneath our feet rolled away with its great cry; then swift as lightning, leaping forward in his strides, the sublime adolescent struck five times rapidly one after the other the five last great strokes with his heel of fire on the five Continents. And thrust his strokes deep into the bowels of the Earth and there then rose five beams of fire as far as the sky five scarlet arrows in the blue infinite, five fingers of the Hand now recovered in the joy of toil which is creation.
And the five Continents were the head and the powerful limbs of the New Man and the sublime youth loved them. With his great heart of love which is blue Ocean he caressed them and the blue Ocean was mediator. With his great heart of love which is the heart of the world he embraced them in the blue of the Sky and the blue Sky was mediator.
And his long locks of golden geams of light were the sun rising upon the New Genesis
Within the Heart
THE CRYSTAL WELL
When the sun rose the Earth uttered its great cry and gave birth, liberated the supreme Adolescent and never saw him, suffered and knew not why, cursed and knew not what to curse, gazed upon the new Life and knew not what it was, contempl- ated Life and called upon some Gods, felt its heart and sought love everywhere. Cast forth its Life and said: His Kingdom is not of this World, this World is dead and I am dead; cast forth its Joy, because Joy is Life; cast forth its Love, because Love is Life, and wanted to be dead.
But the Son of Man and of Woman saw descending from his brain a column of light, descending into the very depths of his heart, and this column was the conscience of the heart, and the blue light of the heart which is blue. And the eye of con- science penetrated the heart and the heart waxed and brought light to the eyes and was heavy and pregnant with love. But the Earth cried aloud and still wanted to be dead. And cast forth the heart heavy with love and said: His Kingdom is not of this World and believed or did not believe in the other World. And was brain in surface, and this brain travelled across the globe seeking its own reality. And this brain saw things which move and counted them, railway stations and counted them, platforms nd counted them, but never entered into itself into the col- urnn of crystal joined to the heart, to the heart of the Universe. This brain denied the column and desired to be dead.
But the Son of Man and of Woman felt blossoming within him his divinity; for -- miracle of miracles! -- his column was the column of the World like a well of crystal in his heart; and his heart was the heart of the World, the heart of the sky and of the ocean, but his brain remained proportionate to his size. And then felt the heart so great and everywhere around above beneath and was the centre thereof, the heart of the heart, in his most secret depths was the conscience of the heart in one infinite and eternal point without foundations or summits, without beginning or end. And the column was a thousand and beams of light radiating from the point of conscience deep within the heart of the Universe deep within its central depths, the Truth of each thing which is its Life, the Life of the Universe
And the Earth wanted to die but could not, wanted to but could not cast life aside for it had given birth in the depths of itself. It had given birth and we were gone, gone so fast on the Scvcnth Day of the New Genesis, at a hundred two hundred three hundred a thousand miles per minute, and then even more, always multiplying by a thousand, by a million, by the infinite, the infinite of infinites, again again again, infinite without arri- val or departure or surface or surroundings, central infinite, centre of everything which never arrives, centre of the World which is its conscious heart, which is its Life, which is the heart of its heart. And we were in such perfect infinity of speed that it was great peace and quiet and the Joy of Life which is its Heart.
And this was the great benediction that had come from within, blossoming into a Tree of Life, flowering in the Flower of Life, perfuming with the sweet Scent of Life.   in a great blossoming.
THE LIFE OF THE HEART
Then the adolescent heart of the World, Son of Man and Son of Woman, spoke to men and said: I am the Life of your Hearts, seek me out.
And a man who sought pushed a heavy door open. And the door was black, and the door was heavy and the door was padded. And beyond the door it was dark and cold like a tomb, with a scent of incense and warm wax clutching at the throat. And the powerful vaults were monsters with cavernous voices reechoing to the marble of the pavement, lengthily with deep tones never inflected, and repeating themselves in regular mono- tones, ever pouring forth in dead speech like the terrified breath of a final agony. And the powerful vaults were monsters with vast shins, each one so near to the other that they pressed against each other and they never let through the blue of the sky or the singing breeze. And the heavy pillars were the hooves of monsters rooted in the solid pavement. And the stones around walled off this tomb. The man crushed beneath the stone exalted his sorrow. He exalted his sorrow and did nothing. He sat down and did nothing, only exalting his sorrow. Then he made a great image in his own likeness and hung it on a cross, and said: Lord, soothe my sorrow, save me, help me, ah! misery, Lord, I weep, I pray, I toil, I die without joy. My life is death, prison, this dirge, this cold, this tomb, pity, oh sun, pity, oh life, oh Lord, oh hope, of sky, of songs, of life, of joy. I starve, my bread, bitter, I thirst, clear springs, now dry, my limbs, are tired, my soul, is dead, I have, naught left
And the image in his own likeness was the mirror of this man and wept and groaned and prayed like the man. And the man saw his suffering in the image and took pity and saw his pity reflected in the image. And the man with a broken heart saw his heart in the image, in his mirror his own bleeding heart. His red heart, so red and so throbbing, his heart plucked out. And the man saw his own heart facing him, his heart in the image and the image was red with the bleed- ing heart. And the man, facing his own heart, looked on and saw the surface of the heart and saw that it was red and he cut the heart and looked inside and the heart was red within and he hacked the heart and splashed the red blood the red minced meat of the heart of man flooding with red in floods of blood. And the red flood rose, the flood of blood, and flushed the pavement and covered it and began to lick the hooves of the monsters, and the heart still bled and the blood still flowed and rose and rose all red, and the red blood was a river of blood and rose and became a lake and rose and the man still hacked and hack- ed and minced the heart and the heart still bled and in scarlet waterfalls roared and fell again in red froth and the heart still bled and the man waf swept away and the image engulfed and the shins of the columns of the powerful vaults were flooded with blood. And the never inflected deep tones repeated their monotones at regular intervals pouring forth endlessly in dead speech like frightened breath in last agony and the sound of funereal bells. And the heart bled red, ever bled, and the vast naves were flooded with blood and the walled-up tomb was a red tomb, and the man who was seeking the life of his own heart still hacked away at it, still struggling in the uppermost spaces of the vaults, and Nothing was left, no monsters no shins, no image no terrified voice of funereal bells, and the man crushed against the vaulted roof in his last agaony, dived and dived right intot the red blood of the heart, there to seek his life.
And -- miacle of miracles! -- when he was within the blood when within the heart, there were the blue of gthe sky and the blue of the sea, which are thc blue of the Heart of the World. For the heart and the blood and their love which is the love of the world are red from without and blue within.
And -- miracle of miracles! -- no more were there tombs and last agonies, for thc heart of the World is blue space and melodious breeze,. and the man who had sought was the adolescent Heart of the Son of Man and Son of Woman, the Life of his heart.
Such were the martyrdom and the great liberation of the man who so sought after his heart that he was engulfed in his heart.
THE HEART OF ALL
When the man was healed of his bleeding heart he was heart of the cities and the heart of the countryside, the heart of men of beasts of plants, and the heart of flowers which their perfume. He was the heart of the stars, of the sun, of moon, and the heart of the sky and of the sea which are lut And he was the heart in the houses, the heart of each floor ad on each floor the heart of each room and the heart of the tcnens and of the living-rooms and the heart of the bathrooms of the sanitary conveniences and of the entrance-halls and of clothes-closets and of the bay-windows and of the club armchairs, of the tables of the chairs of the smooth naked walls and of the paper and of the pencils and of the telephones on the writing-desks. And was the heart of the quick and the heart of the dead, of the pebbles, of the factories, of the cross-word puzzles and the heart of artichokes too.
Was the heart of ready-to-wear lounge-suits and mocassin jes, and the heart of all gadgets and utensils which is their :fulness; the heart of bobbed hair, of cloche hats, the heart mini-skirts and of women's purses. Was the bus, the tarred road, side-walk, the shining lights at night, and of all this the heart. Was also the heart of cream tarts, and heart-aches of deep booming organ music, the heartless teasing tone of whistling notes, the heart of nauseating farts and of parts sung in choirs with great art and of choirs which sing glory Hallellujah.   In the cities and in the countryside and in the mount- ains and in the precipices and in the waters and in the dryness of the desert and in each inch and pinch of earth and of sky was the heart of it and the heart which is Life. And all and in all and each thing and in each element contained in each thing and in each vortex of atoms within each element and even in each smaller unit everywhere was the Life of everything was the Life which is Truth. And were such great and conjoined lives and inseparable and deeply-rooted that were only one Life and one Truth.
Then was the great Joy of all Truths conjoined in one Truth which is Life.
AND A MAN WHO WAS SEEKING
And a man who was seeking went on his way to the city along by the foot of the tall buildings and walked beneath their walls and breathed the gasolene fumes and the scent of thirsty trees muttering their curses. rhe houses crushed against eachother and supporting eachother were swelling and clinging everywhere and soiled eachother in dark pollution and con- fusion. Yards and yards of dark back-yards and then sunlight and broad avenues and then gas-lamps and arcades and moonlight and blind alleys and smoke and side-streets and clouds which penetrated everywhere and polluted eachother in dark confusion. Frenchmen Americans Englishmen Black men, subways, dogs, women, delivery-vans, cars, scurried everywhere and polluted each other in dark confusion.
And the man who was seeking knelt down and prayed and said: O Lord you see I'm sick of all, of gasolene and posters, of magicians and of Saints and of holy images, of stones and stores, bones and bores, so quaint I faint, no saints at all. Or saints are all! Saint John and Saint Paul and airy Saint Mary and breezy Saint Theresa, Saint Trees, Saints alive, I have five, five fingers and five continents. Which was his great revelation.
And said I want here trees and woods and Nature and Nature and the birds of God and the gardens of God and processions and psalms and the glory glory world with- out cnd of the next World of the World which one cannot see bccausc thc world-of-machines the world-of-factories the world- of-houses the world-of-men stand in the way this anti-Nature all this asphalt jungle..
And said and was naked as in Assisi the Juggler of God and broke a cobble-stone and sowed grass there and then broke another and then another and said men must be made happy and heavcd into the river a lamp post a gasolene-station a public convenience and planted shrubs then toiled so hard and tore doull a house and planted a bush, broke up a few riverside embankments and docks and warehouses and there the lilies of the field began to grow. Then again he destroyed a few houses and planted, and said men go too fast, it is against nat- ure, and he heaved the cars into the river and continued steadfastlY in his work of giving to men the good things of God.
And when he had accomplished his task and destroyed anti-nature, he set nature in its stead (this took a long time), he turned round and said: there's not a soul around where have they all gone and I have worked so hard for them.
But there was no more a city, no more men. Alone and sad he thought I ought to have expected it, men do not belong to Nature, to be human is contrary to Nature.
And he died.
Such were the deeds and the lonely death of this man who was seeking at the foot of the walls of houses.
After his death he could not bury himself and said to himself when one is alone the service is really very bad. And he was forced to rise again in order to bury himself, and when he had risen again he saw again the blue sky and had nothing to bury, then lived beneath the blue sky until he died and began all over again, never able to die and never able to live, in a terrible splitting of his very self, ever saying to himself: I must live for the joy of the sky, I must bury myself for the peace of the earth.
He begat many sons who were all human beings who, because of their cruel heredity, were so numerous but always alone, and lived alone and died alone in great loneliness of the soul. And never knew to what world they belonged,to the world beneath the sky or the world beneath the earth, and saw the sky and wanted to die, then were buried in earth and wanted to be reborn.
And the lovely blue adolescent with eyes of love of the World and beams of sunlight said Life is the heart of the World, the heart which is blue. Seek Life and you will no longer die, no longer be alone.
THEN A MAN SOUGHT
Then a man sought in the dark forest, saw the trees, saw shrubs and saw all plant-life, cut paths and places to sit, then made of trees houses, furniture, paper, saw a spring and said H20, saw sheep and clothed himself in their wool, saw lightning and created television, saw mushrooms and made umbrellas, saw stones and invented cement, saw gold and made money, saw flowers and made perfumes, saw paws and jaws and living things, made saws and laws and gold-crowned kings, said oh joy now at last I can be happy. Between earth and his head he built ceilings, between earth and his feet built floors, so that no long- er was there heaven nor earth. And built also walls all around himself and uprooted and manufactured and then imprisoned himself and said: at last I can be happy.
With his wheels his reels his cogs his togs his wearier hysteria his clocks his locks surrounded and bounded by tur- bines and diesels and magnetophones and telephones and tele- printers and ever better carburetors and computers and trans- formers and transmitters, electrocutioners, electrochemical elect- rochrornographs, electrolytic electrogenerators, electrodynamic electrobioscopy, electromagnetic electrotellurographs, electro- negative electromotors, electropositive electroscopes, electro- physiological electrorotators, electrotherapeutical electrospectro- scopes, he said: at last I can be happy. When it was dark invented the light-machine, when it was light the darkness-machine, when he was hungry the feeding machine, when he was fed the hunger- machine. He felt sentimental and invented the love-machine, grew weary and invented the jilting-machine. Ate machines, drank machines, loved machines, was the best friend of machines. Spoke, and invented the answering-machine; answered, then in- vented the arguing machine. Owned all machines, the want machine, the think-machine, the create-machine, the God-machine, And always alone among his machines and in his machines under his machines on his machines, never understood his solitude, as machines and gadgets became substitutes for everything; he knew neither man nor god, machines being everything; saw neither sky nor earth, machines being everywhere.
Such were the deeds and the lonely death of the man who sought in the dark woods.
After this man had died, he was taken and buried in earth by four steel cables. But earth was no true earth, was coal and reinforced concrete and pig-iron and all such things, and the man could not rest there in peace and said: I must invent the earth-machine. Then he arose from the dead and built the earth- machine and on its earth trees grew and birds throve and streams babbled and again man said H20 and cut down the trees and began again and filled everything again. And when all was accom- plished he died anew in the reinforced concrete and all the rest, but rose again and began again ever in a ghastly tearing asunder.
And begat many children who were all mankind and out of cruel heredity were so numerous but ever alone, and lived alone and died alone but, because of their factory-world, of their machine-world, of their world of men, knew not the deso- late loneliness of their soul. Between floor and ceiling they knew neither sky nor earth, but only their shadows cast on the walls.
And a great pity hovered on the golden smile of the heart of the World, of the heart which is blue. And the heart said unto men: first learn your loneliness, let it weigh on your souls, let its weight be great as that of a World, the weight of the distress of the great loneliness of mankind; and let this weight make you die of weeping, let it be a torment to you and a nightmare where one howls with horror and madness. And then you will all be hunted and driven into your red heart deep in- side your red heart, into its very heart which is blue and the life of the heart of the World.
But the heart of the World which is the Truth of its Love was so great and so clear that men could not see it.
THE POOL OF GENIUS
Then with the light of his blue eyes which are the blue of the sky and the blue of the sea he pierced himself. And the beams of his eyes gleamed forth from his heart and the heart became transparent. And from this great transparency the light of the eyes fell in infinite drops in each thing, so as to be in each thing its own truth. And the infinite was in everything, there, there, before the eyes of men, in each thing was the infinite, the mirror of truth. The infinite, that pool of light, was there in each atom of the World.
And men learned to have genius, which is to listen to the pool of infinite within them, to this pool within them as well as within each thing. Pool of infinite, white light, center of the World in each thing. Pool of infinite, mirror of light, eye of the world in each thing. Pool of infinite, mirror of the wide- opened eye, which is the center of the heart. Infinite mirror of the eye that contemplates itself.
AND WHICH KNOWS,
genius, sweet odour of the heart that is blue.
THE END OF THE GREAT HORROR
And the great terror of loneliness ceased, the anguish of the captive creature, captive in Creation, in the net, the cage, the agony. The anxiety of the imprisoned being, bound and tied down and not wanting to accept the Creation, not wanting a World to exist, but begging that there be nothing and howling from fear of never, never being able to escape from Creation and curses having been created, wanting and wanting void, but unable to die! This great terror ceased to summon madness in order to escape all this, gentle beneficient madness in order to escape and nevermore hear the howling, the impotent rage, the call from beyond Creation, this call which eats away the blood, the red heart and the red blood of all Creatures.   Ah! this fear of all those created! ghastly strife and hopeless struggle, beneath the inexorable weight of Creation which stands there, surrounding the accursed Creation which is; which one cannot break and cannot escape! Ah! this fear of the creatures! nightmare, remorse of God, say, tell me, have you ever felt its hallucinating breath? Monstrous fear, has it ever touched you with the tip of its destructive wing, with its temp- est of knife-thrusts? Tell me, tell, do you know this great curse of the great terror?
But the terror lasted only as long as a lightning-flash, fleeting mctnory of hinn who cannot die. A creature believes in death, but he who is the cyc in the center of the heart never dies, can ncvcrrnorc die. To him this escape, this rest are ever- more forbidden. He is Life, must be Life until the end, can only escape within, in the depths of his own heart. He must kill death. And the great terror was death that would not die, that would not abdicate nor come to Life. And the great terror is the bridge to immortality. And he who experiences this terror is already no longer a creature. The great terror is the threshold, the last look cast back, the last hesitation and the last leap forward.
And man is conqueror as soon as he feels so heavy the weight of walls. Imprisoned in the vice-grip of walls which ad- vance and press and suffocate, he has but one salvation, but one, in the heart of the world, one which does not break the prison nor escape from prison, but contains it all like a lotus-blossom floating on its pool of light.
And mankind had reached the end of its quest, no longer seeking at the foot of walls of houses nor in dark forests nor in Churches nor in Schools, nor from priests nor from families nor from Nations; no longer seeking in God nor in Satan nor in Virtue nor in Vice nor in Sanctity nor in Sin, nor in the love of mothers nor of wives nor of children, nor in great intelligence of institutions, nor in merchants nor in artists, nor in wealth nor in poverty, nor in laughter nor in weeping.
But in the very center of their heart, in the pool of light which is its knowledge, the eye which knew contemplated its own genius.
And the recovered genius of mankind was the deep truth of things, their infinite heart.
And the only salvation of mankind was that it had genius, the knowledge of the heart.
And the men and women, shining with the beams from their heart, were the perfume of their genius.
And man was fully Life, and Life was fully the new man, in Powerful Revolt and in great desire for life.
THOSE WHO DIED
And he who, though possessing Pride or Avarice or Lechery, or Anger or Envy or Greed or Sloth, did not dare to possess them in great power of fulfillment,
he killed his genius and died.
And he who stifled his desires, instigators of life, killed his genius and died.
And he who wished to do well, killed his genius and died.
And he who was obedient and he who gave orders, they both died.
And he who besought and he who was besought, they both died.
for they killed their genius.
And he who was forgiven and he who forgave, they both died.
And he who was absolved and he who gave absolution, they both died.
And he who was saved and he who saved, they both died.
For they killed their genius.
And he who went before his judges and he who judged, they both died.
And he who went before his teachers and he who taught, they both died.
And he who cast himself down in hommage and he who accepted this hommage,   they both died. For they killed their genius.
And he who worshipped God died.
And he who believed in the Word died.
And he who worshipped Satan died.
And he who loved his parents
And he who loved his children
died.     And he who loved his lands
And the poor in spirit in the kingdom of heaven, died. And those who were in affliction and were comforted, died.
And the meek who inherited the earth, died. And those who did hunger and thirst after Righteousness and were filled, died.
And the merciful who obtained mercy, died.
And the pure in heart who saw God, died.
And the peace-makers who were called the children of God, died.
And those who were persecuted for the sake of Right- eousness and obtained the Kingdom of heaven, died.
For Life is neither Virtue, nor Vice, nor good deeds, nor bad deeds, nor crime, nor punishment, nor damnation, nor salvation, nor God, nor Satan, nor love nor hate of the red hearts of men,
for Life is neither poor in spirit in the kingdom of heaven, nor afflicted and comforted, nor meek in inheritance, nor hungry after Righteousness and then satisfied, nor merciful obtaining mercy, nor pure in heart in God, nor Child of God in peace, nor kingdom of heaven obtained after much persecution.
Life is the Love of the blue heart of the World, which is its Knowledge.
And the Supreme Adolescent of the World reborn, son of Man and son of Woman, Eye of the World in one infinite point of its Heart, said:
Blessed is he who is the center of his heart in only one point of sky so blue and infinite,
for out of the sky so blue streams the light so white Of the World, more vast than the World,
which is the Love of his Ileart, which is his Genius.
Carlo Suares is of a very old Sephardi family that arrived in Spain probably with the Arab conquest. They emigrated during the Inquisition to Tuscany, and settled in Egypt in the 18th century. Expelled from Egypt and dispossessed, he settled in Paris and became a French citizen. He has a diploma in architecture from the Ecole des Beaux-Arts, and he paints a great deal, having in "true Kabbalistic spirit" sought to discover -- and found -- a synthesis of light.~
L'homme et le moi, selon Krishnamurti, Librairie de France, 1928.
La comedie psychologique, Jose Conti, 1932
Quoi Israel, Adyar, 1932.
Krishnamurti, Adyar, 1936.
Lettre aux Juifs, aux Christiens, aux Musulmans, Etre libre, 1937.
Le mythe judeo-christien, d'apres la Genese it les Evangiles.
selon Mathieu et Jean, Cercle du lives, 1950.
L'hyperbole chromatique, Cercle Paul Valery, 1957.
La kabbale des kabbales, Adyar, 1962.
Quelques apprentis sorciers, Etre libre, 1965.
La Bible restituee, Mont-Blanc, 1967
The Cipher of Genesis, Shambala Publications (USA), 1970. Stuart and Watkins (UK).
The Cipher of the Song of Songs, Shambala Publications, 1970. The Passion of Judas, Shambala Publications, 1973.
Les abris mensongers, Editions Robert Laffont, 1973.
(note: UK distribution of Shambala books is by Routledge and Kegan Paul).
Edouard Roditi, also of an old Sephardi family and a collateral descendant of Disraeli, was born in Paris in 1910. Educated at Oxford and Chicago Universities, He now lives in Paris and Tangiers. He works as an interpreter and journalist. He has contributed to Comentary, L'Arche, European Judaism etc. He wrote the first English-language Surrealist manifesto, published in 1929 in The Oxford Outlook
Oscar Wilde. New Directions, 1947.
Poems 1928-1948. New Directions, 1949.
Introduction to As a Man Grows Older (Svevo). New Directions 1949
Dialogues on Art. Secker and Warburg, 1960.
De l'homosexualite, Editions Sedimo, 1962
New Hieroglyphic Tales (prose poems). Kayak Books, 1968.
Magellan of the Pacific. Faber and Faber, 1972.
Collected surrealist texts in verse and prose. Black Sparrow Press.
Poems on Jewish themes. Tree Books.
Collected Short Stories. New Directions.
Introduction to As a Man Grows Older ( Svevo ) New Directions 1949