Mutate, Page 2

     lifted out of context from
          LEAVES OF GRASS * (by Walt Whitman)

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Something there is in the float of the sight of things that
     provokes it out of the soul.
The efflux of the soul flows unto us, we are rightly charged.
Here rises the fluid and attaching character,
     divine   enveloped
     divine   beautiful
To launch off with absolute faith, to sweep through the
     ceaseless rings and never be quiet again.
Encircling all, vast-darting up and wide,
O to realize space!
You occult deep volitions

But more in you than these, lands of the Western Shore,
(These but the means, the implements, the standing-ground,)

I swear I begin to see love with sweeter spasms than that
     which responds love,
All merges toward the presentation of the unspoken meanings
     of the earth
  the soul is also real, it too is positive and direct,
Undeniable growth has establish'd it.
For it the mystic evolution,
Electric, antiseptic, yet cleaving, suffusing all.
Is it a dream?
Nay but the lack of it the dream

Gliding o'er all, through all,
Lost in the loving floating ocean of thee,
I reject none, accept all, then reproduce all in my own forms

If you would be freer than all that has been before, come listen.
Ages, precedents, have long been accumulating undirected materials
Growth growing from him to offset the growths of pine ...
     off him pasturage sweet.
Are you done with reviews and criticisms of life?
     Animating now to life itself?

 

San Francisco
Spring-Summer
1967

* The entire Leaves of Grass is on the web. I haven't found the particular edition with the preliminary words used in this lifting. Here is a good discussion of Whitman as mystic.

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