Month: October 2025

A Thought went up my mind today –
That I have had before –
But did not finish – some way back –
I could not fix the Year –

Nor where it went – nor why it came
The second time to me –
Nor definitely, what it was –
Have I the Art to say –

But somewhere – in my Soul – I know –
I’ve met the Thing before –
It just reminded me – ‘twas all –
And came my way no more –

My poet wife, Louise, once told me that a mystical experience is something our body/mind creates when our body/mind needs a mystical experience. Circular? Perhaps. ED says “it came / The second time to me”, whatever the “it” is, and then “it” came my way no more.

As a quantitative scientist, I would say that the probability the wordings of these two couplets are similar due to random chance is less than 1 in 10,000:

“Nature” is what We know –
But have no art to say”

and

“Nor definitely, what it was –
Have I the art to say” ,

In statistical language, the probability is in the neighborhood of P < 0.0001. A scientist would reject the null hypothesis that there is no relationship between the lines if the chances they were unrelated were less than 1 in 100 (P < 0.01), and P < 0.0001 is one hundred times less likely than P < 0.01.

Cutting the jargon, these two poems are extremely likely to be closely related, and, if so, their interpretations must also be closely related, which brings me back to hypothesize that “it” is one or more mystical experiences. The circumstantial evidence is compelling to me.

It can’t be “Summer”!
That – got through!
It’s early – yet – for “Spring”!
There’s that long town of White – to cross –
Before the Blackbirds sing!
It can’t be “Dying”!
It’s too Rouge –
The Dead shall go in White –
So Sunset shuts my question down
With Cuffs of Chrysolite!

In biblical times and ancient history, “chrysolite” referred to various yellowish and greenish stones, a versatile term for expensive and prized gems. Olivine (Chrysolite) is considered a hard mineral, ranking between 6.5 and 7 on the Mohs hardness scale, which means it is harder than glass and can scratch it.

Nice to see a fun poem amid the pain and introspection. ED manages to sneak in “Summer”, “Spring”, and “Dying” with caps and quotes, usually signals of metaphors, but they aren’t obvious here.

“So Sunset shuts my question down” begs a question mark somewhere, but it’s only implied.

ED poses a riddle: What season is it?

One by one she tells us the season is not summer, spring, fall, or winter, in that order. Lines 1-3 imply the weather is warm and the sunset gorgeous. So, what’s the answer to ED’s riddle?

She got us! It’s Indian Summer, of course.

These are the days when Birds come back—
A very few—a Bird or two—
To take a backward look.

These are the days when skies resume
The old—old sophistries of June—
A blue and gold mistake.

Oh fraud that cannot cheat the Bee—
Almost thy plausibility
Induces my belief.

Till ranks of seeds their witness bear—
And softly thro’ the altered air
Hurries a timid leaf.

Oh sacrament of summer days,
Oh Last Communion in the Haze—
Permit a child to join.

Thy sacred emblems to partake—
Thy consecrated bread to take
And thine immortal wine!

Apparently, ED never took communion at church, as a child because of Christian custom or as an adult because of agnostic honesty. But both children and agnostics can joyously partake in the Sacrament of Indian-Summer, its bread and wine the golden hues and crisp cool air.