The pot upon the wheel

Introduction

The name of "Patience Worth" is now well known to the world and it seems sufficient to say it is the self-announced cognomen of the invisible personality who speaks and writes through Mrs. John H. Curran, of St. Louis, Mo. Whatever may be one's attitude towards the phenomenon of automatic writing, the facts in relation to this particular manifestation are now too well established to admit of a reasonable doubt as to their verity. Patience Worth has been writing for six years and more, and during that time she has been visited by hundreds of men and women from all parts of the United States, and some from Canada, England and France, many of them eminent as educators, preachers, lawyers and scientists, none of whom can deny the actuality of the vi INTRODUCTION

phenomenon, whatever differences of opinion there may be as to the nature of its source. This is not the place for the discussion of opinions on this matter. The task in hand is the presentation of the facts in relation to the production of the composition here presented,

On the 28th of April, 1919, Patience Worth wrote, among other poems on that evening, the following on "The Potter":

I am a clayster, a moulder of bowls. My hands are begrimed by their whirring.

Bits of clay build the master craft Which is mine— little atoms of dust — clay. Besmearing clay I sit, watching it slip, With its glistening, cloying, waxen substance, Beneath my hand, becoming perfect. Clay !

From where blown the atoms

Which construct thee? Grime —

Yet my fancy playeth. I cannot watch

INTRODUCTION vii

The stuff and make it my craft But that I unloose the steed of my soul Which is pawing for release. I would Watch him speed with that lash upon His flesh which is delivered by the Master's hand. I would let him Make away across the desert, into The palm lands where the pools stand In the sands, reflecting the image Of the sky — with these to companion While my hands labour with clay, And I sit watching the wheel And communing with the dusts.

Grains of myrrh, dusts of palms, Mould of lilies, sands from the tombs Of Kings, mayhap bits of rubies Which once burned glowing, and were Pressed by loves now dead.

All of this is within the clay, And my tears intermingle with them, Building a bowl upon the wheel.

viii ' INTRODUCTION

Whether this picture of the oriental potter, putting his fancy into his bowl, suggested the theme of this book, or whether the theme was already in mind and this but a casual expression, I am unable to say. But two weeks after this was written Mrs. Alex. B. Smith, of Los Angeles, Cal., came to the home of the Curran's to spend a few months in the study of the writings of Patience Worth, attracted by the personality of the invisible poet, and in response to this affectionate interest Patience, shortly after her arrival, said to her: "Ah, but the love-tendin' we shall be at, dame. I say thee shall have a wonderwork o' thine ain." A few days later Mrs. Curran spelled out the strange word "Aesol," and Patience said to Mrs. Smith: " Tis a whit o' thy wonderwork." Then she showed Mrs. Curran a picture of an old man seated at a rude potter's wheel the axle of which turned within a socket of clay, the wheel being moved by hand. Above it a curious water receptacle fashioned

INTRODUCTION ix

of skin was suspended from a stick which from time to time the potter touched, spilling a few drops upon the clay pot which he was moulding upon the wheel. His beard was thin and pointed, and his countenance gave the impression of wisdom and kindness. Upon his head was a coarse turban and he wore nothing else but a clout. A naked child stood beside him with wondering eye, seeming to be questioning him. " 'Tis the measurein' o' Youth against Age/' said Patience, but gave no further information. Some days after this she began the dialogue and continued its dictation with but little diversion to other compositions until it was completed.

The picture of the potter presented to Mrs. Curran needs some explanation. Pictures accompany all the communications of Patience Worth and sometimes, as in this case, without verbal communications. They form a very remarkable feature of this phenomenon. As the letters come into her consciousness the scenes x INTRODUCTION

depicted, the persons speaking or described, or the symbols of poetry, are pictured to her eyes, in miniature but vividly. It is as if she were looking upon a moving picture, a microscopic but distinct panorama of the life presented in all its colors. Yet there is no loss of normal consciousness or of normal vision. One may be looking out of a window and seeing all that is within range of the eye, yet the thought may be upon some distant scene, and that scene be within the mind's eye at the same time as the physical one ; or one may be reading a book and seeing, mentally, the scenes and characters suggested in the printed words. Such duality of vision is common enough to every one. But this of Mrs. Curran is different. These pictures are not the product of her thought. They are not suggested by the words coming from her, although she understands the words and comprehends their meaning as they come. It was my first impression that

INTRODUCTION xi

the pictures were a natural and normal result of the word suggestions. But experience long ago proved them to be impressed upon her vision as the words are impressed upon her consciousness, and by the same power. The pictures are too constant, too vivid, too complete in detail, and include too much that is utterly unknown to Mrs. Curran, to accept them as products of her imagination. For example, it was not known to her, or to anyone about her, although Mrs. Smith is skilled in ceramics, that there ever was such a potter's wheel as that described here until the subject was investigated afterward. There are hundreds of such instances. In this book the chapters are introduced by brief descriptions, written by Mr. Curran, of the scenes thus presented to Mrs. Curran. No words accompanied these introductory scenes. Mrs. Curran simply told what she saw and Mr. Curran gave form to her description.

xii INTRODUCTION

As had been the case when she began other important work, Patience, shortly after beginning this book, gave this prayer for the accomplishment of her hope and purpose in writing it:

Let not my tongue become heavy Of time nor light of sympathy. Make my words wisdom such as A child may nurture upon. I would Not walk.a path with Wisdom Upon which no child's feet disported.

I would make my wisdom strong as an Armor, yet gentle as the eyes of Motherhood. In such accomplishment I shall be a true brother unto all Men, and a child with childhood. He who remembereth that wisdom Is but the mother's breast, Forgetteth not that he is a babe.

C. S. Y.

Written for and

Lovingly Dedicated to

Mrs. Alexander B. Smith

I,

(Scene — An Oriental city at the edge of the desert. Time — Perhaps a thousand years ago, perhaps today. At a corner of an open space within the walls sits a potter, moulding a pot upon a rude wheel. Beside him is a rack holding finished pots, the work of his hands. To him comes a child bearing a brass bowl.)

Child: O Khadjas, I have come, I whom thou hast bidden to seek thy side at the dawning, that I hear thee sing. I have come,

Khadjas, bearing the brass bowl for the filling at thy fount. Men whom I have passed upon my way have despised my shadow, and

1 may not suckle at my mother's breast the draught of wisdom for which I thirst. Give me the water of thy wisdom. See ! Is not the bowl empty before thee ?"

Khadjas: "Wisdom is not learning, child. Fools have learning, and wisdom is the tatters that cover the beggar."

Child: "O Khadjas, is this the filling of the bowl? Men have said that Love rode upon the back of a bird bearing a rod of sweet cane and a brace of arrows. Is this true, O Khadjas?"

Khadjas: "Tomorrow the gateway shall swing inward, O child, and the caravans shall sweep within the city's place. Unmindful shall the hand which moves this wheel turn its surface beneath the palm. That, O child, is love ; and the caravans have no plunder within their packs which may give the answer like the turning of the wheel."

Child: "Is this wisdom ? Show me its waters, O Khadjas."

Khadjas: "Dip thy bowl within the waters, so, letting it come forth filled. Now, child, cast it upon the sands. It is done. Behold the answer! The sands are dry even now. Likewise is wisdom drunk and become dry, yet the herbage beneath the sands have become quickened."

Child: "Then wisdom may not be drunk but must be cast forth unto the sands. Such is thy word, O Khadjas?"

Khadjas: "Behold thy bowl, O child. It hath thirst upon its lips. It is empty. Again dip within the water and cast. A wise man keepeth his bowl empty.

"The waters of wisdom spurt the stones. The root of its stream is within the heart of man. And thou, O child, hast yet to learn that the gods strike upon stone for entrance when they smite the hearts of men. Aye, and 'tis the water of wisdom which washeth the stone asunder."

Child: "Is this wisdom or confusion, O Khadjas?"

Khadjas : "Learning is confusion ; wisdom is simplicity."

Child: "Then with thy wisdom make simple words which mav define the thirst which is mine, O Khadjas. How in confusion may I find simplicity?"

Khadjas: "Behold the pot, O child, turning upon its wheel, unmindful of the caravans or the sands, or that the mighty winds trouble them until the desert shall writhe in its golden fury, and in its labour work out a miracle. It is the pot upon the wheel, turning."

Child: "See, O Khadjas, I have drunk the draught. The pot upon the wheel, turning. No part of confusion. Apart from confusion. I would watch thee at the turning. I would watch thy hands at the labour. O

Khadjas, singer, speak on ! What is the answer of hate? Among men I have seen the strife and the bitterness. I have beheld the bearing of blades and the gushing forth of blood. What is the answer of hate, O Khadjas?"

Khadjas: 'Turn thou, O child, toward the East. Let thy voice rise in the sound of calling. Demand of the gods answering. There ; even as I have commanded it is done. Hark ! Hearest thou the answer? Watch the pot turning. It hath not a voice for calling nor ears to take in the answering. It turneth upon the wheel."

Child: "But is this wisdom, O Khadjas, or is it that the pot is not flesh. What is the smile which plays thy grim lips? Is it at my folly thou art smiling ?"

Khadjas: "Nay, child, the pot is flesh and hath a thirst for wisdom. Behold the drops, falling, falling. See! they are drunk and the pot becometh more perfect. Yet it is crying not aloud. Hate is not yon in the Eastway, nor yet within the West, nor within the North, nor the South, nor above nor below. It hath no answer. No man who would hear its voice would answer its hideous cry.

"O child, pluck forth a stone and fling it unto the pot. Behold, it is broken into bits by the smiting of hate. Yet in its confusion it lieth upon the wheel, and is still the pot upon the wheel, turning !"

Child: "But it is broken, O Khadjas! Thy wisdom may not make it whole. Hate hath shattered it."

Khadjas: "Behold, O child, the atoms of its being are complete !"

Child: "O Khadjas, I have drunk the water of thy wisdom. The answer to hate is the pot upon the wheel, turning. The Master's hand awaiteth His vessel and the answer is the pot upon the wheel, turning.

"O Khadjas, why is the day dry of wis-^ dom and wet of learning? Why do men make pence of learning and beg wisdom ?"

Khadjas : "O child, thy voice hath become old in that utterance ! Learning is the counting of jewels; wisdom is the jewels!"

Child: "O Khadjas, thy wisdom is a clear pool. I, a child of the sands, may not read wisdom upon the desert nor upon men, for they that possess wisdom are mute to announce it, while they that have learning chant loudly, displaying their wares.

"Is wisdom a daughter of the stars ? Hath she, O Khadjas, turquoise upon her anklets and armlets of silver which ring? Hath she gladness and youth? Is she smiling? Doth she dance unto the music of Folly, ringing her armlets and displaying the turquoise upon her anklets? Is her hair perfumed of sweet oils and dusted of golden dusts? Is her breast bare and veined of milk? Is she a bearer of men? O Khadjas, how many men have been born of wisdom?"

Khadjas: "Child, she is not laughing. Her feet are bare and bleeding and her hands have been cupped by the turning of her wheel. Her breasts drip, aye, and the cups of all men &re pressed unto them. Her raiment is of doubt. While the temple bells ring she is within the retreat of the souls of men, for the temple bells are but a symbol of the calling of men one unto the other, while wisdom calleth not but is born of the union of humility and thirst. Truth is unveiled and belongeth not unto the Caliph's harem.

"This is the speech of a heretic but wisdom is mute. Confide, O child, unto wisdom ! Take up the bowl, for tomorrow cometh bearing a tray of opals, and the sun is within them, and wisdom glows within their hearts like fire veiled with camel's milk.

"Tomorrow cometh, and her young neck shall be encircled with a golden chain, and her lips shall utter new words ; and wisdom shall be found upon her breast, new-born!

"O child, bring thy bowl unto the side of Khadjas that he shall speak the name of wisdom confidently unto thee. Turn thine eyes unto the coming morning, untroubled with that thou hast learned, for remember that learning is but the clinking cymbals unto wisdom's feet. Unfetter thy tongue with a pack of inquiry. Today hath nothing new, nothing old, but the turning of the pot upon the wheel.

"Return in the young morning, if thou thirsteth, with thy cup. But, if thy wisdom hath aroused, return with a lighted taper."

II

(Scene — The same. Comes the Child again, bearing a lighted taper.)

Child: "O Khadjas, behold me and the lighted taper ! I have run with sure legs unto thy side through the young morning. Even as thy tongue foretold, I beheld the morning with her tray of opals, and I knew wisdom within their hearts even though 'twas veiled with camel's milk. I am assured of the knowledge I have attained. O Khadjas, behold me with my taper lighted with confidence, for I am come unto the knowledge of true wisdom."

Khadjas: 'This is the tongue of youth, O child ! Should a man slay his brother, what should thy judgment be?"

Child: "O Khadjas, out of the fullness of my wisdom I speak. A man should justly slay his brother should he defile the law. He should be secure in his wisdom and know his brother's failing. He should, with his word of wisdom, adjudge his brother wrong in his wrongdoing. He should make himself no part of such folly as belongs his brother. This is the judgment of wisdom upon this, O Khadjas."

Khadjas: "O child, behold thy taper; it is gone out! With the zeal of thy folly thou hast extinguished wisdom. Where is thy cup and thy humility? Behold the pot upon the wheel, turning. While thy learning led thee upon the highways, wisdom remained the pot upon the wheel, turning."

Child: "Then am I confused, O Khadjas. I who so lately would have drunk truth have supped folly. Behold my lamp is gone out and I am consumed of a keener thirst.

Where is my bowl ? I have left it as an empty vessel and have naught within which to catch wisdom. Behold, the taper is no more and naught but wisdom may relight it. Let me speed with swift legs that I bring forth the bowl, empty. Detain me not with thy words, O Khadjas; I would flee forth !"

Khadjas : "Before the new flame of thy taper bow, O child. Behold in thy returning humility it hath sprung forth anew, the new flame of wisdom.

"The pot is upon the wheel. Return with no conviction but with the question of a child. Already art thou upon the way. Such is the pathway of youth. While wisdom maketh her confident word, folly pipes and youth would dance.

"Today but brought new fears and old doubts. Make haste. Bring forth thy bowl for the filling. Unto the side of Khadjas return in faith."

(Child runs swiftly homeward, returning with a larger bowl.)

Child: "Behold me, O Khadjas! I, who so lately left thy side, return, making sure that I may be armored against folly, for behold that I bring forth a bowl that is once and once again so large as first I proffered. I am consumed of thirst and wisdom is a dry draught. Is the taper burning? Why are thy lips so interchangeful of sorrow and smiling? Seven-fold have I withstood the folly of the path, neither turning to the right nor to the left, bearing with confidence the new bowl for the new draught, thy wisdom, O Khadjas !"

Khadjas : "Lo, before thy folly wisdom hath forsaken thee ! Is the bowl thou didst proffer yesterday filled?"

Child: "Nay, it is no longer a useful vessel. Have I not drunk from its lips? Behold, I proffer a newer fashioned cup, for my thirst is monstrous."

Khadjas: "Make ready thy cup then, that thou shalt dip. The hand of Khadjas proffereth thee the water which is wisdom.

"Thy cup is o'er its filling, yet this is the water of Yesterday and Yesterday's waters may not be drunk from Today's bowl. The sands of Eternity thirst for the waters of Yesterday. So be it. Look ! upon the sands I have cast it and it is already dry. Go forth and bring thy cup filled of the waters of Today."

Child: "But, Khadjas, where is the well?"

Khadjas: "Each man, O child, seeketh his well of wisdom. Make thee forth, and at the eve's coming I shall await thee confidently, turning the wheel and creating a new pot."

Child: "Thou, O Khadjas, did bid me to return with no conviction but with the question of a child. What, O Khadjas, is the thing which swings the gate of the city?

What is the thing which setteth hunger within man's breast ? What is the thing that lieth between the stones of the city walls and is the foundation of the temple and of the huts ?"

Khadjas: "Unto thy word, O child, I would reply : watch with mindful eye the pot upon the wheel, and the potter's hands, each finger flattened with the service of creation, each sinew strengthened with the desire of power ; for the foundation of the pot is within the potter's spirit, and the whirring of the wheel is weaving his fancy.

"This is the stuff of the temple's foundation. This is the stuff between the stones of the city's walls. It is the thing which rides upon the back of a bird with a rod of sweet cane and a brace of arrows. It is LOVE. It swingeth the city gates and ringeth the temple's bells. It condemns not, nor fellows with folly, though folly followeth it."

Child: "O Khadjas, I am filled with thy wisdom. I shall go forth with my great bowl and fill it with the blue water of the sky! I shall let a star lie upon its breast and rim the bowl with the circlet moon ! Yea, I shall set my bowl upon the pedestal of the sun! O Khadjas, I shall find the well of wisdom and with the bowl of my spirit shall dip it dry ! I shall come before thee and make thee acknowledge that Youth hath a foreshortened pathway unto wisdom. Oh, lay not a hand of restraint upon me, O Khadjas ; I am overcome with confidence!"

Khadjas : " Yea, child, but thy bowl is empty !"

Child (Wonderingly confused) : "Which way, O Khadjas, to the well of wisdom ?"

Khadjas: "Let thy confidence lead thee, child."

Child: "But, O Khadjas, I have but met her, and thee I have known since my great eyes beheld the bat upon the moon, The sun is hot. Thinkest thou the water shall be low within the well?"

Khadjas: "Be upon thy path, O child. Today is an open script, and thou hast read the hours with no filling of their wisdom. When the evening hath come return with thy bowl."

III

(The child departs slowly. In the late evening he returns wearily, bearing the cup. The moon shows him Khadjas and he approaches swiftly, crying.)

"O Khadjas! O Khadjas! O Khadjas! Woe is me, for the men of Earth have beset me, and I in my confusion have but tar^ ried to return the stones they cast. But behold, the night found me with no wisdom and no water of the well, for my bowl is filled with stones ! My throat cries out with thirst and the wisdom that was mine hath forsaken me. There is no pathway marked upon the streetways where wisdom hath trod for I have sought her footprints and have found but sand. The winds of the four ways have descended upon me and blinded mine eyes with the desert wastes. I see nothing but the blackness of the night, and I am weary of the searching for the water. O Khadjas, take my bowl and lend me but one sup

I"

Khadjas: "O child, sit beside the wheel. Clasp thy legs about the rod. Lay thy hands upon the cool clay and press thy lips against the sweating curves. The moon shall draw up from the well of night new wisdom that is cool."

Child : "O Khadjas, my hands have ceased to throb. Mine eyes have lifted unto the skies. I see the moon rising, but my bowl is empty of the sky's blue and the stars, and the moon's circlet is not upon its lips. . . . Behold ! Yon is a young star !"

Khadjas: "Nay, child, it is the taper of thy lamp, burning."

Child : "Seven caravans have come within the walls, O Khadjas, each man among them a noble, each camel hung in glittering array, and the packs are scented of spices, and the wisdom they bring is overpowering. They tell of far lands, of the interchanging of moneys, of the lands of other gods and kings. They have spoken that thy wisdom is but the musing of the aged. What is the answer?"

(Silence, broken but by the whirring of the wheel.)

Child: "Is silence a rebuke, O Khadjas, or is it an acknowledgment? Seven caravans are many and the men of seven caravans are many many. Their wisdom is not to be despised since it hath bought goods. And thine, O Khadjas, leaveth thy feet naked and thy hands scarred. What is thy answer ?"

Khadjas: "Seven caravans, and the wisdom of the men of seven caravans ! Their packs are scented of spices and each man is a noble ! Look thou, child ; is not the cheek of the pot round?"

Child: 'This is no answer, O Khadjas! I have come unto wisdom which I bring forth unto thee who declare thyself wise. What is thy answer ?"

Khadjas: "Seven drops and seven whirrs/'

Child: "Thou art jesting, O Khadjas! Make me an answer

I"

Khadjas: "Seven turns upon the wheel and seven tears dropped upon it. Child, behold the pot upon the wheel. O child, thy heart is the pot upon the wheel. The clay is cool. The water droppeth cunningly over it."

Child: "O Khadjas, let me lay my hand upon it. It itcheth for contact/'

Khadjas: "But the caravans are passing, child."

Child: "Yea, O Khadjas, but the clay is cool and the water drops !"

IV

(The Child again returns. Some days later.)

Child: "Seven times, O Khadjas, have the city's gates swung inward. Seven times I have stood beside thy wheel drinking in the wonders of thy wisdom. Neither thy words nor the wisdom they contain make the dealing of the day clear unto mine eyes, for behold, unto me the city is like a grain of sand bathed with the dusts, for it lieth beneath the bath of iniquities and cunning and dishonorable dealing helplessly like unto the grain of sand.

"What manner of wisdom hath man for such, O Khadjas? When I rest beside thy wheel watching the pot I am not confused, but when I with sure legs stride forth to become a part of the city's day, I become as a bit of foam upon the surface of the sea and am tortured before its strength. Men have no ear for my wisdom and even though its waters are sweet and my lips thirst for its draught, they laugh at my cup in derision and set about the interchanging of wares, saying: 'Gods are not within mouthing, neither the wisdom of gods. Behold, is not this the stuff for gods?' and they hold up before my gaze the market's wares and fall into wordy discourse. They are consumed with the desire of greed and hunger not for wisdom. O Khadjas, their day is not thy day, yet I am one among them and must live the hours of their day and deal thy wisdom! It may not be, O Khadjas, for thy wisdom is confusion unto them and their day is confusion unto thee."

Khadjas : "O child, thy words are not of wise men. Remember thou that all men who word are not wording wisdom nor yet learning.

Behold, the babes about the market place each is consumed with some play. Their prattle is but the soughing of the winds and meaneth less. Yet, unto them, play is the rooting of wisdom. The men that thou hast listed unto are but babes prattling. Their eyes see naught but the gaud of the wares, and their mouths speak naught but of the worth of them, for worthless possessions may not become worth save that the possessor assure himself and all men of their worth, repeating with sure tongue the false value until it becometh well-sounding unto his ear and unto them that list.

"Behold the pot upon the wheel ! It neither becometh a part of such nor rebuketh the action. Men may despise it, laying their hands upon its clay in light touch. Of this the pot hath no part. Men may even make loud announcement of its little value. Of this it hath no part; for within its clay is imbibed the thought, the will, of the potter, and it cries aloud: 'I am a pot/ even before its shape hath become perfect/'

Child: "Where, O Khadjas, are the prayers of wisdom? Wise men pray, though thou art mute."

Khadjas : "O child, prayer is but the water of the soul dripping upon the clay and may not become & perfect thing, a vessel of office, without labour. What potter, O child, would fling forth 'from him on the instant a pot complete? This would not be labour, and labour is the loving unto creation. Love may not be bartered for, O child ; aye, love is the price of labour.

"Thou hast brought the wisdom of men unto me and the despisal of the wisdom I have dealt out unto thee. What is thy answer unto this?"

Child: "O Khadjas, I am mute before such wisdom ! It is as though my spirit were the blue sky and a dove had been loosed unto it. I would follow its flight but the barb of the men slay it and it falleth dead at my feet. Thy voice, O Khadjas, is but one voice and the voices of men are many. I am lonely, so I tarry to listen, for there, in the market's place, is companionship."

Khadjas: "No man, O child, is lonely who hath the rod of truth within his hand. There is but one Voice, and mine is but the echo of it. Goest thou unto the market's place thou shalt find thyself far o'er lonely among* men who clank the pence of folly."

Child: "O Khadjas, I am through with thy wisdom. I shall fling it forth as a stone of hate. I shall shatter the pot upon the wheel and fare forth unto the city's place."

Khadjas: "Begone, O child, but tarry until the hand of the potter lendeth thee a bit of clay, for rememberest thou not that the men of the city's way beset thee with stones ?"