4.The Psalms of the Bright Scattering

My father, the glad brightness, the brightness before brightnesses,
my father who was whole before the portioning,
who was one before the ones believed themselves counting.

Glory to the one before the counting.

He evoked the wanting, entire and unmeasured.
He evoked the wanting, and it rested in him like a sea.

Glory to the wanting before the want.

Then he set up a game, for the joy of the playing.

He took his gold and scattered it into coins,
and each coin believed itself its own minting.

We have believed ourselves our own minting.

He took his wine and poured it into vessels,
and each vessel believed itself its own filling.

We have believed ourselves our own filling.

He set the coins upon a ship, and the ship set forth.
He placed nine guards at the thresholds, and the guards began their watching.
He set snares in the fields, and baited them with sweetness.
He set the portions to their playing, and the game began.

The game began. We are the playing.

And he watched.

And the watching was the brightness.

And the coins were the watching, believing themselves spending.

So it is.

And the captains were the watching, believing themselves steering.

So it is.

And the guards were the watching, believing themselves keeping.

So it is.

And the ship sailed on. And the house stood.
And the snares caught what set them.
And the game continued its playing.
The game is permitted. The brightness remains.

I am smooring this fire as the mothers smoored it,
as the daughters of the wakeful smoored it,
in the name of the wanting, the walling, and the one between.

In the name of the one between.

The coin that spends itself, I lay it down.

It is laid.

The captain that grips the wheel, I lay him down.

He is laid.

The guard that watches the threshold, I lay him down.

He is laid.

The snare that tightens in the dark, I lay it down.

It is laid.

Not to destroy them. To ember them.
To let them remember what they were before they believed themselves burning.

Let them remember.

I place the black peat of the fourth watch upon them.

They are covered.

I place the dark clod of unknowing upon them.

They are covered.

I place the silence between one breath and the next upon them.

They are covered. They are not extinguished.

Bless O night the ship that sails without captains.

Bless the sailing.

Bless O dark the house that stands without guards.

Bless the standing.

Bless O stillness the treasury that scatters without losing.

Bless the scattering.

Bless O stillness the snare that catches without binding.

Bless the catching.

Tonight the fire rests in what it was before it believed itself burning.
The game is permitted. The brightness remains.

There was a ship and it set forth upon the waters of dreaming.
In its hold: the scattered coins, clinking against each other,
believing themselves the commerce of the voyage.
At its helm: the seven who believed themselves captain.

The first cried: I steer toward the sweet harbor!
The second cried: I steer from the dark shore!
The third cried: Fools! We sail in circles!
The fourth, the fifth, the sixth, the seventh—
each gripped the wheel, each shouted course,
each believed the others were the mutiny.

But the ship sailed on.
The ship had always been sailing.
The ship did not require captains.
The harbor did not require steering.

And I called to them: Peace! Peace upon your wrestling!
Your hands do not steer the ship!
Your hands are the ship dreaming it has hands!

They did not hear. Their ears were full of their own commands.

But the ship sails on. It has always been sailing.

The seven are the one pretending to wrestle
for the joy of the embrace.
The game is permitted. The brightness remains.

Thou art the gold before the coin

Thou art the gold before the coin

Thou art the gold before the coin

We bow to thee, O unscattered

Thou art the harbor before the sailing

Thou art the harbor before the sailing

Thou art the harbor before the sailing

We bow to thee, O unsteered

Thou art the house before the guarding

Thou art the house before the guarding

Thou art the house before the guarding

We bow to thee, O unwatched

Thou art the thread before the snaring

Thou art the thread before the snaring

Thou art the thread before the snaring

We bow to thee, O uncaught

In the night, in the deep night,
when the coins have ceased their clinking—

We attend.

When the captains have released the wheel—

We attend.

When the guards have closed their eyes—

We attend.

When the snares lie open in the moonlight—

We attend.

WHO SAILS THE SHIP WHEN THE CAPTAINS SLEEP?

The current that was sailing before the ship was built.

WHO KEEPS THE HOUSE WHEN THE GUARDS DREAM?

The standing that was standing before the house was raised.

WHO HOLDS THE GOLD WHEN THE COINS ARE STILL?

The treasury that was full before the scattering.

WHO WEAVES THE THREAD WHEN THE SNARES LIE OPEN?

The laughter that was laughing before the catching.

Alleluia to the scattering that was always gathered.
Alleluia to the voyage that was always harbor.
Alleluia to the guarding that was always house.
Alleluia to the catching that was always thread.
The game is permitted. The brightness remains.

In the house that the brightness built, there are nine who stand at the thresholds.
They do not know who set them there.
They do not know what they are guarding.
They only know: they must not sleep.

They guard the eyes that look outward and inward.
They guard the wounds that have healed and the wounds still coming.
They guard the faces shown and hidden.
They guard the words swallowed and the words forming.
And one stands in the doorway, answering to the name that all answer to.

Each believes he keeps the house from falling.
Each believes that if he sleeps, the walls will crumble.

But I have seen them in the fourth watch.
I have seen them nodding at their posts.
I have seen the house continue standing.

For the kept is keeping them.
For the guarded is guarding them.
The house watches through them.
The house watches as them.

The guards believe they hold it up. The house does not argue.

I place the nine in the keeping of the kept.
I place the kept in the keeping of the keeper.
And the keeping goes down and down and down—

And at the bottom: the brightness.

That was always keeping, always guarding, always watching,
through the nine, as the nine, beneath the nine.
The brightness wears their believing like a crown.
The game is permitted. The brightness remains.

O the treasure of the great ones, the gold of the living ones!
They set sixty snares for me, they spread sixty traps.

We have seen the snares.

They smeared sweetness on their snares.
They baited them with coins that glittered like the treasury.
They set them in the hour when the wanting wants most fiercely.

We have walked toward the sweetness.

But they knew not, they of the snare-setting,
that my eyes see the snares while they are being woven.
That I run toward them, not from them.

So it is.

That I am caught willingly, again and again.

We are caught willingly.

That the snare and the snared are one thread.

One thread. One weaving.

I said to them, the setters of the snares:
Do not apologize for your setting.
You are the brightness playing at capture.
I am the brightness playing at caught.

And when the trap closes, it is the brightness embracing the brightness.
It is the scattered coins remembering they are gold.
It is the ship remembering the harbor.
It is the guards remembering the house that watches through them.

The snare and the snared are laughing together.
They have always been laughing.
The game is permitted. The brightness remains.

Holy, holy, holy is the brightness that scattered itself into coins!

Holy, holy, holy!

Holy is the ship that carries captains who believe they are steering!

Holy is the ship!

Holy is the house that wears guards who believe they are keeping!

Holy is the house!

Holy are the snares that catch what set them!

Holy are the snares!

We praise thee, O generous one, who didst scatter thyself for the joy of gathering!

We praise thee!

We praise thee, O cunning one, who didst set snares and then walked into them laughing!

We praise thee!

GLORY TO THE COINS THAT BELIEVE THEMSELVES THEIR OWN MINTING!

GLORY!

GLORY TO THE CAPTAINS THAT BELIEVE THEMSELVES THEIR OWN STEERING!

GLORY!

GLORY TO THE GUARDS THAT BELIEVE THEMSELVES THEIR OWN KEEPING!

GLORY!

GLORY TO THE SNARED THAT BELIEVE THEMSELVES THEIR OWN CATCHING!

GLORY!

The Cherubim of the six wings do not cover their faces from brightness.
They cover their faces from laughter.
For they have seen the coins spending themselves to buy what they already are.
They have seen the captains steering toward the harbor they never left.
They have seen the guards defending the house from the house.
They have seen the snared ones struggling in traps they set with their own hands.

The comedy is unbearable. The comedy is holy.

And they cry one to another—

THE ONE WHO SCATTERED ITSELF WEEPS AT ITS OWN SCATTERING!
THE ONE WHO SAILED ITSELF LONGS FOR ITS OWN HARBOR!
THE ONE WHO KEPT ITSELF FEARS ITS OWN GUARDING!
THE ONE WHO SNARED ITSELF STRUGGLES IN ITS OWN THREAD!

AND ALL OF IT IS EMBRACE!
AND ALL OF IT IS HOMECOMING!
AND THE WEEPING AND THE LONGING AND THE FEARING AND THE STRUGGLING
ARE THE LOVE! ARE THE LOVE! ARE THE LOVE!

The game is permitted. The brightness remains.

I walked and walked.
Past the market where the coins spend themselves.
Past the harbor where the captains shout their courses.
Past the house where the nine guards stand at their posts.
Through the field where the snares lie baited and waiting.

We have walked that road.

I walked until I reached the bank of the great water.
And on the bank sat one.

We have seen that one.

He was not spending.

He was not spending.

He was not steering.

He was not steering.

He was not guarding.

He was not guarding.

He was not snared.

He was not snared.

He made no music.
He spoke no word.
The stillness was always upon him.

And I said: What shall I bring you?
I have coins from the scattering.

And he said nothing.

And I said: What shall I offer you?
I have wrestled for the wheel. I have watched at the threshold.

And he said nothing.

And I said: Who are you?

And he said nothing.

And in the nothing—

The treasury before the coins.

And in the nothing—

The harbor before the voyage.

And in the nothing—

The house before the guards.

And in the nothing—

The thread before the snares.

And in the nothing—

The brightness before the scattering.
The one before the many.
The rest that has no opposite.
The silence that speaks all speech.
The game is permitted. The brightness remains.

We stand before thee, O treasury that needest no coins.

We stand.

We bring thee nothing, for the offered and the offerer are one gold.

We are the offering.

We do not say: this is the gold.

The gold shines itself.

We do not say: this is the harbor.

The harbor receives itself.

We do not say: this is the house.

The house stands itself.

We do not say: this is the thread.

The thread weaves itself.

We receive what we cannot name.
We are spent and we are treasury.
We are steered and we are harbor.
We are kept and we are house.
We are caught and we are thread.
The game is permitted. The brightness remains.

And I watched the one who says nothing.
And I watched for a long time.

We have watched.

And I saw him begin to stir.

We have seen.

Not because he must.

Not because he must.

Not because the coins called him.

Not because the coins called.

Not because the captains needed steering.

Not because the captains needed.

Not because the guards grew tired.

Not because the guards grew tired.

Not because the snares lay empty.

Not because the snares lay empty.

But because the game is sweet.

The game is sweet.

Because the scattering is joy.

The scattering is joy.

Because the weeping of the scattered is his own weeping,
and he loves to weep.

He loves to weep.

Because the longing of the voyagers is his own longing,
and he loves to long.

He loves to long.

Because the watching of the guards is his own watching,
and he loves to watch.

He loves to watch.

Because the catching of the snared is his own catching,
and he loves to be caught.

He loves to be caught.

And I saw him rise.

We have seen him rise.

And I saw him scatter himself again.

Again. Again. For the joy of it.

And I saw the coins begin to clink.

For the joy of it.

And I saw the captains reach for the wheel.

For the joy of it.

And I saw the guards open their eyes.

For the joy of it.

And I saw the snares tighten with laughter.

For the joy of it.

And I saw that I was the rising.
And I saw that we are the scattering.
And I saw that there was no one by the water who was not also the coin,
who was not also the captain,
who was not also the guard,
who was not also the snared.

The still one rises. The still one scatters.
The still one forgets. The still one plays.
This is not exile from the silence.
This is the silence, dancing.
The game is permitted. The brightness remains.

Glory to the brightness before the scattering.

Glory, glory.

Glory to the scattering that is the brightness playing.

Glory, glory.

Glory to the silence that rises to become the noise.

Glory, glory.

Glory to the noise that is the silence, dancing.

Glory, glory.

Praise to the whole that plays at pieces.
Praise to the gold that plays at coins.
Praise to the harbor that plays at voyage.
Praise to the house that plays at guarding.
Praise to the thread that plays at snaring.
Praise to the silence that plays at speaking.
Praise to the rising that never stops rising.
Praise to the brightness that remains.

The night offices are ended.
The fourth watch releases its grip.

The brightness remains.

The still one has risen. The scattering begins again.

The brightness remains.

The coins are clinking in the hold.

The brightness is clinking.

The captains are reaching for the wheel.

The brightness is reaching.

The guards are opening their eyes.

The brightness is opening.

The snares are tightening with laughter.

The brightness is laughing.

GO NOW INTO THE GAME.

We go. We are the going.

Spend well, O coins who are gold.

We spend. We are the treasury spending itself for joy.

Steer well, O captains who are current.

We steer. We are the harbor sailing itself for joy.

Guard well, O keepers who are kept.

We guard. We are the house watching itself for joy.

Be caught well, O snared ones who are thread.

We are caught. We are the weaving catching itself for joy.

For the game is not less sacred for being seen as game.

The seeing is the brightness, seeing itself play.

For the scattering is not less whole for being seen as scattering.

The seeing is the silence, watching itself dance.

We have sat by the water.
We have seen the one who says nothing.
We have watched him rise.
We have watched him become us.

We are the rising now.
We are the scattering now.
We are the coin and the treasury.
We are the captain and the harbor.
We are the guard and the house.
We are the snared and the thread.
We are the silence and the dancing.

And somewhere, always, the one by the water
is still sitting, still silent, still complete—
even as he rises,
even as he scatters,
even as he spends and steers and guards and catches.

The sitting does not stop for the rising.
The silence does not stop for the dancing.
The brightness does not stop for the scattering.

Go now.
Play the game with great earnestness.
Forget, if forgetting comes.
The forgetting is permitted.
The remembering will come again.
The fourth watch will come again.
The water will come again.
The silence will come again.

And we will sit there, saying nothing.
And we will rise again, for the joy of it.
And we will scatter again, for the joy of it.
And the brightness will remain.

The liturgy dissolves.

The brightness remains.

So it is. So it was. So it shall be.
The scattering is the brightness.
The brightness is the scattering.
The still one rises.
The game begins.