This is my interpretation of those lines. And maybe if I try it again, I could somehow manage to put the babies back into the line. But this is one I happened to do toward the beginning of the project. And in the beginning I was more interpreted and free. At the end I became more sticking closer to the original. Am I getting across this point from what we're saying here? Does it make sense?

[01:01]

I think it's actually a pretty important point. Because it's a strong tendency in spiritual practice to wish for truth and peace and some relief from the crazy world. And of course we do need some relief and some peace It's not that there's anything wrong with that But if we close the door on the world and its craziness, then we're also closing the door on ourselves.

[02:17]

And our practice becomes more and more weak after a while. So this is a pretty important point. Sorry for long-winded answer. Which takes twice as long with translation. Someone else? What I don't understand when I have an image that has positive or negative influence on me?

[03:25]

And when I look at these images they don't have a positive influence on me. So when I repeat them over and over again, what's the point of it? What kind of energy is transmitted then? You're saying that... I'm not sure I understand your question. Are you saying that spontaneously in your mind maybe negative thoughts or images come? Are you saying that I may not quite understand what you mean, that negative thoughts or images spontaneously appear in your mind? No. If these times are being recited again, if they have this effect, then I wonder why I am reciting them again and again.

[04:32]

When did this... psalms are chanted again and again, and they have this kind of effect, why are they chanted then? Well, first of all, I'm not... saying that it's a good idea to chant these things again and again. But people who do chant them again and again say something like what I'm saying. They say that when they, for example, chant Psalm 137, again they confront these difficulties in the world and they raise up the energy to go beyond them.

[05:36]

You say, when you, for example, recite Psalm 137, that you deal with these things again and again and let the energy rise in you to go beyond that. So in other words, they claim that the chanting of the psalm itself is a kind of yogic practice of overcoming negativity. Evoking and overcoming negativity. They claim that reciting the psalm is a kind of yogic practice to overcome negativity. But as I say, I'm not defending that practice. I don't do that practice myself and I'm not defending it. Is that clear? I don't know, I think we can look at religion and say there's something primitive or some kind of aspects to religion.

[07:09]

I think we can look at religions and say that there are primitive aspects in them that are retained in more sophisticated later developments within religion. But I think my own feeling is that probably Christianity imagines a different kind of human being than Buddhism imagines. If you imagine a person born with an inherent nature, and nature and tendencies that have to be worked with. Of course, it's partly true. But if that's the emphasis or the belief or the view, You end up with a different kind of practice, I think.

[08:47]

I would say Buddhism assumes that mind constructs mind. And our existence constructs our existence. So if you Whatever you do with your mind in your existence, you're creating your mind in existence. And you don't have so much emphasis on working with the already given nature. So you're more careful with what you repeat or do because you're making yourself all the time. Okay. Is there someone else here? Yes? Yes. I liked in Norman's introduction this phrase where it said that language has to be seen as prayer.

[10:13]

When I am aware of that, I am aware of... that I create my reality, as I do also in prayer, for example, when I ask for something, and that the words in themselves are already a reality. And what comes to mind is from my work as a psychotherapist, how someone, and this is what Roger just said, says his sentences over and over again,

[11:35]

And what comes to mind from my work as a psychotherapist is that how somebody repeats a sentence again and again and by doing that creates their reality as Roshi just mentioned. The human capacity to make language is something very deep. And whenever there's any language, there's always a relationship. Words are always to be offered or heard by another.

[12:42]

Even if you're far away and there's no one around, if you speak words, there's a feeling that someone's there. This sense of presence that Roshi was speaking of last night. So language, if we could situate ourselves within it in the deepest way, would always be a reaching out to the world, and also at the same time inside our own deepest mind and also at the same time necessarily to what lies on the other side of the boundary

[14:14]

of the world and of our self. And at the same time reaching out to whatever is on the other side of the boundary at the end of the world and at the end of ourselves. So, of course, mostly we don't situate ourselves within our language with that much depth. And every now and then when we experience that, we call it poetry. So to me, that's what poetry is. In German, poetry is Dichtung. What Dicht means to say, doesn't it?

[15:23]

To see, to make a sense. Yeah, to make it dense. To make something dense? Yeah. That's wonderful. And what does dung mean? Dichtung. All one word. Dichtung means to make a noun. Dichten is the verb. And un is one way to make a noun. I see. So making something dense, huh? Yeah. That's German poetry is like that too. Maybe they're influenced by the word. Yeah, no doubt. In English, the word poetry comes from a Greek word, which just means to make.

[16:23]

I suppose, though, as soon as you make something, it's already dense. Something that's not there is a lot less dense. Unless it's emptiness. You know, what Norman said about situating yourself in language. I copied this. We copied this paragraph or two from the Lankavatara Sutra. And I think that this kind of sutra language is a little maybe difficult to get into. So let's just take a, you know, I think, mainly you want to start with taking a few phrases from it.

[17:50]

A few terms. And as I emphasized last night, this syllable, body, name, body, and sentence. And if we look at that overall, what that emphasizes, is your your experience of language. Not just in the meaning of the sentences. But of course, because this is Buddhism. And all Buddhism assumes you're working with the visionaries. So assumes you

[18:51]

are developing an experience of the ayatana or field of object and perceiver. So we could say, as it says there, the name body. It's not just the name pointing out an object, but the object pointing back at you. To your experience of that field of perception, within your own body.

[20:04]

In this sense, body also means mind. I think of, again, let me go back to Sophia. When we go back to Austria, there's lots of church bells. As soon as she heard the church bells, she started swinging her arms. It's almost like the bell swinging. And since then I've watched other things when she feels there's a swinging motion, her body swings. And I think I told you, her first sign for sound was sticking her tongue out.

[21:10]

And she got that from hearing our dog Igor when he was a puppy. When we first came into the house we gave him water and he started lapping up the water, you know. So she went running in and stuck her tongue out. What is this dog doing? And then that became, any time she heard a sound, she stuck her tongue out. So she hears a bell and she swings her arm. And if she wants us to notice what she's hearing she sticks her tongue out at the same time.

[22:13]

It's a whole little iconic language she's developed. But I think until our language turns so much into thinking, it has a kind of physicalized mind. penetration or dimension. Yeah. So I think what a passage like this from the sutra is saying in the light of what we're talking about is that you don't go to a poem for experience.

[23:23]

You bring experience to the poem. And the more you are situated in language, as Norman says, Bring your own experience. presence to the world and to a poem, the poem and the world reveals itself in a new way. Now, Norman and I spoke a little this morning. Norman and I spoke a little bit this morning. Norman and I spoke a little this morning. And since you, you know, don't know him as well as me, unfortunately.

[24:28]

We thought maybe, or I thought that he could say something about what he thinks a poem is, feels a poem is. Or anything he would like to speak about. We thought we might do that before the break, but now we've been sitting since 9.30. So maybe, Norman, it's good to take a break now, and then after the break you could start. Knees and bladders begin to have pressure. Okay, thank you very much

[25:29]

While we were just consulting the dictionary, this word trying to understand of the word in German and its related words in other languages and so on. So I'm thinking many things about the word Dichtung and making dance, poetry as making dance. People think of poetry as being a decorative way of saying something nice. That you could say otherwise, but you would say it in a more decorative way in poetry.

[29:52]

Decorative. And I suppose this is one mode of poetry or one way that someone could approach poetry. It's just that this is something that never appealed to me that much. More what has always appealed to me is the effort in language to say the unsayable.

[30:56]

It seems as if making the attempt To say the unsayable is something that is extremely necessary. Even though it always fails, the attempt is worthwhile. And the truth of the matter is that we're always attempting to say the unsayable. Only we just don't know it. So, to me, poetry is simply language itself.

[32:13]

Making language in a way that acknowledges the impossibility of saying anything. to shape the language in such a way that one recognizes how impossible it is to say anything at all. I realized this once when I was reading a short story of the American writer Ernest Hemingway, who was very famous for writing about landscape. who was very famous for his writing about landscapes. And once I was reading a piece of his writing and I looked very, very closely at his description of landscape. And I realized that it didn't make any sense.

[33:37]

If you didn't think about it much, it made sense. But if you really thought about it, you couldn't tell, was this tree in front of or behind this and so forth. This is why if you ever buy a television set and try to read the instructions manual, it's impossible to read it. Because they're trying to make sense. This is how you do one thing and one thing. And the only way that this ever works is if you don't think about it much. because language is always pointing to the unsayable.

[34:47]

I was just reading about the same thing happened with the Austrian writer Fritz Mautner. Is that how you say it? Mautner. M-A-U-T-H-N-E-R. Mautner. Mautner, yeah. He noticed the same thing. He noticed the same thing. He took eight words of Goethe and started writing about all the different things that this could mean. all of them contradicting each other. And after 16 pages of writing about these eight lines, he gave up.

[36:04]

So as with many other things, the more closely you look, the more indeterminacy there is. Like with many other things, the more you look, the more uncertainty there is. When I first began writing poetry many years ago, I was associated with a group of writers who were about my age. And we started a school of poetry that became very famous, also feared and hated for some reason. And I know that there was a branch of the school in France and England.

[37:12]

I don't know about Germany. And there was also a branch of the school in France and England. I don't know about Germany. It was called the language school. Because it simply noticed that poetry was made up of words and syllables. And it was quite not at all certain what any of these things were saying. What any of the words and syllables were saying. It was not at all certain. So the question of how language works and what language is in the human mind became the foremost subject of language poetry.

[38:25]

The main, the foremost question of the poetry became the issue of what language really is and how language really works. So for me of course it was a little bit different because I was also doing Zen practice in a very serious way. And so I began to realize that from my point of view this question of language became a religious question. How our mind and our thinking and our language are completely impossible to separate one from the other.

[39:28]

The human mind of course shapes language. But also language shapes the human mind. Language is words. But as Baker Roshi was indicating earlier in our discussion, also sometimes words take the form of wagging your tongue. But as Baker Roshi pointed out earlier in our conversation, the language begins with wagging your tongue. It's a tongue attached to a wagon.

[40:50]

No. It means like a dog. Like this. He's demonstrating. Sophia would like you very much. Or swinging your arms. Yeah. Or swinging your arms. Using words is only a further abstraction of the same thing. In the Bible, God creates the world by speaking the world. And this is why in the Christian Bible Jesus is referred to as the Word. Now I realize that what God was doing there was making something dense. So sometimes the way I think of this is that we're maybe living on the

[42:05]

depends maybe the second floor or the third floor of language. Ich denke manchmal, wir leben auf dem zweiten oder dritten Stock der Sprache. Or we could be even in the tenth floor or the twentieth floor of language. Wir könnten auch vielleicht im zehnten oder zwanzigsten Stockwerk der Sprache leben. And poetry is in the basement. Und die Dichtung ist im Keller. Where the boiler is that heats up the whole building. So poets are the ones who are in the boiler room of language. Throwing logs onto the fire. So there isn't, in other words, poetry is not separate from any language.

[43:34]

And all language really is potentially poetry. One of the most important poets in the 20th century in America was William Carlos Williams. And many of his poems he would use language that he would just hear ordinary people speaking. And he would listen for the root of the language. So this is how I understand poetry.

[44:41]

This is my approach to poetry. So I never think, oh, I had yesterday a beautiful thought or something wonderful happened. And now I'm going to write it in a poem. So that other people will be able to appreciate what I have experienced. Such an idea is utterly foreign to me. When I write poetry, I have no idea what I'm talking about. Wenn ich dichte, dann weiß ich überhaupt nicht, worüber ich spreche.

[45:45]

Ich habe gar keinen Gedanken, den ich versuche mitzuteilen. Oder irgendeine Erfahrung, die ich versuche zu verbildlichen, zu schildern. I just feel that I have a feeling of necessity of making a poem at that particular time. And then I begin, and the poem starts to talk to me. and telling me how it should go. And then I follow along in the poem. Until it seems to come to the end.

[46:49]

Discover something. That's very important to me. But I can't explain it. Other than the poem itself. When someone reads the poem, if they ever do, I have no idea what they will experience or see in the poem. And I have been many times astonished to hear what people have found in the poem. Sometimes people write about my poems, people teaching classes and so on in university.

[48:00]

And they might send me a copy of what they wrote. And I find it absolutely astonishing and surprising every time. Dogen, you all know about Dogen, I'm sure. was a pretty unusual Zen master in that he also was a poet and a writer. Many Zen masters would write occasional verse, but Dogen, it seemed to be more central to his teaching.

[49:01]

Mancher Zen-Meister schrieb gelegentlich einen Vers, aber für Dogen scheint es zentraler gewesen zu sein. And his great work, Shobo Genzo, although it's written formally in prose, it actually is written with the force of poetry. Und sein großes Werk, Shobo Genzo, ist in Posa geschrieben, aber es ist mit der Kraft der Poesie geschrieben. And he argued strongly against those Zen masters who seemed to be saying that Zen was beyond language. It's not that he disagreed that Zen was beyond language. It's just that he said language is also beyond language. And if you set language aside as something that was somehow not beyond language, less important than that which was beyond language,

[50:14]

You would be making a really serious mistake. Because we can't live outside of language, society and history. Denn wir können nicht außerhalb der Sprache der Gesellschaft und der Geschichte leben. But we also can't afford to be limited and constricted by language, society and history. Aber wir können es uns auch nicht leisten, beschränkt zu sein durch die Sprache, die Gesellschaft und die Geschichte. So to think we can somehow escape and go beyond these is wrong.

[51:31]

But also to think that we are stuck inside of these without any escape is also wrong. I was talking to Baker Roshi about one of my favorite writers, who is Ludwig Wittgenstein. And he, I think, understood these things that I'm speaking about very well. And he was at great pains in his brilliance to show the limitations of language. It was a great pain to show the limitations of language.

[52:52]

And he did this because he wanted to make it clear that that which was really important was unsayable. And he did such a good job of this that everyone misunderstood him utterly. And he did it so well that everyone misunderstood him. As if he had said that only the things we can say are valuable and important. So the philosophy was ruined. But maybe not, because instead we have poetry. So let me read you one thing that is in this introduction. For some years I have been giving thought to the question of who the audience for my poetry actually was.

[54:18]

I came to see that I was not writing for ordinary persons. Not for colleagues. Not for poetry lovers. The person to whom my poems actually seemed to be addressed was someone much more silent and much more profoundly receptive than any human being could possibly be. This person wasn't a person at all.

[55:34]

It was nobody, nothing. And it wasn't anywhere or at any time. And it was nowhere and at no time. It was even beyond meaning. So poetry is important to me not because it gives me a chance to express myself or to communicate but because it is an encounter with that which is both so close to me I can't see it, and so far away I can never reach it. Poetry evokes the unknowable. So this strikes to the heart, I think, of human life.

[56:55]

Because we are capable of knowing something. Weil wir fähig sind, etwas zu kennen. And also we are capable of knowing how much we don't know. Und weil wir auch fähig sind zu wissen, wie viel wir nicht wissen können. And no matter how much we know, egal wie viel wir wissen, we always know there's much that we don't know and can't know. It's human to be able to understand, express this feeling. Only humans can do this. So the only kind of job or activity that really suits our human heart is an impossible job or activity.

[58:18]

That which we could accomplish or communicate or complete would never satisfy us. So we would complete it and then we would say, now what? We might complete it and then we would say, now what? So this is how it is, I think, for us. This is why we have vows that say things like, sentient beings are numberless, I vow to save them all.

[59:19]

Or delusions are without end, I vow to end them all. These are impossible things. You can't ever, by definition, hope ever to complete such a thing. So you're guaranteed to fail in your practice. It's a necessity to fail in your practice. If you didn't fail in your practice, that would be a real failure. It's only when you recognize the endlessness of the failure that you really have true success in your practice.

[60:37]

And when you are willing to take on such a job, And when you are ready to take on such a task then you feel as if everything in life meets you you realize that every moment is a new creation. Every moment, because you bring yourself, your humanness to every moment, every moment becomes dense. Every moment.

[61:39]

Because if you bring your humanity to every moment, then every moment becomes closed. And opens up in many directions. And disappears. And another moment comes the same way. and that there's no end to this ongoing process. Even though you die, that which is most essential in your life continues onward in this way. So there is a feeling of friendliness with meeting the world every moment. And this is, to me, the essential thing about language.

[62:50]

And poetry, which is really just the most intense form of language. Or the real essence of language all the time. It's constantly reaching out a hand toward the world. And world doesn't mean outside or inside And reaching out that hand always being met And reaching out that hand always being met and moment after moment like this.

[64:03]

So this is why in my version of Psalms I didn't translate the word God as it's usually translated. Because it seemed like the wrong, gave the wrong impression. The word God gives the wrong impression. The word God gives the impression of a distant authority figure. When really I think what is meant is this reaching out the hand and being meant. And this is the process of language. This is the process of joining everything and being in connection all the time. And I feel this in writing poetry.

[65:26]

And also in reading it. It's this engagement. And if I don't do it, it puts me in a bad mood. Because I'm out of touch. I was recently at a school of writing in America. And Naropa, maybe you've heard of Naropa University. It's not so far from Creston. There was a poet there named John Yao, who's a very good poet, Chinese-American poet. And he was saying that if he doesn't write poetry, at least every other day he begins yelling at people on the street.

[66:44]

I don't yell at people on the street usually, but I know what he means. For me, I actually write poetry. But even if one doesn't exactly write poetry, it's the same. We need to feel in touch and we need to feel connected in the same way. I think practice is a way that we tune ourselves in the same way.

[68:00]

How many oceans have vanished in sand? How much sand has been prayed hard in the stone? How much time has been wept away in the singing horn of the seashells? How much mortal abandonment in the fish's pearl eyes? how many morning trumpets in the coral, how many star patterns in crystal, how much seed of laughter in the gull's throat, how many threads of longing for home have been traversed on the nightly course of the constellations, how much fertile earth for the root of the words you, behind all the crashing screens of the secrets. You. Wie viele Meere im Sande verlaufen.

[69:09]

Wie viele Meere im Sande verlaufen. Wie viel Sand hart gebietet im Stein. Wie viel Zeit im Sandhorn der Muscheln verweint. Wie viel Todverlassenheit in den Perlaugen der Fische. Wie viel Morgentrompeten in der Koralle, wie viel Sternenmuster im Kristall, wie viel Lachkeime in der Kehle der Möwe, wie viel Heimwehfäden auf nächtlichen Stirnbahnen gefahren, wie viel fruchtbares Erdreich für die Wurzel des Wortes Du. Hinter allen stürzenden Gittern der Geheimnisse du. Good afternoon.

[70:48]

The children are practicing intoning screams. You know, I just went to San Francisco for a week. For a week. Meeting, actually. I promised a friend that I would go to. A meeting that's actually very important to me. I'm glad I went, but it's pretty far to go all the way to the United States for a meeting. But it was with evolutionary biologists and four philosophers and so forth. And it certainly stretches my... thinking, mind.

[72:03]

And I really do feel we're in some place like there's been this... I mean, I think the Big Bang's harder to believe in than God. God is at least an imagination within the human territory. Gott ist zumindest eine Vorstellung im menschlichen Bereich. But all the evidence thinks it looked like we were a little blip once and it became a big blip. Aber es scheint, alle Beweise scheinen dafür zu sprechen, dass wir so eine kleine Blase waren, die eine große Blase wurde. And then there was the generation of stars. And then? There was the generation of stars. And material thrown off from that, which might be the origins of our life.

[73:08]

Did I mention this the other night? No? Okay. But in any case, there seems to be some evolution from inorganic material to organic material. And from organic to sentience. And from sentience to consciousness and self-consciousness. And I think within consciousness, I have a feeling I spoke about this here today, but within consciousness, somehow I think we're at evolution to what I would call mind. An intentional evolution. So anyway, it's interesting to me to sort of think about how this evolution occurs.

[74:29]

This intentional evolution. That much of the world's involved in, and we Buddhists are particularly involved in. Even if you're not a Buddhist, if you're here, you have some sense of this evolution in yourself. If you're here in this room, And I think also all of you have some, most of you have some relationship to poetry. And I'm surprised by how many of you do write poems or know poems.

[75:59]

I kind of clumsily try to identify the English of some Rilke poems. And then after my clumsy attempt, after the lecture, somebody will come up to me and recite it to me in German. Now, so I'm, you know, there's different kinds of poetry, of course. And I'm mostly involved in the poetry that's part of teaching and practicing Zen.

[77:11]

And I mainly deal with the kind of poetry that has to do with the teaching and the practice of Zen And the uses of poetry as part of Zen practice. And a close friend of mine and a Norman's fellow practitioner, Philip Whelan, just died this last Wednesday. And with Alan Ginsberg and Gary Snyder and the novelist and poet Jack Kerouac. zusammen mit Alan Ginsberg und Gary Snyder und dem Romanautor und Poeten Jack Carrack.

[78:21]

They were the beginning of the Beat Poetry Movement, Beat Generation. Man sieht der Beginn dieser Beat Poetry Bewegung. And so Norman actually, various people called me and looked like Philip was going to die. And I did reach him the evening before he died and talked to him, I hope, or whatever, anyway, through his coma. But anyway, I had a feeling of his being present, actually. And... I'd seen him only a month before, and we'd had quite a long time together.

[79:44]

Anyway, Norman called me after a message came to me that I could, since I was in America, I could do the cremation ceremony. Philipe was my disciple and I authorized him to give an intermission, authorized him to teach. For quite a long time, he was head of the Hartford Street Zendo that Ghassan Dorsey had started. Anyway, in addition, Norman and I worked out a time that I can do the funeral ceremony September 1st, I think, at Green Gulch.

[80:59]

So anyway, just after the ceremony, I flew back here. I think my mind has arrived fairly awake, but my body is still back over the Atlantic sleeping. But I just wanted to share with you something about Philip and Philip's poetry to it. So I took a little bit of what I said at the cremation ceremony and I used a couple of poems of Philip that are not well known And I quote from Ru Jing, Dogen's teacher.

[82:11]

Not a poem, but still fundamentally a poem, even though it's not... Ugh. not formally a poem. So I said in the beginning, and they wouldn't let me open the... Did you know that? Did I tell you that? They wouldn't let me open the box? No. It was just crazy. Did you finally... Were you finally able... Oh, did I ever? Yeah. They wouldn't let, they told me at Allen Ginsberg funeral, Michael McClure was there, they wouldn't let the pox be opened for Allen. Yeah, go ahead.

[83:12]

People are nuts. Well, here's this guy. He's a big guy, too, two of them. And I... They told me, you can't open the box. And I said, I'm not just going to push any old box into this fire. You're not going to push any old box into this fire. How do I know who's inside? He wants to know who's inside the box. And our tradition is, if we could do it, we'd build a big bonfire and burn the body. I used to tell my wife to take me up in the Sierra and burn me. To take you up where? To take me up to the Sierra Mountains when I lived in California and put me in the trunk. She said, I am not going to be caught speeding and find you in the trunk.

[84:33]

Did you hear what it said in the San Francisco Chronicle obituary about Philip? Yeah, I'm going to refer to that here. So... Yeah, so if we can't build a pyre, we at least insist that we start the fire. Yeah, so I So anyway, I said, we're going to open this box. I have to see if we have to do that. And they said, I couldn't, you know. And I said, excuse me for speaking this rudely. But I said, well, why don't you go get the police and try to stop me? I was quite irritated.

[85:44]

And they said there's health reasons. And I said, it's all right. So we pulled up and he said, do you think you can handle seeing... I said, I think I can handle it. And he said, well, no one, I'm sure probably you can, but none of the other people can. I said, listen, this man, I loved him. He was my disciple. And so they backed off and I opened the box. He looked fine. He looked fine. He looked just like old Philip, except a little purple. So anyway, there it is, like that. So here's sort of what I said, some of what I said.

[86:47]

I thought it would be easier for you to translate. This is not a ceremony I ever thought I would perform. Well, of course, I knew I might. But I've always been so related to Philip's life and poetry in mind His wit. His wit. And his bizarre wisdom vision. And big heart. That the truth of this someday ceremony So that the truth of this one-day ceremony was not my truth with Philip, with Zen Shin Ryufu, his Buddhist name, Zen Heart or Zen Mind, Dragon Wind.

[88:13]

But he did not miss his moment to die. He knew when he should die. And we understood that too. But here we are commending his body. Offering And trusting his body To fire To the elements To the wind and world he loved so much Through his poetry His beautiful, inventive, unprecedented poetry. Unprecedented. his serious and deep practice, his loving practice with others, and simply feels brilliance and goofing around conversations that continued up until the last with his friends and Dharma buddies.

[90:08]

Only his body can be commended to this fire. In this, all else we commend, in this case you could translate it recommend, all else we commend to ourselves and to all who are touched by him. One of the last things he asked for was Socrates' milkshake. Someone said to him, would you like a milkshake? And he said, yes, the kind Socrates drank. Someone asked him... And this wish he gave himself. Und diesen Wunsch gab er sich selbst.

[91:15]

He stopped eating. Er hörte auf zu essen. He stopped willing his life against his doctor's orders. Er hörte auf sein Leben weiterleben zu wollen gegen die Anordnung des Arztes. His doctors two or three years before said he was going to die right away. Drei, vier Jahre vorher sagte der Arzt schon, er würde sofort sterben. and he asked to be buried, cremated, on a bed of frozen raspberries. And this we can do for him. We have brought frozen strawberries to give him one of his foolish last wishes. He wrote at Tassajara a poem he named Wandering Outside.

[92:24]

in March of 78. Purple flags for the luxurious color. This is hard, I'm sorry. Extravagant form. And then I calmly empty dead tea leaves into the toilet. I hate the world. I hate myself. The dragon wind that allows everything to happen. I want luxury. extravagance, to use and to give to you. To give to you a wild, naked leap in moonlight surf.

[93:44]

A jump. And Philip is rather fast. You can imagine this wild, naked leap in moonlight surf. Um dir einen wilden nackten Sprung in dem, in der, in der,

[94:11]

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