I Ching Hexagram 56 - Lu / The Wanderer Translated by Richard Wilhelm Above Li the Clinging, Fire Below Ken Keeping Still, Mountain Introduction The mountain, Ken, stands still; above it fire, Li, flames up and does not tarry. Therefore the two trigrams do not stay together. Strange lands and separation are the wanderer's lot. Judgement The Wanderer. Success through smallness. Perseverance brings good fortune to the Wanderer. Judgement Commentary When a man is a wanderer and stranger, he should not be gruff nor overbearing. He has no large circle of acquaintances, therefore he should not give himself airs. He must be cautious and reserved; in this way he protects himself from evil. If he is obliging toward others, he wins success. A wanderer has no fixed abode; his home is the road. Therefore he must take care to remain upright and steadfast, so that he sojourns only in the proper places, associating only with good people. Then he has good fortune and can go his way unmolested. The Image Fire on the mountain: The image of The Wanderer. Thus the superior man is clear-minded, cautious in imposing penalties and protracts no lawsuits. Image Commentary When grass on a mountain takes fire, there [...]

The Lake ~ Daryl Hine  - from "Wooden Horses" (1965) dans le simple appareil D’une beauté qu’on vient d’arracher au sommeil. Smoothed by sleep and ruffled by your dreams The surface of the little lake Fed by unconscious tributary streams, Unbroken by the breezes nightmares make, Like your face looks fathomless and seems Bottomless till light or noises wake. You move and murmur and almost awake. I admire but do not wish to enter, Like any wanderer beside Moonlit water in midwinter Who as a simulacrum for the tide Casting a pebble into the calm centre Watches the circles spread from side to side. I wait for you and morning at your side. Such sources feed the mirror of your mind, I dare not touch the surface of your sleep. But to love by ignorance resigned, Infatuated guardian, I keep Watch beside a fountain where I find No image, for images too deep, Above your breathing regular and deep.

Alastor; or, The Spirit of Solitude ~ Percy Bysshe Shelley 1792–1822 Nondum amabam, et amare amabam, quaerebam quid amarem, amans amare. - Confess. St.August Earth, ocean, air, belovèd brotherhood! If our great Mother has imbued my soul With aught of natural piety to feel Your love, and recompense the boon with mine; If dewy morn, and odorous noon, and even, With sunset and its gorgeous ministers, And solemn midnight's tingling silentness; If autumn's hollow sighs in the sere wood, And winter robing with pure snow and crowns Of starry ice the grey grass and bare boughs; If spring's voluptuous pantings when she breathes Her first sweet kisses, have been dear to me; If no bright bird, insect, or gentle beast I consciously have injured, but still loved And cherished these my kindred; then forgive This boast, belovèd brethren, and withdraw No portion of your wonted favour now! Mother of this unfathomable world! Favour my solemn song, for I have loved Thee ever, and thee only; I have watched Thy shadow, and the darkness of thy steps, And my heart ever gazes on the depth Of thy deep mysteries. I have made my bed In charnels and on coffins, where black death Keeps [...]

A Message from the Wanderer~ William E. Staffordfrom The Way It Is: New & Selected Poems (1998)Today outside your prison I standand rattle my walking stick: Prisoners, listen;you have relatives outside. And there arethousands of ways to escape.Years ago I bent my skill to keep mycell locked, had chains smuggled to me in pies,and shouted my plans to jailers;but always new plans occured to me,or the new heavy locks bent hinges off,or some stupid jailer would forgetand leave the keys.Inside, I dreamed of constellations—those feeding creatures outlined by stars,their skeletons a darkness between jewels,heroes that exist only where they are not.Thus freedom always came nibbling my thought,just as—often, in light, on the open hills—you can pass an antelope and not knowand look back, and then—even before you see—there is something wrong about the grass.And then you see.That’s the way everything in the world is waiting.Now—these few more words, and then I’mgone: Tell everyone just to remembertheir names, and remind others, later, when wefind each other. Tell the little onesto cry and then go to sleep, curled upwhere they can. And if any of us get lost,if any of us cannot come all the way—remember: there will come a time whenall we have said [...]

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud ~ William Wordsworth 1770–1850 I went out to the hazel wood, Because a fire was in my head, And cut and peeled a hazel wand, And hooked a berry to a thread; And when white moths were on the wing, And moth-like stars were flickering out, I dropped the berry in a stream And caught a little silver trout. I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed—and gazed—but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of [...]

The Song of Wandering Aengus ~ W. B. Yeats The Wind Among the Reeds (1899) I went out to the hazel wood, Because a fire was in my head, And cut and peeled a hazel wand, And hooked a berry to a thread; And when white moths were on the wing, And moth-like stars were flickering out, I dropped the berry in a stream And caught a little silver trout. When I had laid it on the floor I went to blow the fire a-flame, But something rustled on the floor, And someone called me by my name: It had become a glimmering girl With apple blossom in her hair Who called me by my name and ran And faded through the brightening air. Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands; And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done, The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.