The Burthen of the Mystery

 Tragically I have until now thought Wordsworth and his poetry very much on the boring side. Obviously my heart has often danced with the daffodils but beyond that very little has stirred me. Until recently that is. Almost by chance I happened upon Wordsworth's Ode based upon a visit to the countryside around Tintern Abbey. Much to my surprise I read the poem right through and was almost moved to tears. 

One short passage particularly caught my eye - or ears - or heart. 

Knowing that Nature never did betray
The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege,
Through all the years of this our life, to lead
From joy to joy: for she can so inform
The mind that is within us, so impress
With quietness and beauty, and so feed
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,
Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men,
Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all
The dreary intercourse of daily life,
Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb
Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold
Is full of blessings.

Certainly the world has been "too much with me" lately. The heart of a bodhisattva is far from me - hell not quite other people, but often close. 

 But moving on from that passage and those thoughts, another few lines from the poem mentioned the "burthen of the mystery" being lightened, this in contemplation of natures beauties. Really, I have not delved that deep into Wordsworth's thoughts and mood as expressed in his Ode to actually claim disagreement. It is simply that I feel no burden (or "burthen") from any "mystery". It is mystery, in the sense of having reached no conclusions, of actually having claimed no answers, that actually seems to offer to me, as gift, a way of approaching and accepting Reality as it unfolds. In a strange way, if there was no "mystery" my heart would be dictated to; by formulas, creeds or custom. The Pure Land myokonin Saichi has exclaimed in his Journal:- 

"Not knowing why! Not knowing why! That is my support! Not knowing why! That is the Namu-Amida-Butsu". 

Such joins with a simple faith, a trust that "all shall be well" no matter what unfolds in any immediate future.

 Anyway, getting back to Wordsworth and his own  words from his poem. He speaks of the "still sad music of humanity" but then of:-

A presence that disturbs me with the joy

Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime

Of something far more deeply interfused,

Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,

And the round ocean and the living air,

And the blue sky, and in the mind of man:

A motion and a spirit, that impels

All thinking things, all objects of all thought,

And rolls through all things.

 Good stuff! Maybe best not to crawl and trawl through each and every word looking for seeds of disagreement - better to feel and open to the presence of another human heart contemplating the "burthen of the mystery". To join with them. And sadly, this as a retreat from the mass of people I often feel around me, the barren crowd, the awful pointlessness of so many pursuits, the apparent direction of so many towards aimlessness.

What is the link between "mystery" and "aimlessness". Is there any at all? Something to give thought to.