A Problem of Making Connections


Line Drawing of a Box.  Which of the two views on the right is correct?  See commentary in next post.

Line Drawing of a Box. Which of the two views  is correct?










One had a lovely face,
And two or three had charm,
But charm and face were in vain
Because the mountain grass
Cannot but keep the form
Where the mountain hare has lain.


Here’s my problem:

I included Yeats’s “Memory” in a recent post because I saw it connected to several things that had come up in other postings, things as separate as the question of time and timelessness and a poem by William Carlos Williams.  I see the Yeats poem connected with how things fit together in the universe, connected to  the zero-point field that physicists spend a lot of their time reflecting on.  In the Yeats poem, the grass retains the impression where the hare has lain.  That remains.   The impression is what endures. So I wrote that up rather quickly and cleverly I thought, and then Ruth, my wife,  didn’t get it at all, and she gets upset because she wants to be supportive.   I’m thinking, What the hell?  Why isn’t this perfectly obvious?

Physics and the Ground of Being

Then as I was writing this reflection a connection popped up from a couple of autumns ago when  I went up to Pinecrest in the Sierras with my son-in-law.  Dave and I were up there and we’re sitting around the campfire, and I’m starting to tell him about my philosophy, and then I get into this particle-physics, eternal time, aspect of it.  He says, “Well, that’s physics.”  I said, “Yes, Dave, that’s physics, but that’s where it’s at.  It’s not something out there with some scientist.  It’s the basic ground of being we’re talking about.  That’s physics. ”

A Box Is Not Only a Box

So the issue for  people who haven’t  thought about it very much is that what they see is what they get.  A box is a box.  They don’t realize that that very box they’ve just looked at  is an impression they took of that bit of the universe.  It’s no longer “out there,” but what their sensorium has allowed their bodies to carry away from “out there,” a residual impression gleaned from the nerve endings that has permanently modified their world picture.  If they don’t reflect on it, though, they probably don’t “get” it.  I’ve given myself the job of constructing this site so that they do get it.

Both Worlds Simultaneously

In the classes, it was easy.  We’d do something together, maybe look at a Bruegel painting  or a Zen koan and we’d play with them.

Bruegel, Children's Games

Bruegel, Children’s Games

What happens is that your mind goes back and forth.  Over here is the physical world, and then here’s what it really is.  If you’re alert, you go back and forth.  What Frost toyed with is, Can I get both of those simultaneously?  Can I be in eternal time as well as in sequential time?

In my classes, it was easy to draw on the chalkboard a  box that you can see in more than one way. One way, its base is here, but blink again, it’s over there.  Then, we might read “Memory” and I might say, “Oh, this is just like that box up there. The poem is all about the box.”  We’d mess around making connections and pretty soon it would start to click.  That’s fun, but what’s really great is when someone would say,  “Oh, yeah, that’s like what Salinger’s Teddy said:  ‘My little sister was drinking milk, and I saw she was pouring God into God.’” So  then you have the illusion, which we call reality, and the non-conscious that  it’s a manifestation of.  And so on, all these connections lying around all over the place and all you have to do is pick them up.

So, any ideas of how I can set up this website so that you’ll be making all sorts of connections?  That’s really what this website is all about. How do I get you to apply any of these ideas to your daily life?  After all, sure, you have your morning cereal but how to get you to have the experience of having it, a change of awareness of what you’re doing while you’re doing it?

One sure way it do is to write out your reflections.  And as I described in earlier posts, you can hold steady to your cereal by noticing surface features.  Write what you notice, notice what you’re noticing, notice what that reminds you of.  You don’t really need more guidance than that.  Your Self will take over, and it will feel like you’re taking dictation.  When that happens you will feel like your time has been well spent.

For me reflective writing  illuminates things so rapidly you can’t believe it.  It’s a wonderful tool.  If you try it out, it will  work for you, too.  In the classes I could make reflective writing a recommendation, a suggestion – not a requirement, because it really is their choice to do this.  If they had to do it, it would be just another composition exercise.  But sometimes some would start out acting like they had to and then would find themselves doing it productively and liking the process.

You might recall a connection, for example, with the idea that you are the place where creation works on itself. That was from a poem by Tomas Tranströmer   I quoted in an earlier post.  It means we are all working out, in our own way, a picture of our Self that we would like to match up with what’s going on within.  We’re trying to get it right.

A World Too Full to Think About

Chalk in Hands

Sidewalk Artist

One way to say it is that through our reflections, through reflective writing, we get in tune with the clock with no hands. I’ve tried to set up posts to be like experiences that require you to tune in.  In my classes, we used to mess around with some activity or other, maybe chalk drawings on the walkway outside our classroom, and we’d be on our knees absorbed in our drawings and we’d fall into that realm of timelessness.   Enough of such experiences, and they begin to catch on, like riding a bike. Reflective writing gets you into that mode quite quickly.  You know when it happens; some inner voice begins to speak, uncensored, free to say whatever it damned well feels like.   I’d like to be able to pull that off with you here.  Maybe  some genius reader will give me some tips!

Rites of Passage — Reflective Writing

Anyway, if you see some little girl drinking her milk and you realize she is pouring God into God, you’ll know you’ve tuned into the eternal world.  Lots of societies have rites of passage to trigger that awareness.  If you’re up for it, reflective writing could do it for you, too.  At the very least, it’s refreshing.


Pouring God into God, a la Salinger’s Teddy




One afternoon I picked a spear-shaped bud along the lagoon path.  Look what happened overnight.





will you

think up


More Zen Days in the Realms of Gold

The Way It Goes

There’s a story of a concert master who is fed up with the orchestra and becomes an itinerant musician. In his travels he comes upon an old man sitting in the sun outside his hut and asks if he can rest there a while. After he has rested and drunk from the old man’s well, he feels like playing his violin.  When he finishes, the old man sits quietly and then says, “That is true.”  That’s the way it goes.

That’s the Way it goes
            You are minding your own business
            and along come two tramps at mud time
            or you catch a little silver trout
            and it leads you to Rapunzel
            or up the Amazon to Grovers Corners –
            where you were in the first place.

Get it? Just another way of describing what it’s like to take a slow walk – when you’re not going anywhere and don’t give a damn whether there’s a there there or not. One step   And two   And three – like that. Definitely no Depak Chopra involved.





That’s your Self
strolling along,
at it again,
late for school —
as usual.

Green Fire: Intimations of Higgs Boson


Higgs boson

Higgs boson

How does the universe create a rock out of sunlight?








You know those holograms you can stick your hand into, those laser projections you see at those science exhibits that I mentioned in an earlier post?  What if you could flesh out holograms and make them “physical,” like your toaster?   That’s sort of what nature (the cosmos, your Self) is doing way down inside your atoms, somehow or other turning an electronic light show into flesh and blood.  How about that!?   What a magic act!

If that doesn’t blow your mind, you could reflect on one atom in the nail of your little finger. What’s going on in that package of stuff you call your body?  I recommend you  write down your reflections.  That usually turns the trick.

But if your view is still kind of ordinary, here’s handful of intimations to reflect on.  You’ll have to give each one a chance to blossom.

And then try to connect them to each other and make a nice package.

And then, to make it better and better, reflect on the intimations of other postings here in the Realms of Gold.

Have a nice day.  A nice life?

  • In the San Francisco Chronicle the other day I noticed a documentary is coming out, “A Fierce Green Fire: The Battle for a Living Planet.”  The title came from Aldo Leopold who became an environmentalist after killing a wolf and seeing in her eyes a fierce green fire.  I made a little poem out of that:


In the dying
wolf’s eyes,
a fierce
green fire.

  • First Connection:

Immediately some lines in a song, “Guantanamera,” that Pete Seeger sings – a poem by  the Cuban poet  Jose Marti, who died in the revolution – popped into my conscious mind :

Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma
Mi verso es de un verde claro
Y de un carmin encendido

Before dying I want to share these poems of my soul
My verses are light green
But they are also crimson red

We’re talking fire here, GREEN fire, CRIMSON fire.  Atomic fire.  Something visible in those eyes, something in that poet’s soul.

  •  Next connection:

And right away, Dylan Thomas:

 The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age . . .

The force that drives the water through the rocks
Drives my red blood . . .

How can I not connect those lines, lines that have been stored in my mind, body, Self, soul, for decades? What force would that be, Mr. Thomas?  The force that makes toasters?

  •  Next Connection:

Tumbling into my consciousness – of course! – Gerard Manly Hopkins’ “The Windhover” that I put into my  February 15 post.   In fact, I just now looked it over and that entire post fits gorgeously with this one.

 AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!
[Hopkins addresses this entire poem to Christ.]
. . . and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion.

Gold vermillion, my, my, my!

  • Last – for now – Connection

This one’s from William Blake, whom I’ve quoted in other posts.

Being alive is a matter of making connections.  And when we’re alive, like that  wolf with the fierce green fire in her eyes, what greater joy is there?


TIGER, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies           
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?     
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp     
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water’d heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?    

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

        Particle Physics

All of the above is about particle physics, the force within the atom of your little finger’s nail.

The Zen of Remembering

As Good as Necessary

        Get Your A Book                                       Keys at Door

To remember well enough to get through your classes with high grades or to remember what you need at the store or to turn out the lights when you get ready for bed, you don’t have to be a memory whiz.  You don’t have to be a Matteo Ricci (1552 – 1610) – who developed mnemonics into a fine art and was fantastic at it – to get as good at remembering as you need to.

Most the tips I offered in the 1996 edition of Get Your  A Out of College I’ve used sometime or other, but I apply them only when I must.  I got pretty good at it when I was offering a college skills class and didn’t want to embarrass myself.  Generally, I try to fix it so that I don’t have to.

But for several years I memorized the first and last names of the students in my classes during one one-hour session.  And all the students did, too!  I did it as an experiment, and I was the last person to name everyone.  After a couple of times my hands quit sweating.  That was great for the semester, maybe even six months or so afterwards, but of my 20,000 students I remember the names of only a handful – who found their way into my long-term memory because their imprint was stronger –  and without conscious effort on my part.

I hope it’s becoming clear that you can remember as much as you want to or need to.

Generally,  I find ways to avoid all that effort.  So I add and item  to the grocery list on the refrigerator at the time I think of it.  If I don’t, short-term memory will erase it the minute I think of something else.  That’s just how the brain is designed.  So I go along with how our brains work.  If I’m out somewhere and don’t have some way to write down something important, then I’ll probably use a memory device – then and there – otherwise, poof!, it will be gone.  If I’ve been forgetting my cap or my reading glasses or my folder all over Alameda, I put my name and phone number on them–in BIG print. You can lay the car keys at the door you go out or  attach them to an over-sized key ring that’s impossible to miss.  And so on.

Assume your memory is rotten.  Then you can apply strategies to compensate.

Keys on LeashGo Along With How Your Brain Works

I tell my wife that I don’t have a good memory.  I do know lots of memory strategies, though.  I do know those.  Even without thinking of them for a long time, I can retrieve them. And I never even tried.  Working with them and getting the feel of them took care of it. (Taking rubbings.  See my 3/2/13 post.)  If you grew up with siblings, you don’t have to memorize them. You absorbed them, Bud and Sis and Joe; they are all over your organism.  You don’t have to memorize how to ride a bike. Whatever you do becomes part of you.  “There was a child went forth . . .”

The Zen way of remembering: Fall IN it, like falling IN love.

Oh, yes, and you can throw in the lines from Yeats’ “Memory .” (See my 3/2/13 post):



. . .  the mountain grass [you]
Cannot but keep the form
Where the mountain hare has lain.

Books About the Realms of Gold

Clark's BooksAll Things Are Connected


Let us not look back in anger,

nor forward in fear,

but around us in awareness.”
― James Thurber

That all things are connected  is pretty obvious if you think about it a little.   Your intelligence, for example, isn’t set off all by itself in the cosmos; it’s an aspect of the whole thing, completely interwoven with the whole thing. There is a life force flowing through the cosmos.  Step back and you will see that the cosmos is itself that force — what’s more, you yourself are that force.  All things are connected.   If you think, that’s the cosmos thinking.  Realms of Gold: Excursions in the Sea of Intelligence is designed to explore how all this fits together.

Looking back, it’s easy to see  my books, written over several decades,  were times-out for a look at all this wonderful interconnectedness  that’s so often taken for granted.  If you look at the descriptions below of some of them, you’ll see they were pointed to this present look around.   The Sea of Intelligence is on one thing going on, and we humans are an aspect of it.  This website, Excursions in the Sea of Intelligence, will make that clear. Realms of Gold is about why it matters.

  • Montage, Investigations in Language, which I wrote with William Sparke decades ago, was an interactive book long before the internet. It is full of quotes and stories, and poems and essays and puzzles and photos and science and math and music and grass and sky and air and God knows what. It was designed to engage the mind in thinking about how the world works and how a human being works. If there were any bored readers, I never encountered them.

Montage is all about language too, of course, and how language can imprison the spirit or free it. You can’t read Montage without realizing that prison or the open road is our own choice, to see or to perish, as Chardin rightly said.

  • Image, Reflections on Language traces the emergence of selfhood from before conception to after death. Who were you before your mother conceived you? In the beginning was the Word. What are some productive ways to think about that? How can a spiritual being live in a world of settled ideas? It’s the job of every one of us to disturb settled ideas. How can I take out life insurance without injuring my soul? Where do I live? Is it possible to live where I live? How much of my day is spent on what has happened; how much on what’s up ahead? What’s left?

Image, Reflections on Language does not solicit answers; it simply holds the door open. Reflection on such things enriches our lives, and we don’t care if school keeps or not.

  • Thinking About Thinking sets up explorations into our own minds, using the mind to think about the mind. How does thinking actually work; what is the physics of it, the chemistry, the coding and decoding? Where does metaphor fit in, logic, love? What about the genetic code?

Thinking About Thinking isn’t a how-to book. It’s a playground for messing around with ideas: Whatever you say a thing is, it isn’t. What are some ways to look at that as being true? Whatever you say a thing is, it is. How about some ways that that’s true, too. Can something be true even if it didn’t happen? What are some perspectives from which that idea makes sense? We think by feeling? We feel by thinking? Make both of them true.


If you aren’t smiling, are you really thinking?


There’s so much gained and so much lost in words, in the Word. And there is always Why bother in the first place? Can’t we just memorize the rule book and avoid the pain of figuring things out on our own?

The point of these explorations is not to get answers, which after all are only placebos, but to get a good look at this infinitely large and infinitely small universe. Wonder isn’t an answer. It’s an experience.

  • Teaching Human Beings: The Role of Language in Education is about a way to involve students in this journey no matter what discipline is being investigated. If you are looking at a clump of grass in a biology class or examining the periodic chart in chemistry or the subatomic field in physics or Ode to Joy in music, it’s always about getting a clearer picture of one’s own world, not merely about storing masses of information in the left-hemisphere of the brain. Ask Walt Whitman or Richard Feynman. It’s also about the feeling of wonder that sometimes comes over us on a bus in San Francisco.

Bon Voyage.

Taking Rubbings in the Realms of Gold


Pouring God into God a la J. D. Salinger


Between Two Infinities

All day long

the Self

takes imprints

from the cosmos




deepest roots.

The Warm Cushion of Your Brain

If the poem below doesn’t make sense right off the bat, you could use it like a saloon puzzle to practice on, like the one in my 11/7/12  post.  The payoff is that tingly sensation that comes over you as you begin to”get” it and the burst of pleasure when you do.   It took me a little while to catch on, but when I did, all sorts of realizations came popping out.  I’m still discovering connections that make me smile, and with a little attention, are astonishing.  I can guarantee you one thing: This poem is as wonderful as you are willing to let it be.

First, look at the poem and see if it makes sense to you.


One had a lovely face,

And two or three had charm,
But charm and face were in vain
Because the mountain grass
Cannot but keep the form
Where the mountain hare has lain.

– William Butler Yeats (1865 – 1939)

If the poem makes “sense”, you’re on your way to the Realms of Gold.

If it doesn’t make sense, mess around a while using the surface-features approach [5/29/12], noticing anything that’s there on the surface. Slow-walk it, too. [1/15/13]; let the images wash over your senses.

Or Try Some Connections. 

Where is all the stuff from outside that got past your skin stored up? After all, you’ve accumulated an infinite pile of it, haven’t you?  So where, actually,  do you store her lovely face?  What’s left of their charm when they  have  gone away?  Did you save it up inside yourself somehow?

Generally by the time you are real most of your hair has been rubbed off and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints.  But these things don’t matter at all because once you are real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.

                                                                –Margery Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit

Or Think About Gravestone Rubbings.

And then have another look at the poem.   If you’d like to take home the actual lettering on some early ancestor’s gravestone, for example, you can make a rubbing.  I did that one summer  in Unity Cemetery just out from Latrobe, Pennsylvania,  where some of my forebears – Hannas, Steeles, Niccolls  –  are buried,  going way back to the late 1770s. (Fred Rogers of Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood is entombed there, too.)

Rubbing 1

What you do is get a big piece of newsprint, lay it over the gravestone, and rub over it with a charcoal pencil or an oil pastel or chalk – whatever’s handy – like what I did with a silver dollar pictured here.  (That silver dollar  “coincidentally” is dated the year Mary Steiner– my wife Ruth’s mother, who married Joseph Luttner – was born.  Just think, a bit of the physical world in 1886 found its way into my hands and onto this posting and now on to you.)

What your Self is up to, as the day goes on, is taking impressions from of whatever it touches,

and then adding all those to everything that it’s ever encountered,

Like Making Rubbings Off Grave Markers.

There was a child went forth every day,

And the first object he looked upon, that object he became,

And that object became part of him for the day or a certain part of the day,

Or many years and stretching cycles of years.

The early morning lilacs became part of this child,

And the grass and white and red morning glories, and white and red clover, and the song of the phoebe-bird.

– Walt Whitman

You’re busy all day making rubbings off your encounter with wind and rubies.

The little kid sitting on a wall

in Carmel

eating ice cream

leaves an impression

on the warm cushion

of your brain.

It’s that that stays. 

The Zero Point Field

That may sound poetic, but it’s also a description of how particle physics works. I’m talking about what’s down inside your atoms.  Memory (our word for it) finds its way down that far into the warp and woof of things.  Go far enough and our artificial dictionary distinctions between physical and spiritual dissolve.

Your constant capturing of rubbings off the world you move around in – of which you are a part and which is a part of you  – is more like making holograms, those clever projections that physicists have figured out how to create.  Most of us have seen those 3-D  laser projections at science fairs or in the mall that you can walk around and see from all angles and even put your hand into.

Physically, that’s pretty much what your body (a big transceiver like the  satellite dish on your roof ) does.  By way of the sensors all over your body, inside and out, your Self is absorbing the pretty face and the charm in a permanent vessel that can never forget.  If you cut off a bit of the hologram film and run the laser bean through it, it works just as well.  Every little bit is the whole.  What a memory device! That device is you.

Hold to the now, the here, through which a ll future plunges into the past.
– James Joyce, Ulysses

And, what a bonus!, all that went on  before you started walking around the planet is in your DNA, your genetic memory — where all your forebears are and everything thing else too.  Or as Wordsworth put it, “Trailing clouds of glory do we come, from God which is our home.”

Yeats understood this completely. If you “get” his poem “Memory”, you will get it on your senses. You will take a rubbing.  Then you understand particle physics — yes, you do! — and the Zero Point Field – a sea of microscopic vibrations in the space between things

where the little girl is eating her ice cream.


One had a lovely face,

And two or three had charm,
But charm and face were in vain
Because the mountain grass
Cannot but keep the form
Where the mountain hare has lain.

So, if you really want to remember something for some artificial thing like a school quiz, take a rubbing. Your self will remember.

What’s it all about? 

Well, you have your work cut out for you:

Task: to be where I am.

Even when I’m in this solemn and absurd

role: I am still the place

where creation works on itself.

— “Guard Duty – Tomas Tranströmer


The Realms of Gold Saloon

Not Found in Headlines

It is difficult

            to get the news from poems

                           yet men die miserably every day

                                                          for lack

of what is found there.

                            — William Carlos Williams, from “Asphodel, That Greeny Flower”











If you are looking at this website instead of today’s headlines, odds are you’ve caught a glimpse of what lies beyond the headlines and would like another glimpse.  Some people, people like Rumi and William Blake and Emily Dickinson, live in the realms of gold all the time. Here’s a poem Emily Dickinson wrote describing her experience there.  If you don’t see the gold right away, try the surface-features approach a while (described in my posts of 2/12/13, 2/4/13 and 5/29/12) .  That should ramp up the lighting.

I taste a liquor never brewed

I taste a liquor never brewed —
From Tankards scooped in Pearl —
Not all the Vats upon the Rhine
Yield such an Alcohol!

Inebriate of Air — am I —
And Debauchee of Dew —
Reeling — thro endless summer days —
From inns of Molten Blue —

When “Landlords” turn the drunken Bee
Out of the Foxglove’s door —
When Butterflies — renounce their “drams” —
I shall but drink the more!

Till Seraphs swing their snowy Hats —
And Saints — to windows run —
To see the little Tippler
Leaning against the — Sun —

The Transparent Door to the Realms of Gold.

The Door Between the Worlds

If the doors of perception were cleansed, every thing would appear as it is, infinite.

— William Blake

070_grass_Grass yosemite_valley_1944











There is a door between ordinary reality and glazed reality.   It is more than likely that you yourself have come to such a door.

It’s a choice we make.

Here’s what a handful of people who have passed through it have said:

  • It’s the door Mark Bittner (The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill) passes through one early morning  in the parking lot at Coit Tower above Telegraph Hill.

“The sky was deeper than I’d ever seen it and my vision was astonishingly acute.  As I stood there, I felt a great turning, and the entire material plane seemed on the verge of dissolving”

  • It’s the door that opens when William Butler Yeats drops a berry in a stream and catches a silver trout that becomes a shimmering girl. (“The Song of Wandering Aengus”)

“One has a vision; one would like another.”

  • It opens one afternoon for Sidney Field watching a hawk circling high above the Hollywood hills

“All at once the wondrous joy seized my heart.  It had returned!  I was ecstatic.” ( The Reluctant Messiah)

  • It opens for  William Blake, who lives in eternity’s sunrise.
    • He who binds to himself a joy
      Doth the winged life destroy.
      He who kisses the joy as it flies,
      Lives in eternity’s sunrise.
  • Walt Whitman passes through it and sings the body electric and knows of nothing but miracles.
  • It opens and Jane Goodall gets blown away by organ music, a Bach fugue (Toccata and Fugue in D Minor),  reverberating in the soaring vaults of Notre Dame Cathedral.

“That moment, a suddenly captured moment of eternity, was perhaps the closest I have ever come to experiencing ecstasy, the ecstasy of the mystic.”

  • Here is how Ansel Adams describes the moment when he passes through it while climbing one crystal morning in 1923 along a ridge in Yosemite and becomes God’s stenographer.

 I was climbing the long ridge west of Mount Clark.  It was one of those mornings where the sunlight is burnished with a keen wind and long feathers of cloud move in a lofty sky.  The silver light turned every blade of grass and every particle of sand into a luminous metallic splendor; there was nothing, however small, that did not clash in the bright wind, that did not send arrows of light through the glassy air. I was suddenly arrested in the long crunching path up the ridge by an exceedingly pointed awareness of the light.  The moment I paused the full impact of the mood was upon me; I saw more clearly than I have ever seen before or since the minute detail of the grasses … the small flotsam of the forest, the motion of the high clouds streaming above the peaks. … I dreamed that for a moment time stood quietly, and the vision became but the shadow of an infinitely greater world – and I had within the grasp of consciousness a transcendental experience. — (Ansel Adams – in His Own Words, quoted in Ansel Adams, A Documentary,  American Experience, PBS, 2002)

  •     That’s the door through which Jacob Boehme passes and  sees all heaven in sunlight reflected off a pewter bowl.

Eugene O’Neill encounters and passes through it sailing  on a tramp steamer to Argentina, when he has “a  single moment of complete clarity – without a sense of past or future. “

The feel of the facts:

The Poem of Creation

“If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can warm me I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry. These are the only way I know it. Is there any other way?”

— Emily Dickinson

Perhaps God wasn’t trying

to intimidate


but was simply  showing


His unfiltered 


The Website That Thought It Was Going to Be a Book

Clark  12 18 11There’s More to Anything

Realms of Gold started as book, but it has a mind of its own and now it wants to be a website.  So I have to segue into this mode.  To give you the feel of it,  here’s the preface of  the manuscript that thought it was going to be a book.


  • I’ll be posting entries several times a week, not too much at a time, maybe  700 to a thousand words at a time.

This preface of the ms that thought it was going to be a book is in the form of a poem because I was using language with more intensity than we  commonly run into every day.

 These posts  will look like prose, usually, but there’s more to anything when you think about it, and when you do, you’ve turned it into a poem.

It’s like this: On your way to the post office, you may see what appear to be people going about their lives.  But sometimes everywhere you look are  bunched up bundles of starlight.  The people are the illusion, albeit a very convincing one, as Einstein put it.  The bundles of starlight are what’s really going on.  We do need to go to the post office.  We do need to see people, but our spirits demand that we also see bundles of starlight.  So that’s what I’ll be working on in Realms of Gold:

The spine of this website is

the integration of logic and metaphor,

the integration of the language of science
with the mytho-poetic way
of talking about that-which-is –
pulsating frequencies
in the quantum field
with fields of daffodils.