A Gnostic Poem - The Thunder, Perfect Mind

Given our recent foray into poetry, we share here a Gnostic poem belonging to the Nag Hammadi Library. Its language is striking, so for the time being, we let it speak for itself without commentary, intending to follow up later with reflections. We invite you to contemplate its message.

I was sent forth from the power,
and I have come to those who reflect upon me,
and I have been found among those who seek after me.
Look upon me, you who reflect upon me,
and you hearers, hear me.
You who are waiting for me, take me to yourselves.
And do not banish me from your sight.
And do not make your voice hate me, nor your hearing.
Do not be ignorant of me anywhere or any time. Be on your guard!
Do not be ignorant of me.
For I am the first and the last.
I am the honored one and the scorned one.
I am the whore and the holy one.
I am the wife and the virgin.
I am and the daughter.
I am the members of my mother.
I am the barren one
and many are her sons.
I am she whose wedding is great,
and I have not taken a husband.
I am the midwife and she who does not bear.
I am the solace of my labor pains.
I am the bride and the bridegroom,
and it is my husband who begot me.
I am the mother of my father
and the sister of my husband
and he is my offspring.
I am the slave of him who prepared me.
I am the ruler of my offspring.
But he is the one who begot me before the time on a birthday.
And he is my offspring in (due) time,
and my power is from him.
I am the staff of his power in his youth,
and he is the rod of my old age.
And whatever he wills happens to me.
I am the silence that is incomprehensible
and the idea whose remembrance is frequent.
I am the voice whose sound is manifold
and the word whose appearance is multiple.
I am the utterance of my name.
Why, you who hate me, do you love me,
and hate those who love me?
You who deny me, confess me,
and you who confess me, deny me.
You who tell the truth about me, lie about me,
and you who have lied about me, tell the truth about me.
You who know me, be ignorant of me,
and those who have not known me, let them know me.
For I am knowledge and ignorance.
I am shame and boldness.
I am shameless; I am ashamed.
I am strength and I am fear.
I am war and peace.
Give heed to me.
I am the one who is disgraced and the great one.
Give heed to my poverty and my wealth.
Do not be arrogant to me when I am cast out upon the earth,
and you will find me in those that are to come.
And do not look upon me on the dung-heap
nor go and leave me cast out,
and you will find me in the kingdoms.
And do not look upon me when I am cast out among those who
are disgraced and in the least places,
nor laugh at me.
And do not cast me out among those who are slain in violence.
But I, I am compassionate and I am cruel.
Be on your guard!
Do not hate my obedience
and do not love my self-control.
In my weakness, do not forsake me,
and do not be afraid of my power.
For why do you despise my fear
and curse my pride?
But I am she who exists in all fears
and strength in trembling.
I am she who is weak,
and I am well in a pleasant place.
I am senseless and I am wise.
Why have you hated me in your counsels?
For I shall be silent among those who are silent,
and I shall appear and speak,
Why then have you hated me, you Greeks?
Because I am a barbarian among the barbarians?
For I am the wisdom of the Greeks
and the knowledge of the barbarians.
I am the judgement of the Greeks and of the barbarians.
I am the one whose image is great in Egypt
and the one who has no image among the barbarians.
I am the one who has been hated everywhere
and who has been loved everywhere.
I am the one whom they call Life,
and you have called Death.
I am the one whom they call Law,
and you have called Lawlessness.
I am the one whom you have pursued,
and I am the one whom you have seized.
I am the one whom you have scattered,
and you have gathered me together.
I am the one before whom you have been ashamed,
and you have been shameless to me.
I am she who does not keep festival,
and I am she whose festivals are many.
I, I am godless,
and I am the one whose God is great.
I am the one whom you have reflected upon,
and you have scorned me.
I am unlearned,
and they learn from me.
I am the one that you have despised,
and you reflect upon me.
I am the one whom you have hidden from,
and you appear to me.
But whenever you hide yourselves,
I myself will appear.
For whenever you appear,
I myself will hide from you.
Those who have [...] to it [...] senselessly [...].
Take me [... understanding] from grief.
and take me to yourselves from understanding and grief.
And take me to yourselves from places that are ugly and in ruin,
and rob from those which are good even though in ugliness.
Out of shame, take me to yourselves shamelessly;
and out of shamelessness and shame,
upbraid my members in yourselves.
And come forward to me, you who know me
and you who know my members,
and establish the great ones among the small first creatures.
Come forward to childhood,
and do not despise it because it is small and it is little.
And do not turn away greatnesses in some parts from the smallnesses,
for the smallnesses are known from the greatnesses.
Why do you curse me and honor me?
You have wounded and you have had mercy.
Do not separate me from the first ones whom you have known.
And do not cast anyone out nor turn anyone away
[...] turn you away and [... know] him not.
[...].
What is mine [...].
I know the first ones and those after them know me.
But I am the mind of [...] and the rest of [...].
I am the knowledge of my inquiry,
and the finding of those who seek after me,
and the command of those who ask of me,
and the power of the powers in my knowledge
of the angels, who have been sent at my word,
and of gods in their seasons by my counsel,
and of spirits of every man who exists with me,
and of women who dwell within me.
I am the one who is honored, and who is praised,
and who is despised scornfully.
I am peace,
and war has come because of me.
And I am an alien and a citizen.
I am the substance and the one who has no substance.
Those who are without association with me are ignorant of me,
and those who are in my substance are the ones who know me.
Those who are close to me have been ignorant of me,
and those who are far away from me are the ones who have known me.
On the day when I am close to you, you are far away from me,
and on the day when I am far away from you, I am close to you.
[I am ...] within.
[I am ...] of the natures.
I am [...] of the creation of the spirits.
[...] request of the souls.
I am control and the uncontrollable.
I am the union and the dissolution.
I am the abiding and I am the dissolution.
I am the one below,
and they come up to me.
I am the judgment and the acquittal.
I, I am sinless,
and the root of sin derives from me.
I am lust in (outward) appearance,
and interior self-control exists within me.
I am the hearing which is attainable to everyone
and the speech which cannot be grasped.
I am a mute who does not speak,
and great is my multitude of words.
Hear me in gentleness, and learn of me in roughness.
I am she who cries out,
and I am cast forth upon the face of the earth.
I prepare the bread and my mind within.
I am the knowledge of my name.
I am the one who cries out,
and I listen.
I appear and [...] walk in [...] seal of my [...].
I am [...] the defense [...].
I am the one who is called Truth
and iniquity [...].
You honor me [...] and you whisper against me.
You who are vanquished, judge them (who vanquish you)
before they give judgment against you,
because the judge and partiality exist in you.
If you are condemned by this one, who will acquit you?
Or, if you are acquitted by him, who will be able to detain you?
For what is inside of you is what is outside of you,
and the one who fashions you on the outside
is the one who shaped the inside of you.
And what you see outside of you, you see inside of you;
it is visible and it is your garment.
Hear me, you hearers
and learn of my words, you who know me.
I am the hearing that is attainable to everything;
I am the speech that cannot be grasped.
I am the name of the sound
and the sound of the name.
I am the sign of the letter
and the designation of the division.
And I [...].
(3 lines missing)
[...] light [...].
[...] hearers [...] to you
[...] the great power.
And [...] will not move the name.
[...] to the one who created me.
And I will speak his name.
Look then at his words
and all the writings which have been completed.
Give heed then, you hearers
and you also, the angels and those who have been sent,
and you spirits who have arisen from the dead.
For I am the one who alone exists,
and I have no one who will judge me.
For many are the pleasant forms which exist in numerous sins,
and incontinencies,
and disgraceful passions,
and fleeting pleasures,
which (men) embrace until they become sober
and go up to their resting place.
And they will find me there,
and they will live,
and they will not die again.

-The Thunder, Perfect Mind
(trans. George W. MacRae)

Poetically Man Dwells - Free Readiness to Respond

Heidegger and Hölderlin

Continuing in the spirit of "unity in plurality," here comes yet another perspective on contemplative poetry, building off our previous post on "Cold Mountain" from Tang dynasty China. In order to offer further reflections on poetry and the part it plays on the contemplative path, we leap several centuries forward and a few continents over to the work of twentieth century German philosopher Martin Heidegger.

All the way from Tang dynasty Chinese poetry to twentieth century Germany philosophy? Yes, you read that right. There may be more in common between them than first meets the eye.



While born in Germany, drawn to the Nazi Party (which has raised several concerns among those who study his work) and enamored with German identity, Heidegger engaged directly with "Eastern" thought in the later part of his career after setting politics aside and retreating into a hut in the forest, where his work unfolded onto a path previously uncharted by him.

In his forest hut, Heidegger's thoughts underwent transformations from their previous forms. Shifting into the realm of language and poetry, his later work is known for borrowing the Chinese notions of heaven, earth, mortals, and divinities (天地人神), adapting them into his concept of "the Fourfold" (das Geviert). Heidegger even attempted to translate several verses from the "Tao Te Ching" (Daodejing, 道德經) into German.

With that said, our point in this post is not to address these parallels in detail, but to offer a point of entry into Heidegger's later work. We begin with "Poetically Man Dwells," a tribute by Heidegger to German poet Johann Christian Friedrich Hölderlin from the century prior, a figure affiliated with both German Romanticism and German Idealism. We draw from the 1971 translation by Albert Hofstadter. Both Heidegger and Hölderlin invite us to contemplate: "Poetically Man Dwells."

Poetically Man Dwells

As the title to an essay, "Poetically Man Dwells" is introduced by Heidegger through its source of inspiration.



Poetically man dwells... Dwells in what? And why poetically?

In Lovely Blueness

That Heidegger chooses a poet and his poetry as inspiration is perhaps unusual given his earlier emphasis on "Being" in an arguably abstract sense. Being, for Heidegger, was about the being for whom Being is a question. This went over many heads at his time and continues to raise eyebrows today. Although known primarily for his dense, earlier ontological works, including his foundational treatise on Dasein ("being-there") entitled Being and Time (Sein und Zeit), Heidegger's later work took a turn toward the poetic.

As a brief side note, Heidegger's work has occasionally been criticized as being obscurantist, or intentionally unclear. Such obfuscation is evident in reading much of his early writings in particular. Some wager that Heidegger purposely left his work ambiguous so that readers may continue to question its meaning. Others say he was simply a poor writer. Yet if we consider the potentially purposeful point to the ambiguity, there may be a lesson for us.

In contemplating the meaning, intended or interpreted, of such texts, it does us an immense favor to remain open to the possibilities, examining them from multiple angles and diverse perspectives, rather than fixing on a particular view or perspective. We are invited, perhaps, to keep the horizon open, in lovely blueness.



With that bit of background in mind, we examine the opening of "Poetically Man Dwells."

Free Readiness to Respond

In the very first paragraph, reference is made to the "free readiness to respond," which does not receive much explanation. Yet a few inferences may be drawn.

We find in Heidegger's invocation to not lose the "free readiness to respond" a deeply contemplative turn. We are asked to follow the poem, not in a blindly obedient way, but as a hiker follows a trail, responding freely and readily to its turns. Poetry, or any contemplative undertaking, requires our willingness to walk the path charted by the words, rather than let said words grow stagnant on the page. We enter the poem as participants on the contemplative path it paints.

In exercising the "free readiness to respond," we engage actively with the poem. Instead of being passive recipients of the words, we move with them. In the present case, our gaze is drawn upward, to the blooming steeple.

Blooms the Steeple

The steeple functions as an intriguing image. "In lovely blueness blooms the steeple with metal roof," we are told by Hölderlin's poem. That Heidegger quotes this line directly in the opening to the section "Poetically Man Dwells" tells of its importance to his interpretation.



It blooms, in lovely blueness, sprouting skyward. The poem paints an image of a church standing against the sky, its steeple rising toward heaven.



As a religious image, the steeple connects humanity to the divine, earth to heaven. The uppermost point of a church, it appears to symbolize the point of reception whereby the divine is transmitted, transmuted, transacted, translated into the humane. It is the bridge between worlds.



We could even say the steeple is a contemplative symbol. Yet such an image of the steeple blooming into lovely blueness is suddenly shattered by the next paragraph.

Dwelling is Harassed

In the following passage, which is as far as we will pursue the text for the time being, Heidegger makes a sudden turn. In assessing the reception of poetry, he remarks:



While of course speaking in particular terms to a specific set of conditions, in this case the housing situation in twentieth century Germany, the "housing shortage" Heidegger references hearkens back in some ways to the nomadic trajectory of the mountaineer who remains intentionally without residence, while echoing forward to conditions in much of the industrialized (and non-industrialized) world where housing is no guarantee.

"Dwelling" in Chinese poetry, too, is "to inhabit" (住) as one would a house or other residence. Yet the poet, the cold mountain recluse in ascent, stays not in one place. Rather, he freely moves between points without ever lingering. This is the tension to which Heidegger points with the seemingly contradictory phrase, "poetically man dwells." How can the poet, whose nature is to move freely amidst words, dwell in one place?

On one hand, the poet indeed dwells, although not in the stagnant sense. He dwells through contemplation - inhabiting an inward facing reflection while moving about within it, then shifting freely between associations that arise from it, and translating its import into an outward expression, which he conveys through the poem.

On the other hand, the poet does not dwell, as such above-mentioned dwelling is movement itself. Whether in his inner reflections, their outer manifestations on paper, or through his corporeal trajectory in the intersubjective life-world, the poet's contemplative life is characterized by transience.

For those who do not choose this lifestyle and are nonetheless without housing for whatever reasons, other concerns predominate. How can one maintain a free readiness to respond to the housing shortage we face today? We can't be sure our present housing shortage is exactly what Heidegger had in mind, as he was more likely instead preoccupied with the politics of space, the politics of "being" and the politics of "place," in Germany. Yet the message rings true, albeit perhaps differently interpreted, now as much as then.



Also taking us by surprise, Heidegger then reflects that "dwelling is harassed." How so? Given the context conveyed by the rest of the passage, he appears to be alluding to the competitive labor market, which privileges the productive over the poetic. Dwelling, in both the poetic sense of contemplative reflection as well as the economic sense of inhabiting a residence and paying the associated mortgage or rent, poses a tension.

Perhaps the poet is unhappily doomed, or in some cases happily destined, to homelessness - both on account of society's poor view of poets and artists, who thereby become poor (i.e., the "starving artist") on account of their unemployable skills, and on account of the necessity of willingly freeing oneself from such imposing structures in order to continue one's contemplative craft, uncorrupted by competitive ends. How does one navigate this process?

How can a place be held for such a pursuit? While the Buddha and others could wander freely, many today cannot without facing severe consequences.

There remains much more to unpack in these passages and others. In fact, we've only just scratched the surface, covering but the first page of the section "Poetically Man Dwells" from late Heidegger's larger work Poetry, Language, Thought, but we hope these preliminary reflections suffice for the time being.

As always, we invite your reflections in the comments section. We're eager to hear from you, in the spirit of "free readiness to respond."

An Endless Trail - Ascending Cold Mountain to Sit Amongst White Clouds

Cold Mountain Path

A poem for contemplation:

"Clambering up the Cold Mountain path,
The Cold Mountain trail goes on and on:
The long gorge choked with scree and boulders,
The wide creek, the mist-blurred grass.
The moss is slippery, though there’s been no rain
The pine sings, but there’s no wind.
Who can leap the world’s ties
And sit with me among the white clouds?"
(Trans. Gary Snyder)

Hanshan, c. 700s (C.E.)



This poem by Hanshan (寒山), the "Cold Mountain" poet-recluse of Tang dynasty China whose recorded work spans Daoist and Chan (Zen) Buddhist realms, serves as an analogy of sorts for contemplative practice. Indeed, various traditions throughout history employ the metaphor of the "path" to convey the long and winding road of spiritual cultivation. Perhaps more saliently than anywhere else, such path-based imagery consistently weaves its way into East Asian literature and poetry.

Given the migratory nature and often uncertain trajectory of peoples of the past (and many of the present as well), the "path" came to symbolize the profound transformations undergone while in the constant process of going in nomadic transience. Such imagery of the nomad became especially prominent on the Silk Road, where cultures interfaced and contemplatives exchanged insights.

In Hanshan's poem, such traversal of the contemplative path is given a rugged depiction. The imagery of the first line — “clambering up the Cold Mountain path” — already tells of the path's arduous incline. Taking his pen-name from this very mountain, Hanshan ("Cold Mountain") clambers upward, using both hands and feet, perhaps mis-grasping or mis-stepping at several points, stumbling along the way while climbing the mountain's face.



Immediately, the reader can sense the challenge faced by the mountain-climber, whose journey is both literally and figuratively uphill. If undertaken sincerely, the contemplative path is initially an uphill journey, requiring strength in perseverance and stamina in order to progress and ascend. Obstacles fall upon us like rocks in an avalanche. Rather than completely smooth sailing, such mountaineering is often a bumpy ride replete with injury, leaving the aspirant with the feeling of “clambering up” a desolate, barren “Cold Mountain path.”

Endless Trail

Traversing the contemplative path is no easy feat. Adding to these challenges, the second line of Hanshan's poem suggests that the trail is limitless, reflecting how the contemplative path is without end, infinitely extending into the horizon. One question immediately arises, namely: How can a finite being ever reach the top of the mountain if the trail is infinite? Perhaps the poet may have a similar question at the beginning of his spiritual path. On an endless trail, is there any hope? Can one ever reach the top?

Perhaps the endless trail signifies that the path continuously unfolds without final destination. Attaching to a fixed end point is fruitless. Things don't always go according to plan. That doesn't make plans useless. Rather, one can make plans yet hold them lightly, adjusting for detours.



Perhaps the trail is so extensive that it contains no constrictions imposed by an ego whose tendency is to chart its progress, taking pride in its successes and shame in its failures. Both are equally part of the path yet without inherent substance. Bad day? Keep going. Good day? Keep going. While ascending the mountain, don't be fooled or blown about by these "worldly winds."

The trail may further symbolize humanity's unbounded nature, suggesting vastness of potential. Caution ahead: Rather than mistaking such an unbounded nature as inherently "me," such vastness hints at a dissolution of "self"-imposed boundaries. Tread carefully along this bend, a precariously perched pathway where the risk of falling is especially high. Medicinally, "not-self" (non-identification) opens new ways of navigating experienced reality. If we identify with our successes or failures, we risk getting tripped up on the ascent. If we realize that there is no ego-identity or separate self that exists apart from others and the world, nothing is perceived as an obstacle on the path.

Choked With Weeds

As the poem and path wear on, we find ourselves immersed in vivid references to nature. Take the middle lines, “The long gorge choked with scree and boulders... The wide creek, the mist-blurred grass. The moss is slippery, though there’s been no rain... The pine sings, but there’s no wind.”

When Hanshan describes the long gorge as being “choked with scree and boulders,” we are reminded of a poem by Tao Yuanming, another contemplative poet of China.

Similar to Hanshan yet referencing another sort of landscape, Tao Yuanming reflects, “My fields and gardens are choked with weeds,” perhaps suggesting that spiritual cultivation has long been neglected. Hanshan, however, references “scree and boulders,” painting an even more desolate, desert landscape. If there ever was a garden in its place, all life is now long-gone, leaving only barren wasteland in its wake.



Such barrenness reflects the cultivator's struggle in starting at ground zero, having absolutely no experience, not even the tiniest of seedlings to nurture. As any beginning gardener may reflect, there is immense difficulty in nourishing sprouts to maturity without the proper conditions.

In our own small-scale farming experience, during a period of absence, the farm where we had previously seen plants flourish and bear fruits instead fell into complete disarray, choked with its own form of “scree.” It took many weeks of labor to nurse it back to life.

Such imagery perhaps allows one to empathize with the cultivator who encounters “The long gorge choked with scree and boulders.”

Despite No Rain

The next lines lend a sense of hope and inspiration. Hanshan keenly observes, “The wide creek, the mist-blurred grass/ The moss is slippery, though there’s been no rain.” Suddenly, the landscape is enlivened.



When the path is abandoned, all that was previously cultivated wilts through neglect. Under drought, the creek narrows, grass grows jagged and loses its color, while moss dries out. The mountain trail grows stark and barren.

Yet here Hanshan characterizes the creek as wide, the grass as mist-blurred, and the moss as slippery. All seems just as alive as ever.



All of this, despite no rain. Relative to the beginning of the poem, which described a desolate mountainside, here a contrast is apparent.

Typically, when the land's resources are sapped, such beauty and potential appears to fade. When conditions degrade, it seems there's no hope. Yet if one acts soon enough, vitality may be recovered. The potential remains alive, only dormant.



Alternating between hope and fear, the line “The pine sings, but there’s no wind” reads as an eerie reference. If there is no wind blowing through it, then how does the pine sing? Where is the voice coming from? Perhaps this line functions as a sort of huatou, like the question, “Who recites the Buddha’s name?” or “Who drags this corpse around?” The contrast between “The pine sings” and “but there’s no wind” helps shake us free of dualistic thinking, thus preparing us for the final lines.

Amongst White Clouds

The concluding lines of this poem strike us the strongest. They feature in the opening scene to the film “Amongst White Clouds” documenting the contemplative paths undertaken by the Zhongnan Mountain hermits of China. Such lines convey the search for freedom from bondage by embarking upon the contemplative path.



In asking, “Who can leap the world’s ties/ And sit with me among the white clouds?” the poet invites his readers to contemplate if they are willing to undertake the arduous journey described in the earlier lines of the poem for the sake of ultimate liberation.



Despite all the toil it takes to ascend the mountain, despite the arduous nature of the path, despite the risk, the effort is worth it.



To have the company of a companion in the process allows for a collaborative journey that culminates in sitting together amongst white clouds. Such a collaborative undertaking makes the path easier to walk, the mountain easier to climb. Indeed, this is why we join together in community to support each other on the path. "Who can transcend this tiresome world...and sit with me amongst white clouds?"