Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg (43 page)

Will write you about this, but also I have not written more since I have been sick in bed New Years Eve, out of work four days too, every night home with fevers writing in journal, burning out self pity if can, new kind of boylove, making it not unsuccess, poems too.

I read carefully your new letter. I will write of doctrine in a day. I will send certain thoughts for your consideration, relating to stopping machinery of mind. I will be serious. I will read. One day more.

Letters from Bill in Tangiers. I enclose some of his writings. Return them to me immediately. Please. I want you should see. A short story about his finger, and a chapter CHAPTER I of his great new book now formulated begun Bill in Tangiers. Send them back. Reading
Visions of Neal
. That Duncan wrote his poem several years ago, his own ideas, not quite like yours. I steal from you, he doesn't. Bill mentioned you mentioned.
¹⁰⁴
Another magazine connected with great Ford Foundation sponsored radio station, called
Folio
near here in Berkeley. Gerd Stern a publicity manager for station KPFA, called me asked for something of ours, may I give him a few sketches or a section from
Visions
? Say yes, I will use discretion.

Tentatively I will use a piece of
Visions of Neal
for Crazy Lights, as per your suggestion, unless I change mind, will inform you. I also enclose Power of Attorney form, I found it, see I'm honest, take it back, but don't destroy it, you never can tell, if you go desert and I'm left send it back, if you die, or something, will it to me, I'll guard your remains. I'll write. Thank you for asking I write, I always wanted to be asked, nothing gives me bigger thrill, like if Neal asked you (begged you) to write and wrote you big letters.

Love

Allen

 

Is Carl Solomon free still? Not out here, not arrived.

Don't think I don't realize how great sketch by sketch and sentence by sentence
Visions of Neal
is. It's late for me to say it but I see how much better you are than I. Lonely eminence. Well maybe I'll create someday—but such suffering—I think of myself.

Neal now is not going to NYC but to Mexico fast and back. He's still working on S.P.

 

 

Allen Ginsberg [San Francisco, California] to
Jack Kerouac [n.p., New York, New York?]

Friday Jan 14, 1955

 

Dear Jack:

Just returned from the library carrying Goddard's handbook (Golden Path), 1954 Philo Lib
Buddhist Texts
, thick book varied selections, and 2 vols (II and III) Rhys David's
Dialogues of Buddha
. I'll read in these for awhile, first.

Reread your letter: keep writing. Since unfamiliar with the vocabulary difficult to follow actual thoughts. I'll familiarize myself with the titles and states soon, though, that may make communication easier for you, for me.

I have no, or few, doubts that you have conceived and touched (by means of mental, physical sensation) the basic single truth. This touch I distinguish from a general or even sharp idea, symbol in mind, or literary vision (emotional poetic passionate world ken) in that this touch is touch on another totally unknown sphere of let us say “inhuman” sensation, which I will call henceforth (the unknown or unknowable, outside conception of poetry or imagination and also outside possibility of representation by ideas). So I begin with a basic X which is “unspeakable,” “unknowable” and “unthinkable.” Believe this X can however be experienced. I image it can also be communicated, or hinted at, pointed to (with finger, image, X, poem, word, etc.) (letter too). Communications on the subject are limited.

One problem I have always found, that those who seemed to me to have experienced this “break in nature,” or breakthrough of eternity into time, have different ways of describing it—I would think they all have the experience of the identical X—but when it comes to matching symbols and circumstances under which X was experienced, though the signs all point to an experience outside the limits of understanding (comprehension, imagination, even memory) (memory of the experience, as in Dante, “here fails me”), as I say though all signs point to some kind of break in nature, breakthrough of an X, the little descriptions of the X do vary, confusingly, and the circumstances under which X manifested itself or was experienced also seem to vary. Peter Orlovsky (who seems to me to have grasped something—actually) says it comes to him after torment struggle. With me only when I am totally empty. With others for no reason at all, etc. With you, with preparation. Now here you think in comparing our X's. I am presuming your Buddha experience and my Blake ones are on the same level. And I have no way of knowing.

My minutes after Blake were such that they satisfy above description of unspeakables etc. and such that at the time and to this day I vowed to believe in that One of which now I remember only the absolute absolute absolute absolute absolute absoluteness, infinite absoluteness, I mean, no possibility (no way for me to conceive) of there being any other One. But because I am unable to conceive other does not mean I did see the final X—perhaps there are further developments of X only imaginable after further experience, which you are offering me, with Buddhist doctrine and methods. For this I keep mind open and also for the reason that though at time I thought, hoped, had to, by its very nature, perfection, continue to undergo the experience, learning how, so to stay in bright room all the time, temporally, it was not under my control—sent perhaps when I was unaware as a sign, but no more.

Since its nature was to be unknowable by me, Allen mind, but only by not me, but it which I was while experiencing, I saw, after a year of every third thoughts, that thought on the subject (I had really reduced my mind to complete absorption, relatively complete, perhaps not absolutely complete though, no not absolute, was still on York Ave., etc.)—I saw, or thought, that having thought all things down to one thought, sooner or later the thought, still human, would embody itself in inhuman experience—the thought (an image of the thing, a shadow of the X) would terminate by becoming the X suddenly, and the thought disappear, (boat to cross river, image to concentrate on and discard) and I would be left in pure thought-less state of X.

The thought, thought toward X, I soon found (1950-1951), were themselves the wall, the door lock say, no key at all. I had replaced experience of X with thoughts of X. So I had to begin consciously to eliminate thought of X from my mind, thinking, paradoxically, that by sacrificing my continuous preoccupation with the goal I might attain it.

I also perhaps mistakenly (thru reading Taoism and Confucius and Yeats and Blake) followed the line thus: since all things are One, absorption in the idea of One is an absorption on the one thing that One isn't, so to speak. So that to enter the One I had to enter its manifestation, the world, picking up on concrete particulars (that's when I began writing free verse too)—and become so occupied with the world that I became thoughtless of the One, and therefore a part of the world, and therefore One with the One—sing as the Tao Bird sings. Also influenced by poem ♯1 in Lao-Tze (don't have it here, but it says, since the inner mystery, X, and the surface of the universe are One,—men give them different names are confusing the issue metaphysically—who names or touches surface touches the inner mystery.) Now, this line of sacrificing idea of the one (and ego aspiration toward sanctity and illumination, in itself a process of letting self like Christ descend from heaven nirvana in order to be crucified by the world—living in it, being mortal) I conceived of as the most sublime paradox, in itself probably the way toward sanctity. Twistings and turnings of thought. So you see in a way I have been—especially in this last lust affair—been steadily pursuing the path, however it may be only to find that it is the wrong path, despite my “faith” in the fashion I conceived to be indicated—by warnings from half-wise Van Doren, whom I took to be an angel advising me when he said forget about this metaphysics and read a book about modern Chinese sociology. Van Doren is famous for working by metaphysical paradox and I took it as serious pun
arhat
guidance toward austerity—no ego self-indulgence in sanctity to glorify Allen. I thought I was being punished for saying (several times) “I want to be a Saint.” I meant it. Was prepared not to be, in order to be.

However through various experiences—trying to live in flatworld of work, particulars, empty love, etc., or rather unhappy love—I began in 53 to see (in “Green Auto”—and incidentally my poetry as I've said records stage by stage all the major moments of the cycle, Empty Mirror being the phase trying not to look for eternity) or think that after all, imagination painted pix of world as heart (I had a right to heart) wanted it, so I began developing my imagination again, in order to enjoy life, went to Mexico and to see Neal.

But now not even the “human imagination satisfied the endless emptiness of the soul,” as poem on plane says. I am absorbed in the world. The world is real, as it wasn't to me when I had first visions of X.

And now it is perhaps time for training in the absolute illusion of absolute reality, that is, time for another approach to the unimaginable only this time not by thinking of X but by emptying the mind of all thought. I had no method then, though I knew early this was the way.

For this reason, above reason, I am hesitant to nowadays really seriously speak about Harlem Visions and treat them gingerly, as with Lucien, and also hesitant to involve my mind in doctrine of any kind. Now you come along with doctrine and method, backed up by all signs of successful method and right doctrine—that is, your descriptions, almost unmistakable (I have a shade of doubt) of your experience of X or its equivalent (now beyond my conception anyway).

For this reason be careful with me, with prose, in future letters. You see why? If you bullshit me you confuse issue in my mind. If you misuse the titles of states of enlightenment, or ascribe to an experience a description or a name which doesn't purely accurately truthfully (Chinese word for truth man standing next to his words) represent it, you'll be doing me harm, and also making it more difficult for me to follow. In enthusiasm of your prose, in its facility to imagine eternality, I detect your giving same importance to different levels of experience, over using lesser experiences so that I may not be able to tell the deeper from the less deep, and the deeper from the deepest.

I am not here doubting you, the deepest comes thru in the letters there's no mistake I believe.

It is that I am trying to distinguish accurately what you are saying, and the depth of significance of the different moments and expression and descriptions of the letters. You once accused me of confusing literary and actual visions.

Next: certain, I must begin Buddhist spiritual exercises. If you have clarity from—clearly observed stages and methods, an order of exercise, especially eyeball, earball bellyball kick etc. phenomena, exercises, specific bodily and mental inside signposts, hip me.

I not exhausted with human love—you for instance—and so will not yet give it up. This may cause confusion. But mean to conduct myself with less selfhood, self-pity, etc., meanwhile practicing some kind of study and austerity mentally, emotionally.

I haven't here discussed your letters really. Want first to give clearer picture of my past path, in light of possible seriousness you might interpret to it now since your seriousness began real serious. Want you to know what I've been through. This letter outlines clearly more or less what I've tried to get across on various occasions and maybe already said tiresomely in letter or in person.

The voice of this letter is that of a kind of
arhat
it strikes me, dry
arhat
, what? Unless I can't detect my ego except in this here break.

I'm keeping a world life journal more closely now as mentioned yesterday and will send it to you.

Forgive my not discussing matters in Buddhist technology yet but I don't know enough. I hate to send just gossip about interesting literary gossip things I find in it so maybe won't be able to discuss Dharma with you for awhile in Dharma terms till I have some experience with it in terms of my own sensations. Please continue writing. I'll answer speedily, and think of you if I have to delay.

Goddard is famous, I'll find out if he's alive.

Dig Suzuki's books.

Realize I am interrupting literary studies (Catullus, Latin, meter) to begin this project.

Allen

 

 

Jack Kerouac [Richmond Hill, New York] to
Allen Ginsberg [San Francisco, California]

January 18-20, 1955

Jan. 18 '55

 

Dear Allen,

This letter is divided into three parts, the first joyous, the second regretful, the third serious and philosophical.

FIRST JOYOUS PART. I don't want to contaminate you with thoughts that relate to the existence of my self, your self, any selves, many selves divided into many living beings or many selves united into one Universal self; nor with ideas of or about phenomena, which I will eventually prove to you, with the aid of the Buddhas and their Sutras, is but figurative and only spoke-of. But later. In other words first the joyous human news about “me” and “such.” No, I didn't sell my books. In fact Knopf sent back
Beat G.
after all that hassle about typing that had me up late night all December slaving and editor in chief Joe Fox's opinion is rather contemptuous saying it's not even a “good novel” which ain't true. (But Seymour Lawrence read
Subterraneans
and wrote a beautyful sad rejection about how beautiful my work is and “why don't K. get away from Beat G. themes.” etc.)