Letter 2.23

Well, we've finally exhausted the supply of old grey aerogrammes ('the old grey aerogramme, it ain't what it used to be), and I can write on a much more legible blue.

I left Island Hermitage about a month ago and I've been at Ñānasumana’s kuti in Bundala ever since. We spent some days talking over what needed to be talked over, then he left for Godawaya, and I've been here alone ever since, which is exactly why I came here: what a relief from the bustle and rush of such a major metropolitan centre as Island Hermitage. But, alas, in a few weeks, I'll have to return there to attend to final details on the book – i.e. getting a complete printer's typescript prepared (a beginning has been made already), after which we will be prepared to go to press. There will be no trouble at all with support: a number of people have offered/requested to finance it (one of them is willing to go as high as 100,000 Rs.), and it is only a question of choosing the most suitable -- or, possibly, least unsuitable -- person (who can also attend to various details with the printer). No -- finances are not the hang-up at all, but rather coping with the amount of work involved (the book will be in excess of 400,000 words, which is a pretty big book).

So here I sit in a comfortable net chair -- the only piece of furniture in the kuti -- watching the chipmonks hurry to gobble up what they can of the leftover rice I put out for them before the mongooses, monkeys, hens, and other jungle wildlife come along to gobble it up themselves. Even had a glass of milk today, which is a rare treat here (and an impossibility at Island Hermitage, where the shelves are filled with tinned dried condensed and virtually useless Nestomalt), which I poured all over the rice and had milk rice. There's been some very out of season rain here this month, so everything is nice and green and the cisterns are full and the bathing area is fresh (and, also, the cows are giving milk -- they're usually dried up by now).

The weather -- when it's not raining -- is sunny and even a shade (if that's the word) on the hot side, and the wind is constantly from the east, so I get the sound of the surf very clear even at the kuti, which is a half mile from the sea (by the rather circuitous jungle path -- certainly a bit less for the crows). Some days I go out for long walks in the afternoon, but the ground is too hot in the early afternoon to walk on (with bare feet), and later on I have to return by about 5:00, at which time one of the villagers brings me a flask of tea -- and it's not polite to make him wait too long. Now, though, we're entering the bright half of the month -- the moon is waxing and does not set until – tonight -- about 10:00 (and later by 50 minutes each night), so it will soon be possible to go out for walks at night: during the hot season (which this is here) that seems to be the only time at which it's comfortable to move about. Otherwise -- whether at the kuti or in some part of the jungle -- during most of the day one just stays put. Which is also fine.

In the year since I've last been here a few changes have been made in the kuti itself -- primarily that one whole wall has been removed so that there is now no barrier (except a bamboo curtain which rolls up) between the kuti itself and the ambulatory, and the place is much lighter and more open. I don't know how well that works out in the season of heavy mosquitos (March/April), but in May it's quite nice: the few mosquitos that do show up are tolerable.

So: there you sit reading this, among your tulips, with the days growing longer and longer (not much difference -- only about an hour's total daylight -- between even the extremes of December and June this close to the equator -- 6 N.), warmer and warmer, and greener and greener (Never much shortage of greenery in this part of the world -- also many jungle flowers of very fine and exquisite pattern and color, but they are usually a bit hidden and one has to learn how to see them; on occasion I've espied some lovely tiny orchids growing near my kuti at Island Hermitage).

Anyway this month is turning out to be a very welcome break allowing me to do a lot of sorting out and seeing new perspectives. I should be well prepared to return to Island Hermitage and get back to the other perspectives. How's your perspectives?

Letter 2.22

Today is Sinhalese New Year and the place is very noisy with fireworks going off almost every second, and a great mass of dāyakās (their children run about the islands shouting at each other -- and the adults are no quieter: the whole affair is a yearly picnic to them, but to us it's our food).

An elderly German concert violinist named Neumann has arrived on the Island -- his sixth visit, I believe -- and intends to be ordained and still another German seeking ordination is expected to arrive within the next week or so. In the meantime the Maha Thera is having a good deal of fun being very secretive about the ordination plans -- he won't say when it will be or even who will be ordained. Maybe he's no more certain than they.

I expect to go down to Bundala sometime this month, and may (or may not) stay for the month of May. I may stay elsewhere for May. At any rate, I feel that a month away from the Hermitage will be to my benefit: a slight shift of viewpoint may bring to light things which I'm now in a position -- as a result of the last year here -- to see but can't quite make out through the particular obstructing foliage indigenous to the Island.

Letter 2.21

Well, what an attractive aerogramme the U.S. P.O. seems to be putting out now, during 'Human Rights Year', with the globes and birds (what do the birds symbolize? or do they symbolize nothing? 'free flight?' 'bars-do-(or do-not) a-prison-make?'), and arranged in a much more convenient and usable form on a much nicer color paper than this dull grey which tends to obscure what is written on it, which tends to be obscure enough.

Big population explosion here at Island Hermitage -- 7 Western laymen Now -- 4 Americans and 3 English -- are here now, although 3 (1 American + 2 English) will be leaving in a week -- the 3 whose absence will be least regretted. The 2 Americans from California, who have been here 6 months, will remain, as will a friend of theirs who showed up a few weeks ago -- though he's so turned on that I don't know if he'll be able to stick around long enough to come down. Also arrived is an English friend, Graham, who I knew some time ago and who will certainly stay for a long while and almost as certainly be ordained here in the near future. He's been wandering around India and Nepal for some time -- and that's where the departing boys are running away to: running away from having to face their own existence -- which is all there is to face at Island Hermitage, since there are few external stimulants/irritants/distractions to allow them to forget about their own existence -- although they don't know it. He says about 90% of all Westerners -- not only backpackers but everybody -- in India are busy being part of the drug scene -- this is about a 10% increase over when I was there a few years ago -- and 75% of the people on the West Coast are also so involved according to our California correspondents. I imagine Detroit has a lower percentage, but hallucinogens seem to be the coming -- coming? come! -- device for euphoria and general forgetfulness. I'm certainly glad to be far removed from that society.

The main difference between 'them' and me (atleast now) is simply that I have something that I see is 'to be done' -- i.e. meditation and all that goes with it -- while they do not have -- have not found -- or refuse to recognize/accept that their existence itself requires of them a task to be done -- that, in one sense, it is not purposeless (although what that purpose is is not an easy thing to accept) -- and so continue seeking outside of themselves (via more and more intense stimulants, drugs, etc.) to find out what task there is; however, that can only be learned by seeking inside of oneself, and they, going in the wrong direction, naturally do not find what they (don't know they) are looking for. Occasionally a few individuals come to understand -- largely through despair and anxiety – that they've been going the wrong way and reverse their direction, and only those who do understand this are the sort who will/can stay here. Hence, the departures for India and the rest (or no rest, rather).

Well, how's that for filling an aerogramme with nothing to say?

Letter 2.20

The epoxy had to go through customs (something one would expect to get stuck there), but finally arrived safely with a duty of RS. 1.50 (25¢) and yesterday I finally finished the desk, putting on the last coating of French polish. The graining -- which is matched and very handsome -- stands out nicely in the wood, which is the color of dark honey with a low gloss. But I've certainly had enough carpentry now to last me for a good long while.

I imagine you find the Letters somewhat disquieting and not at all 'healthy' I would not dispute this, but I would again emphasize that they represent my own view, and were sent not to evoke any emotion whatsoever but simply to afford an avenue of understanding -- if you wish it -- of the way I am. If you don't want them, by the way, don't return them -- let me know and I'll send you an address to mail them to: there is one person (Eric [1] -- remember him? -- who is now in Canada) who might fine them of use and I'd like him to see them. At any rate, you'll receive (if you want it) a copy of the complete work when it's published. (I've had a letter only a few days ago from a complete stranger in Colombo, who has offered to pay all publishing costs and says he will be coming here on the 24th to discuss the matter further. But there is no shortage of people anxious to be the publisher of the book.)

Anyway, perhaps the Letters will help you to understand why I can't accept your conditional offer of round trip transportation. If not, all I can add is that it seems to me that your stipulation that I doff my robes for the occasion shows that you are more interested in seeing me-as-you'd-like-me-to-be than in seeing me-as-I-am. But me-as-you'd-like-me-to-be – alas! -- does not exist. I think I've already told you that I can feel affection for you without missing you, and that if I did visit it would be primarily (though not entirely) at your desire. That I would return here is beyond question and discussion. Therefore even if I did agree to go in Western clothes it hardly seems likely that the visit could be a success, since your stipulation shows that you would try -- directly or indirectly -- to induce me to remain and then there would be tension conflict, anxiety, and unhappiness. And if my going to the States would cause that then it seems that the only reasonable thing is not to go. If and when the conditions which would be responsible for the tension, etc., are eliminated there would no longer be any need for any stipulations or conditions, and then it might be possible to plan a successful visit.

I gave the lunar photos you sent to the Maha Thera; he appreciates that sort of thing. My explorations are in an entirely different direction. Speaking of the sky, though, Venus (or could it be Sirius?) has been so bright of late that it actually casts a distinct shadow at night for the few hours it's still visible after dark. Now, of course, we're getting a new moon, which is also up before the sun has set, so it's no longer visible: but in another few weeks, perhaps the star will be visible again, after the full moon. I've never seen a star so bright before.

Eric returned to Canada (his wife is Canadian; he is American) via Japan (from Australia), from which he sent me a lovely little Japanese Buddha seated crosslegged on a lotus blossom which rests on a pedestal supported by a cat (or perhaps some other animal -- I don‘t know its significance, since the Japanese teachings -- which are multitudinous -- are far removed from the work I am doing here; though Japanese Zen seems to be the big thing among some of the California set), the whole of this structure is carved out of a piece of ivory about 3/4 of an inch high mounted in a polished walnut shell which rests on a wooden base. Some very fine details in the Buddha (if it is in fact a Buddha -- it might be some Japanese deity or patriarch for all I know).

[1] E=II (Hum)

Letter 2.19

There are still three 'references' needed which perhaps you could check on. First, there is a work by McTaggert called THE NATURE OF EXISTENCE in two volumes. Only Vol. l is available locally. In Vol. 2 could you -- if it's available at the library -- copy paragraphs 353-4 and send them to me. (The book has bold-face paragraph section numbers, though I don't know what page numbers are equivalent to 353-4, only that it's not in Vol. 1). Secondly, can you find out who is the publisher of the British translation of Wittgenstein's TRACTATUS LOGICO-PHILOSOPHICUS and when it was published, etc. Thirdly, there is a work called DICTIONARY OF RELIGION edited by a person named KERN or FERN -- I can't find out which is the correct name. Could you find this out?

Part of the work I've been preparing of Ven. Ñānavīra Thera's writings consists of letters he has written to various people and serves as a good introduction to his thinking. I know of no better way to give you some idea of what it is that I am actually doing -- and what my own attitudes are -- than to show you these letters and say, simply: 'I agree.' Therefore I'm going to begin sending them to you, a section or two at a time (via air mail -- to send it all at once would be beyond the capacities of our postage fund) at intervals of a week or so -- there are 10 'sections'.

Perhaps you will not make anything at all of it -- it is by no means easy, but there is much that does not require any technical knowledge -- simply good will (a desire to understand rather than to find fault) and an effort of the intellect (the mode of thought will be, at first, very difficult for you since it is not familiar). My reason for sending it is not to 'convert' you by any means, nor to argue at all, but rather to give you the opportunity -- if you want it -- to arrive at some understanding of my own views. How much understanding you obtain will depend on how much good will and effort you care to put into your reading of the letters. I certainly don't expect you to agree with it, but I do rather hope you might, to some extent at least, simply understand it. At any rate, you can expect the first two sections fairly soon. If you don't want to even see them, tell me. If you find them of interest then keep them as long as you wish -- forever if you wish. But if you find that you don't want them (or no longer want them) then please return them, as there are others here who would like to use them. So -- keep them, return them, or refuse them, read them or not as you like. But don't misunderstand my reasons for sending them or for asking you to return them if and when you are finished with them.

We were served a new food a few days ago -- chocolate-covered cheese. Sounds peculiar at first, no? But -- there is chocolate milk, chocolate ice cream, etc. So why not chocolate-covered cheese? And, in fact, it turned out to be one of the best combinations I've ever had. (We had yellow cheese. I imagine a white cheese would be best with the chocolate mixed in rather than as a covering.

So Humphrey lost, did he?

Humphrey Dumphrey was dumped from the boat.

Humphrey Dumphrey alone could not float.

All of America and half of the vote,

Were gathered by Nixon and lost by the bloat.

And Nixon won, did he?

Nixon's stones may break my bones, but Spiro Agnew will never hurt me.

And Nixon, Humphrey and Wallace were all running, were they? Three blind mice, three blind mice, see how they run, etc… Or, better, yet:

Rubadubdub
Three men in a tub.

And who do you think they be?

They're candidates, lawyers, Washington voyeurs --

Turn 'em out, knaves all three!

Humphrey, though, had a real yearning to be president:

Humphrey, Humphrey, candidate,

Had a yen he couldn't sate.

He put it to the voter's test,

But they have sent him West, man, West.

I imagine the voter's attitude, however, to be:

to poll booth, to poll booth, to throw some rascal in.

Home again, home again: where is the gin?

Oh well, the elections provided me with the malicious pleasure of writing these lines, so all those millions weren't wasted after all.

Letter 2.18

About the epoxy, I didn't think you could send it in a letter -- actually I imagined you would send it in a reinforced toothpaste box or something of the sort. But please do send some, since without it there is little more I can do towards finishing the desk. If you would send two sets in separate packages on different days, there will be twice as good a chance of one of them getting through without the usual month-long delay at the customs house. All pieces of plywood for the covering are cut and many of them are in place, though not all of them are glued in place yet. I don't want to use nails because it would ruin the appearance of what will otherwise be a quite professional job -- the main difference between a professional job and the one I've done being in the time it took to do it rather than in the appearance of the desk itself. I'm actually quite pleased that it's turning out better than I had hoped. The tools I have -- since you asked -- are quite limited: a large saw, a small saw, chisel and mallet, hammer, ruler, files (one large, one small), screwdriver (for the screws in the hinges), drill (ditto), pliers, and jack-plane. Most of the dovetails are very close fits -- some of them can only be hammered into place -- but a few loose ones took some correcting. The desk is absolutely solid now -- strong enough to stand on without any signs of stress. But -- it's not yet finished, and I'll be glad to have it done. The most difficult part was not the dove-tails -- which turned out to be easier to make than I had been led to believe -- but the 4 corners which are 45°. It took a lot of thought and experimentation to get them right.

I learned from a scrap of paper just a few weeks ago that Nixon and Humphrey were the candidates for the election -- apparently the V.P. candidates are Muskie (who, for some reason, I seem to recall as the governor of South Dakota or some such forgotten place) and Wallace (which Wallace I'm not sure). But no further news has filtered down to me, and I don't know who won. (Nor would I, I expect, even if it had filtered down to me.)

I was invaded, about that time, by the creepie-crawlies, which -- in case you don't know -- are insects 1/2 inch long, brown, which wriggle about very rapidly on rather intoxicated courses. They came in thousands at sundown -- never earlier -- and lasted for about four hours, by which time they had all mysteriously vanished away. I had them four nights in a row and then they went away. No idea how they got in. They're totally harmless -- quite helpless, in fact -- but it's quite distracting, when I'm trying to meditate, to have them falling from the ceiling -- which is, perhaps, their means of entry -- and crawling up my back. Perhaps they're adolescent ants being evicted from the nest (there are some ant nests in the roof). In the day there’s not the slightest trace of them. I think -- to judge from the lizards and other small creatures -- that this must be the mating season in Ceylon.

Ants in my robes, so to speak.

Letter 2.17

As for the book I'm working on, it's only an incident in my work and not its sole purpose -- which your 'after the book, what then?' question implies. After it is done I shall have the use of the book in my work and shall not have the distractions of preparing the book to interfere with that work, which I have been engaged in for almost 2 years now. Since it is the only work which has ever had a satisfaction in it, I don't see much sense in giving it up for something which actually repels me. Do you? So I don't expect to return to the States. I was unhappy there: here I am developing the way I want to. But explanations are useless, tiresome things. Whatever my reasons, they are sufficiently strong for me not to hedge about my future: I'm doing what I have to do here and what I can't do in the States. (This, of course, does not rule out the possibility of a visit -- with a return here. Or have you considered a visit here -- most welcome?)

Received a parcel of poetry -- no customs, no declarations at all. Poetry (Snodgrass, etc.) must be in a very privileged position in Ceylon (or, perhaps, in such a low position that the customs people don't even want to look at the titles).

Letter 2.16

The desk, at one time, was kind of fun to build, spending a few hours on it in the afternoon; but now it's becoming a burden and I'd druther be done with it. But the epoxy is insufficient to glue it together, and locally made carpentry glue is altogether unsatisfactory -- besides being very smelly, it doesn't have much stickum in it. I want to finish up these projects -- desk, book, kuti, etc. – by the end of the year and leave next year free for my practice without all this objective work, which is a real brake on the subjective work.

No, no wild baseball celebrations to report here. Just -- if it's Reportable – calmness -- gradually (subjectively) developing, purely an infernal affair, having little to do with the surroundings -- and with it an increasingly clear perception that other affairs serve only the purpose of preventing this calmness and subsequent clarity. Once a certain degree of the latter is achieved, such 'celebrations' would be seen as self-anesthetizing, and would, in being seen, hardly be 'celebrated'. But most of us love our stimulations, excitements, intensities (which are inflations of ourselves) too much to allow such clarity to occur -- so, a wild to-do for any reason at all, and, if no reason comes along, we will manufacture a reason (baseball, rioting over racial injustices, campus rioting over a change of season), keep the blinkers firmly in place. But – such things concern me not at all, and what I write about them now is more with the intent of filling up a letter when there's nothing to say than it is with criticizing them (after all, it's what most people want -- let them have it -- so long as I'm not forced to participate), and I find I no longer have very much capacity for complaining about anything at all, let alone about the normal state of the world. And that, I think, is not for the worst.

Letter 2.15

Now I am nearing the completion of the frame of the desk -- just a few more uprights, several additional braces and runners for the drawers, and the frame will be complete. The additional braces may not be really necessary, since the frame stands solid now, without shaking or wobbling in the least. No screws or nails are in it -- all the joints -- dozens of them! -- are dovetailed. Though I intend to cement them with a tube of EPOXY which has been given me, the frame is quite solid without it. What a lot of work is involved in it, however! The frame, when completed, will have approximately 50 separate pieces, all of which are dovetailed, so that means about 100 dovetails. The 45° angles proved a difficult technical problem, but I think it's solved satisfactorily. I changed the design slightly, moving both drawers over to the left side and leaving the right side open for leg room.

Recently read Tolkein's Lord of the Rings -- a marvellous work. One of the finest pieces of imaginative fiction that I've come across.

The constant threat of rain the last few days seems to aggravate the mosquitos (and some of the monks as well).

I was told the following story: A monastery once opened up a fish-and-chips shop on the side. One day a customer knocked on the door and one of the residents answered. 'Are you the fish friar?' asked the man. 'No,' replied the resident, 'I'm the chip monk.'

Letter 2.14

Though it's possible some Sartre, Beauvoir, Camus, etc., has not been translated into English, I would think it unlikely. You can check on this very easily by consulting the large catalogue of books in print, which is certainly in the library. Then you can let me know if any of the books are still untranslated in which case I will have to write only to the French publishers asking permission to quote and provide translations -- for the relevant passages. Then, if you can get copies from the Library of Congress of the books which are translated but not in the Detroit Public Library or the Wayne State library, that would be all that is needed. Even if you can't get the books from the Library of Congress, though, you can get the publisher's data from the catalogue. I have copies of the French books, so there is no need to obtain these.

The typewriter we have now is an ancient Royal which is very difficult to use and which I use only for things that must be typed (besides which any typing is most unwelcome; hence the handwritten letter).

The dentist is one of the regular dāyakās of the Island, and does his work on us for free. He is the one who extracted my wisdom tooth last year and who gave me the lift to Galle last December when I went out walking.

Four sheets of plywood -- one of them seven-ply-were delivered today, with which I will build a desk, which will meet my needs. It will be 12 inches high, no legs, so I can sit crosslegged at it. (I find high furniture affects my thinking, and much prefer staying at ground level.) The desk will fit into a corner of the kuti. I made a cardboard model, 1/6 scale, which is quite satisfactory. Probably, though, it will take a long time to get built. The plywood will be attached to a frame and the 7-ply piece will be large enough for the top and for the bottom of a storage box. (The sheets are 4' X 4'.) Eventually, I expect, there will be some remodeling of the kuti, as well. Perhaps, by it falling down.

Letter 2.13

As there’s no news at all here -- which, I suppose, is good news -- because I don't do anything and nothing has happened to me, perhaps I'll fill up the aerogram a with a few comments on your comments on the comments of the TV panelists on Yoga and Bud6hism»-though, not having seen the show, I will doubtlessly do them an injustice in my rash assumptions of what they said. Yoga, however, is a discipline with different emphases and goals as practiced by various Hindu sects. It can have for its purpose anything from bodily health (for which it is probably as good a therapy as anything else) to 'unification with the Divine Being', or other such mysticism. It his no part at all in the Buddha's Teaching: so if the panelists were discussing these two subjects as a unit anything they might have said would be founded on a false assumption -- vis. that they are related. If they were confusing hatha yoga (which is a set of bodily exercises) with meditation (which is the practice of mental concentration), then too they were making an identification so basically false as to obviate whatever conclusions they might have reached. Besides, the Lotus Sutra and the phrases you quoted are all from a Japanese sect and does not at all represent the Buddha's Teaching -- the Japanese themselves admit this -- but rather the (mis-)interpretations of the 27 Japanese Patriarchs (some of whose teachings are in direct contradiction with the original texts -- and in direct contradiction, as well, with experience).

As to the conclusion they draw, I can only say that meditation is inwardness activity is outwardness; and whichever one is chosen as the ideal the other will drag it in the opposite direction. (I went to Galle last week to see the dentist -- no cavities -- and even the little activity in 'going to Galle' produced a very marked effect on my practice -- as does writing letters.) But -- these people have no real practice (else they could never have cone to the conclusions you say they did in fact come to) and therefore cannot speak from experience. That being so, they have done no more than add their voices to the babble of confusion which surrounds the public image of the Buddha's Teaching. Most people, if they knew what the Buddha actually taught, would be totally surprised (and that includes most Sinhalese). Besides, how could Dennis Weaver know anything of meditation? How can he sit in the 'Lotus' posture? How does he cross his legs, when he can't bend his knee? Hey, wait fuh me, Mistah Dillon -- hey, Mistah Dillon -- WAIT FUH MEEEE!

Letter 2.12

So Talmudic scholars count angels on pins, do they? I always thought it was the Catholic scholars who did that, and that the Talmudists counted the shekels on the Catholic scholars. There are Buddhist scholars as well, but I'm not sure what they count. The Buddha's Teaching, at any rate, has nothing to do with scholarship whatsoever in any form. Here's Kierkegaard on scholars:

'Let the enquiring scholar labor with incessant zeal, even to the extent of shortening his life in the enthusiastic service of science; let the speculative philosopher be sparing neither of time nor of diligence, they are none the less not interested infinitely, personally, and passionately, nor could they wish to be. On the contrary, they will seek to cultivate an attitude of objectivity and disinterestedness. And as for the relation of the subject to the truth when he comes to know it, the assumption is that if only the truth is brought to light, its appropriation is a relatively unimportant matter, something that follows as a matter of course. And, in any case, what happens to the individual is in the last analysis a matter of indifference. Herein lies the lofty equanimity of the scholar and the comic thoughtlessness of his parrot-like echo.' (Concluding Unscientific Postscript, pp. 23-24).

The only proper application of the Buddha's Teaching (or anything else, for that matter), then, is for one's own personal welfare. But -- the scholars (and others) would not agree…

Letter 2.11

The mosquito netting arrived -- at last. The duty was reduced from 101 rupees to 23 rupees -- still 75% duty, and quite high, but at least not absurd, and it was paid and the netting -- of a rather unexpected, but quite satisfactory, weave -- arrived. There is a sewing machine here (a 2 year old Singer, excellent quality), so I should have no trouble making the net, once I get some sort of ground material -- I'll find out what is locally available for that.

'Vas', or the 'Rainy Season Retreat' starts with the full moon today -- the 3 month period when monks stay in one residence and don't travel about. 'Rainy season', of course, refers to the season in the Ganges valley area east of Benares -- Island Hermitage has rainy season all the time (particularly these last 2 weeks) -- which starts about this time of the year. Looks like we'll have 10 monks here for Vas -- 2 Germans, an Indian, myself, and 6 Sinhalese -- and there are also a Dane and an Australian, laymen, I don't think either of the latter will stay much longer (though they've been here for quite a few months already). In any case, that's a pretty full house; a very full hermitage…

Letter 2.10

I am glad to hear you are well and keeping cool. I am also well and keeping cool, though I don't have air-conditioning or air cooling. Nor, I imagine, does anyone in the village -- you might ask, more appropriately, if anyone in the village has electricity -- but yes, being on the coastal route, some of them do. But as for appliances of any sort more elaborate than radios and light bulbs, I doubt if there are any -- perhaps the few wealthiest villagers might have a refrigerator. I get along quite well without such mechanical devices and find, when I encounter them (as in Colombo) that they raise for me more difficulties than they solve. There is a pump on the other island which is run for about an hour every few days to pump water into a storage tank, and when I was living on the other island, I found it to be a great disturbance. On this island, however, there is no pump and no disturbance.)

No, the customs people have not yet settled matters. They agreed -- several weeks ago --to re-assess the duty on the mosquito netting, but I have not heard from them since. These things usually take 3-4 weeks, everything in the East being done slowly. Since I'm in no great hurry, however, I don't mind waiting. Sometimes -- usually, in fact -- it's better in the long run to proceed slowly than to rush about. Many reasons, not the least being that one has time to reflect upon one's actions, which develops both calmness and insight. Another difficulty with the customs people is that they have refused my application to import the typewriter that Mark is donating to our project. I'm in contact with Remington's agents in Colombo, and expect the customs people may reverse their decision, commerce über alles.

Remember the map of the Indian Ocean floor you sent last year? Well, I've framed it and hung it on the wall of the kuti, where it looks very nice. The frame is made of bamboo and I made it myself. The map is blue and yellow, the bamboo is yellow, the wall is white. The good thing about this map is that it is subjective. Most maps are objective, and so, while useful for measuring distances, are essentially unreal. This map, being subjective, has a point of view (located somewhere near the South Pole, about 1000 miles up), and a perspective which lends it both reality and interest.

Letter 2.9

At my higher ordination (June 24th) my name will be changed: I will thence-forth be called ÑĀNASUCI BHIKKHU, so your addressing of envelopes can also be changed. It is not a deal of great importance, but, on the other hand, it is a deal of some importance. Ñāna (Ñ is pronounced as in Spanish señot, n as a soft staccato N, A as ah, but twice as long as A -- the whole pronounced NYAANA) means knowledge and SUCI (pronounced SOO-CHEE) means 'pure-clean' with an overtop of 'sweet'. BHIKKHU (pronounced bik-oo -- the 'h's are pronounced, but very softly and cannot quite be compared to anything in English) is a title, usually translated as 'monk', but more literally 'almsman', and means one who has his higher ordination as opposed to SĀMANERO, or novice.

What 'irreplaceable paper'? It's largely material I use as a correlative to an aspect of meditation; it consists of a technical book NOTES ON DHAMMA, a large manuscript collection of letters, and sundry shorter pieces, all by the late English monk, Ven. Ñānavīra Thera. We hope to have it mimeographed, but details need to be worked out; such as a typewriter suitable for the work, and there is some uncertainty of getting the proper stencils. It will be easier to type one set of stencils and get all the copies we need than to type a set of 3 or 4 carbons and not have any copies to send to the few people who might be interested in the material. But -- we shall see what develops.

The 5-colored flag on the postage stamp was designed at the turn of the century by the American Col. Olcott, who is a national hero in Ceylon, in statues, street names, etc., and is the 'Buddhist flag', if there can be such a thing.

Letter 2.8

The box of books finally arrived; many thanks. Unfortunately, there seem to be many titles I don't recall at all and which are of no use to me whatsoever -- and missing are a number of the books of greatest interest to me: e.g. Joyce’s Ulysses (in a dark red cover with a black title page almost worn off and which is filled with my notes), Beckett, Dylan Thomas, Eliot, Kafka's Great Wall of China, Annotated Alice, Faulkner Stories, Brooks & Warren's Understanding Fiction, Snodgrass' Heart's Needle.

On June 24th I will take my higher ordination along with the Yugoslav, the Indian, and a Sinhalese -- very international.

I have still not yet moved -- the German is forever postponing his departure and, with the waiting and unsettledness, I'm at a standstill in this kuti (and have run out of pen refills as well). He assures me, though, that he will leave before Vesak, which is May 12.

My razor-blade problem appears to be solved: I was given a new straight razor which I've learned to use and find it far superior in both speed and comfort to blades. The razor, which is made in China, is first quality steel -- good enough so that I have yet to put it to a stone; just a strop is quite enough to keep it sharp.

Letter 2.7

After leaving Bundala I spent a few days at Godawaya, and then returned to the Island Hermitage, to digest all the material I had consumed during my four months in the jungle and by the sea. Digestion, though, is hard work, and results are coming in (going out?) slowly. Nor am I settled down yet: one of the German monks will disrobe soon, and when he leaves I will move to his kuti, which is far superior to my present one. There are not many people here now: the Mahā Thera, 2 Germans, 2 Sinhalese, and two laymen: an Indian and a Dane. The Indian will take the robes in a few months; the Dane is undecided. (Everyone is Excited -- everyone, that is, but me -- about the Indian's ordination, for he is a high-caste Brahman from Benares. He seems to spend all his time in the library.)

I sent a telegram (the first, I think, that I have ever sent in my life) to the Island Hermitage to tell them I was coming. The telegram I sent said that I would arrive on the 3rd at 9 AM. The telegram which was received said that I would arrive on the 6th at 1 PM. The telegraph office has vastly underestimated my abilities. As a result, there was no boat waiting for me, and I had the alternative of either taking a fishing boat or waiting (as I later discovered) 3 days and 3 hours for the Island Hermitage boat. (I was a little late, but not so late as the telegraph office predicted. In this case, they are, it seems, much like the weather bureau -- generally wrong.)

The fishing boat was a long narrow affair made of a coconut log with boards raising the sides, just wide enough for me to put my legs in, though not next to each other, but, rather, one before the other. I would have preferred straddling it, like a horse, but monks, apparently, do not do such things -- at least not in Ceylon -- and I was firmly told (in Sinhalese) to put my feet in the boat. As soon as we got a few feet away from shore we began taking on water at an alarming rate and were in the process of sinking, which was rather distressful. I can swim, but the box of papers, etc., I had with me -- some of them irreplaceable -- could not. We returned to shore, I and my boxes -- a total of about 200 pounds -- got out, and the fisherman went to the Island to tell them I was waiting. The servants came (at record speed) to get me, and I managed to get to the island at 11:00 AM, just in time for dāna. So my trip, unlike the world, ended with a bang, not a whimper.

No, I hadn‘t heard of LBJ's problems. At one time, the news would not have displeased me, but now I no longer care very much about it. Such matters no longer concern me, and -- partly for that reason -- seem somewhat unreal. (In fact, if by real is meant here -- now and by unreal not-here or not-now, then the presidential situation is totally unreal, since I don't even think about it.)

Today is full moon day. It's also Sinhalese New Year day, and I write against an aural background of fireworks. It's also Good Friday. Tomorrow and the next day are also holidays. Maybe the day after a no-holiday will be declared.

Oh, yes -- we made the blinzes again, according to the recipe you sent, and they turned out much better than the first batch. It's back to the chilies, now, though.

So ends another pen refill -- almost before it started.

Letter 2.6

I last wrote my draft board in December 1966, when I informed them of my ordination, and asked for clerical status. So it finally came through, eh? My relations with the draft board have always been rather absurd, and this, I think, is the crowning glory, so to speak: 'minister of religion'. Technically true, of course, but in practice, nothing could be less likely.

I went down to the sea a few days ago to bathe, and found it so pleasant that I spent several noon-time hours there, which resulted in a very mild sunburn. The burn doesn’t bother me at all, but it certainly bothers the villagers. They, being brown-skinned, have never heard of anything like 'sunburn' and when they saw my skin peeling thought that I had contracted some sort of skin disease and wanted me to see their native doctor. They were completely incredulous at my attempted explanation of what had happened to me, and did not understand why I refused to see the doctor. Nevertheless, I had no desire to undergo a treatment for something I didn't have, and refused, very firmly (to equally firm insistence) to do anything at all, except peel. They misinterpreted my refusal, of course, and assured me that the doctor was competent, that I was no leprous, etc., but disappointing as it was to them, to no avail.

It's not strictly true that I receive no newspapers. Sometimes I receive a parcel (of bananas, betel nut, curds, soap, etc,) wrapped in newspaper, and occasionally an English-language newspaper, I usually get the sports-page of the provincial English papers or else the Tea Board quotations of the Ceylonese Observer -- a rather strange view of world affairs -- but sometimes I get 'lucky': the other day I learned, via one of these scraps of paper, both that Harold Holt, the Prime Minister of Australia, had (presumably) drowned, and that some doctors in South Africa had succeeded in transplanting a human heart. The report seemed to indicate that it was not an artificial heart, but a real, live human heart that was transplanted. I recall, many years ago, Connie Francis had a hit song called 'If I give my heart to you', but I did not expect that it would be taken so literally. One question which the newspaper scrap did not answer was: what happens to the donor?

There is a Sinhalese grammar book here which I have been looking at. Did you know Sinhalese has four words for 'you'? The distinction is not singular/plural/male/female, but rather along caste lines: thō, thā are 'used in speaking when the speaker is angry, a discourteous form of address'; umba is used in speaking 'to an inferior'; thumuse is used 'to an equal'; and thumunnūnsē. is used 'to a superior or Buddhist priest'. There are also certain verbs which have the same four-fold division (come = enawā, enta, enda, wuren; sit, go, stand, eat, sleep, etc. are also fourfold; and please has two forms, as does yes, both having one form for all people and another which is used only when speaking to 'Buddhist priests'. All languages, of course, have such distinctions; but not many of them have the rules formally stated as part of a traditional heritage. Tradition rules in Ceylon, though: it's responsible for a good percentage of the stupidities which persist. (Odd: in the West the newer something is the better it is presumed to be; in the East it's the opposite -- choice of stupidities?)

An elephant visited me about a week ago. It was night, so I couldn't see it, but I could sure hear it: great crashing of branches, accompanied by very solid nasal snorts. I shined my flashlight in its direction (there's a path running parallel to the kuti, separated from it by about 40 feet of medium -- thick growth) and it went away: I've been told that they will always go away from a light at night. Also saw, early one morning, what I think is a pole-cat: it had a yellow belly, anyway. Do other cats have yellow bellies? Definitely a 'cat'ish thing, though not sleek like a tiger; about 2§—3 feet long with a tail as long, sort of bushy; its tail and back were dull brown. It leaped from tree to tree at a distance of about 70 feet from the kuti and finally disappeared behind some foliage. If it saw me it paid me no heed. Also seen: an insect which is half bright red and half horizon pink -- a very sporty combination (for an insect, anyway) a pure white insect; a mosquito with a body 1.5 inches long!!! I could hear its whine in the daytime 50 feet away: I did not sample its bite, but a few of them could cause anemia; a whole herd of wild goats (near the sea); the chin- monks eat out of my hand; but the mongooses won't come near me.

Thanks for the blinz recipe. No other recipes needed. Ovens being non-existent in this neck of the jungle, mandel bread could not be made.

Do you know anything of a product which is sort of 'a zip-less zipper', consisting of two pieces of cloth which stick together and cannot be pulled apart, but are easily peeled apart?

Letter 2.5

I've been in Bundala for a few days now, and find it a pleasant place. The walk from Godawaya, 16 miles by the beach (25 miles by the road) was rough, since loose sand is hard to walk on; but I broke it up into two days -- an afternoon and a morning -- of 5 hours each. A rather dull walk, with no houses or anything the last 8 or 9 miles -- only sea on my right, scrub jungle on my left. Each day I go to a different house in the village -- the date of the month determining which one -- where I am given food and return to the kuti to eat it. In the evening the house which is scheduled to provide food the next day sends up some drink -- tea, soda, limeade, etc. -- and inquires if I need anything. They also bring a quart of lamp oil. (Since I use at most a quart a week, it will take only a simple calculation based on the volume of the room and the volume of a quart bottle to determine when I will be forced to move out.) Otherwise I am left alone to my work.

As to the purpose of meeting Ñānasumāna and Mark here, the main reason was because we have -- all 3 of us -- found the ideas of the late Ven. Ñānavīra Thera, an English monk who died (in this kuti) in 1965 -- to be very useful in our practice. Now all the material has been collected -- manuscripts, letters, etc., -- and we want to make 3 copies of it. So we met to discuss how best to organize it, etc., for our individual needs, and to arrange everything (this is why a typewriter is necessary. That's the reason for coming here. The reason for staying was because we get on well together and being together was an aid to our practices, in as much as we are all doing the same thing. The reason for leaving was to digest all that had been accumulated in the 7 weeks at Godawaya.

This kuti, which was built in '57, is constructed on the standard design of Island Hermitage kutis -- the room is a box, 12 feet by 8 feet, with a door leading out to the 'cankamana' -- the ambulatory, which is 30 feet by 3 feet, and is a very important part of meditation. Usually the kutis have two small windows, with thick black vertical iron bars set in them (Sinhalese are terrified of theft), giving a 'prison' effect; the floors are hard cement. This has been improved by a 6 feet by 7 feet window (without bars) being placed in both the Northern and Eastern walls, allowing light and air; and by the cement floor covered with a mud floor, which is comfortable to walk on (and easy to keep clean), and by the ambulatory being remodeled so that one walks on a carpet under which is a sand base, which is far less tiring than walking on concrete. The bed (and seat) are raised two inches off the floor, and are simply mud with a straw mat over it. There is no movable furniture. The kuti is mud brick, with a corrugated asbestos roof and asbestos sheet ceiling. Tiles are not satisfactory because the monkeys, who jump on the roof at times, would break them.

A boy has just come (5:15 PM) with a big pitcher of limeade, some sugar, a cigarette (someone, perhaps, has informed the villagers that I smoke: this is the first cigarette I've been offered), and half a quart of kerosene. (It's no good refusing the kerosene: their job (as they see it) is to offer; my job is to accept.)

Odd: at Godawaya the mosquitos came out only at night; here they come only by day. Perhaps, it's the same mosquitos migrating to Bundala at sunrise and going back to Godawaya at sunset. Not very many here, though, except from 5:30 AM to 7:30 AM, when the sun shines in the kuti.

6:15 PM: I have just discovered one reason why there are so few mosquitos at night: a frog has just hopped in and plans, apparently, to spend the night. He is welcome.

A family of mice – 2 babies and a mother -- also live here. They've moved upstairs, though they were living in the bed when I arrived. The mother is very good and takes care of her babies: she is not the least bit afraid of me, either, though she objects to my coming near her babies.

Outside: chipmonks, black-faced monkeys, mongooses, many lizards 3 feet to 4 feet long, several wild hens. Elephants, bears, leopards, wild buffalo (very dangerous, I‘m told) are about, but unseen -- they avoid man if possible.

A poor quality typewriter is presently available; there are, apparently, no satisfactory typewriters for sale in Ceylon; so we'll have to hunt for one elsewhere.

Nickel-plated needles will not do. They may be rust-proof in the U.S., but having tried all different plates, I know that none of them last long here. (Neither do most locally manufactured products; e.g. the ball-point pen refill that is splotching and skipping over this letter is a new one.) I was given 2 needles in December, which I kept in a glass vial wrapped in cotton, and though I've been in dry weather all the time since then they are pitted, black, and dull. In any case, if no stainless steel needles are available, no need to bother.

J.P. Sartre's novel Nausea is the best presentation I've seen in fictional form of the basic perception of the existentialist premise. The ending is phoney, but the rest of it -- though not quite top-rate as literature -- is top-rate as existentialism.

Letter 2.4

…Yes, leeches, mosquitos, etc. are loathsome creatures, and I have no particular desire to preserve them. The reason -- the primary reason at any rate -- for my unwillingness to kill them is quite simple: it is to my own disadvantage. When one engages in acts of violence the mind is not clear, as anyone who has ever lost his temper well knows. But in order to best be able to deal with ourselves and our world, it is necessary to understand what our nature and the nature of the world is; and if the mind is not clear it cannot do so. Therefore, the moment of pleasure at killing an annoying creature is paid for by the mind becoming less clear, less a useful tool for understanding itself; and refraining from killing has not only the opposite effect, but also the effect of calming one, so that these creatures become, in fact, less of an annoyance. That's what I was talking of, when I wrote you about equanimity, which is a side-effect of practicing the Buddha's Teaching. In fact, training a calmness of mind is half the practice: it is samatha bhāvanā (calm concentration); the other half is vipassanā bhāvanā (insight meditation, which, guided by instructions of the texts, works in direct accord with calm concentration, like two legs when walking). There is, as a secondary consideration, a desire to practice ahimsa -- harmlessness -- for the benefit of the creatures themselves -- but this is purely a secondary motivation. I have observed through the past year or so, however, that as my practice increases and I become calmer and more in control of myself, that this desire has, of its own accord, grown: there is, as the practice improves, not only a growth of equanimity but also of compassion.

There was a 15 foot long crocodile in the river, whom I used to see when I bathed. Sometimes he would swim by, only the top of his snout and his eyes visible at one end, and the end of his tail at the other; he came as close as 20 yards to me, but would not come any closer. Sometimes he would be sunbathing drowsily on a point of land about 30 yards off from where I bathed. He never did anything but mind his own business. (He could have killed me, I suppose, on a dozen occasions, but left me strictly alone.) Now I learn that he has been shot for his hide. I find this slightly upsetting, for I had a liking for that crocodile: there may be an occasional bad one, but, by and large, crocodiles, like snakes, would much rather not be bothered by one than to bother one. (A mapila snake -- highly venomous -- lives in a wall of the kuti, between two coconut fronds -- I see him every few days, as he crawls away from me.)

Sometimes we get the 'fixins’ for some Western food. We let some milk sit around a few days till it turned to clobber, and a portion of this has been sitting around for a week now, and we hope to get a Roquefort cheese from it, which we will use to make a salad dressing for our lettuce, tomato, and carrot salads. I tried my hand at some blinzes, using the clobber as the stuffing. The outside, however, was more like an omelet -- still quite good, but not blinzes (what's the secret?). I also made some French toast one day; Ñānasumāna has turned out some good Boston baked beans. A Sinhalese garnish: simply flour mixed with coconut gratings and a very slight amount of water -- steamed: the flour clings to the coconut in little balls and cooks that way. Simple and tastey.

February seems to be the month for sunsets -- sunsets like you don't even see on picture postcards. I sit on a rock above the sea and watch the sunset, the sea, the river, and the fishing boats as they set out, each evening. In the morning I watch the sunrise, which is not as awesome as the sunsets, and then water the boats sail back into their small harbor: there are two natural rock jettys stretching out into the sea not far from my kuti and the harbor is near; on the beach a small fishing village has been raised in just the last 2 weeks, and the fishermen are hardworking, quiet, and keep the beach spotless. Their boats are about 15 feet long, but only about 2 feet wide; all outrigged on one side; some have sails; most seat two men. They sail out to the horizon, and at night their lanterns can be seen winking. Occasionally a steamship will pass along the horizon also, on its way to Indonesia or Japan or Australia, for this seems to be a main shipping route.

I sleep out now, on a plot of grass between two boulders -- about 20 feet Apart -- near a cave (in case of rain), on the landwards tip of the big jetty, and so don't spend much time around the kuti, except in the morning, when I come in to eat (and, sometimes, to cook), and afterwards, when I take care of a few odd matters, such as writing letters, I resort to my perch under a net. Sitting under it now, I note that gnats have, in the last few days, disappeared with the warmer weather's coming, and flies have taken their place. This is an improvement: gnats can go through the netting, whereas the flies can't. (Worst place I've ever been for gnats was Lapland, where they were a real torment.)

Letter 2.3

So Allan Okam is going to be a rabbi, is he? It seems that there's more religion in the family than I supposed. You say he was inspired by the rabbi who married him, but do not say what the nature of the inspiration is.

Is it a great respect for the rabbi as a person? Or a wish to serve God? Or does he conceive the duties of a rabbi to be directed towards his fellow man in the form of social work rather than directed toward God? Is he concerned for his welfare in this life or in another one? Or is the rabbinate, after all, just a good job, one with good pay (or is it poorly paid?), a respectable position within the Jewish community -- a goof profession? When he becomes a rabbi will he have accomplished what he wants to do with himself, or will he have put himself in a position where it will be possible for him to work towards what he wants to do with himself? What does he want to do with himself? It seems unlikely, from what you tell me of his corpulence, that he harbors any ideals of an ascetic – or even austere -- nature. Will he go to Israel? It would be a good lesson – perhaps 'a rude awakening' might be a more accurate phrase -- to see how the Orthodox live in Mea Shearim, their quarter of Jerusalem.

There is a copy of Thoreau's Walden here which I have been slowly re-reading, and find that by and large, I am still in deep agreement with nearly everything Thoreau says -- and he says it so perfectly, with such evenness of style and wit that it is a great pleasure to read.

I have taken a walk to the other end of the island. A stream coming to the sea forks out into two branches, the eastern one where the hut is, being closed to the sea and the western one being open, the island is about 2.5 miles long but fairly narrow -- perhaps half a mile. There is a fishing village at the other end, with a lot of long narrow outrigger fishing boats on the beach, I arrived there at sunset last night -- it is so beautiful it puts this end of the island to shame. No use even trying to describe the luxurious growth by the river, on one hand, the sea, on the other, the village (which is small), and the river itself: it can only be seen and remembered. Certainly the most beautiful place I've seen in Ceylon (and that's saying a lot) -- especially at sunset.

The cows here are so unworldly they run away when I try to approach them, or even walk by them at 5O feet. The mosquitos, on the other hand, are very brave. They stay in the bushes all day, apparently, and after sunset, I can hear them rising en masse, formidable in their collective hum, which sounds like a flying saucer noise in science-fiction movies (and you know how dangerous the flying saucers in science -- fiction movies are!) for about half an hour before they become dispersed enough (or whatever it is that happens) to be bothered by them on an individual basis. A yellow-breasted bird with a long curved beak and a complicate cry flutters about my kuti and hangs sideways from the odd strips of leaf that hang from the roof; he's not afraid of me either.

In the next letter you send by envelope, could you perhaps enclose: (1) a package of Type-Erase, the pieces of white paper that obliterate errors and (2) some number 8 size stainless sewing needles (my attempts in the last year to get some sewing needles which don't rust within a week would make a long comedy!)?

This pen tells me it's tired of writing -- as you can see by the work it's Doing -- so…

Letter 2.2

(In the winter of 1968, I stood looking at the Daibutsu in Kamakura, Japan, then purchased in a nearby shop a similar chap in a walnut shell and sent him to Sri Lanka. -- Hum)

No plays provide No answer and play provides no lasting illusion; illumination whether from sunlight or snowlight will only serve those who open their eyes, think with their kidneys, and feel the substantiality of the ground under their butt, and not their but. Your eyes must have seen well of both strangeness and exquisiteness, for the Manjusri, perched in isolation atom the uppermost pinnacle of his enormous half-inch lotus blossom, reflects the illumination of Japan in the presumptive waters on which the lotus floats, plying equally substance and illusion: ivory comes from India, the Buddha comes from India, walnuts grow in Kashmir, and ivory Buddhas in walnut shells come only from Japan.

In case you don't know, one of the pieces of wrapping paper (all of which were printed with a delicate indelible blossom) was a map of the area around the store where you obtained Manjusri, the map showing not how to get to the store but how to go from the store to a beautiful park nearby. I hope you went. I did. I do.

You say nothing of your writing; perhaps your books will arrive here and speak for themselves. I say nothing of the Teaching; perhaps it may arrive there and speak for itself.

A bouquet of parentheses for you, brother: (((((((((()))))))))).

V.

Chapter II: Letter 2.1

Chapter II
Digging In, Digging Out

Godawaya, January 1968

…The ripples of the sand form lines of light and dark beneath a half moon, running uncertainly into the sea, which itself is lined, dark and jet black. These jet black lines move stealthily inwards, suddenly catching fire as cold green sparkles like a fluorescent tube, broken, reveals the wave in a glimmer of phosphorus an instant before whitecaps break looming towards shore, humming deeply, and break on the beach; the suds covered water seeps into the pale sand with a hiss as the water rolls back. The moon is not merely half a circle: it is, clearly, a quarter of a globe. The brightest stars twinkle in a flux of color, never static: white, blue, green, red, orange, yellow…

I sit on the beach at night, a strong wind pulling at my robes, the stump of a coconut leaf stem stuck in the sand as a back rest.

By day I stay, mostly, in my hut, which is made of woven coconut leaves, open from belt to roof on three sides exposing the luxurious tame growth that provides the peacefulness of this primeval garden. Monkeys, large, black-faced, with silver-grey fur, peer from the cactus trees; a chorus of birds. Cows and water buffalo wander about freely. I am on an estate of about 100 acres on what is almost an island; about 80 acres are rice and the other 20 are undeveloped. On this island Ñānasumāna, myself, and an elderly American (late 60's) live. (The latter has been in Ceylon about 2 years and is practicing the teaching as an upāsaka -- a layman -- having built his own kuti here, at Godawaya, about 6 miles from Hambantota.) With mutual interests and outlooks, we get along well and don't bother one another. There is a coconut estate nearby where one can walk, as well as much open land; my grass hut, though, is quite comfortable. I sit outside soaking on sun, meditating, reading, resting by day, and go to the beach by night. The place is so idyllic and peaceful that there is a great tendency to forget that there is any world outside, and hence I have neglected, out off, and procrastinated writing for many days. The situation is not perfect for there is a constant attack by aerial creatures: gnats, flies, mosquitos; all have their prescribed times to plague one. I have learned the best way of avoiding them - the best places to frequent - and find this aspect tolerable. Attempts have been made to provide a net, so far unsuccessful - the servants too, I suppose, feel this resistance to doing anything involving the outside world. Ñānāsumāna and I are guests, though, and here for limited stays.

You wrote once that the Heidegger quotation I sent you was incomprehensible, and, therefore, bad writing. You may recall that in the same letter I sent Kummer's Quartic Surface. This, I presume, was not more comprehensible to you than the Heidegger, yet you did not say that it was also bad. The reason. of course, is that the latter is mathematics, which is a language in which you have slight knowledge, while the former was in English, which you do -- you suppose -- understand. But you do understand some of the mathematician's language: arithmetic, algebra, etc. You recognize that that language is hierarchically structured, and that some concepts can best be expressed on one level of this structure, other concepts on another level. Thus, 2+2=4 is on the arithmetic level. It could also be expressed algebraically (X+X= 2X -- where X=2), but this, you recognize, is not so efficient as the arithmetical level of expression.

What is generally not recognized -- or, at any rate, not made use of -- is the fact that English, too, is hierarchically structured, though much more complexly than mathematics. Some of the levels of this structure have names: dialects, colloquialisms, 'business talk', 'shop talk', 'scientific jargon', regionalisms, formal, informal, and technical; and we have all learned a great many of these connected levels, which we can switch between without difficulty and often without awareness that we are doing so. But suppose we are faced with an unfamiliar level might we understand the words -- or most of them -- and still miss the sense? If we hear a rural black from the deep South talking we might find that, even understanding all the words, we still might not see what he is getting at, and of course he would not see what we were getting at when we spoke to him.

Within our lives we recognize this, and use language on the appropriate level. (The 3 major levels are formal, informal, and technical.) Some levels are more appropriate for communications of one type; other levels are best suited to other types. Heidegger, it seems, has something to communicate which is not an ordinary communication (he speaks of the nature of our being, and its consequences), and we could hardly expect him to be best able to communicate an unordinary -– extraordinary -- message using ordinary language. He was obliged, for the sake of accuracy of thought -- indeed, for the sake of the possibility of communication -- to write on a generally unfamiliar (but not totally unfamiliar) level of language, and if we wish to understand him, our first task is to learn his language. We have had to learn all the other levels we know -- usually though this learning has been done in childhood, school, university, business, etc., and not independently, and it is the fact that the level of language is unfamiliar to you that makes him, naturally, incomprehensible. Yet how much of real estate would you understand if you didn't have a business-language for it? (If you are not aware of this language, I can only suggest you listen to yourself sometime when you 'talk business' -- notice the phrase -- and recognize what would be not understood by one who had no knowledge of business.) In brief: an extraordinary message requires an extraordinary use of language in order for it to be possible to communicate it.

Last night, since the full moon is approaching, the sea turtles crawl up on the beach to lay their eggs. These are the giant turtles who live for a few centuries or so and lay their eggs every night for a week or so around full moon time. They are really giants -- one can get atop them (they're pacifists) and ride them. Their shells rise 3 to 4 feet, and they nuke a track like an amphibious vehicle. The natives wait and steal the eggs after they (the eggs, not the natives) are buried. Since they come in great hordes (the natives as well as the eggs) there will soon -- within a few centuries -- be no more giant sea turtles. Some of the turtles are killed, but the eggs, apparently, bring more monthly money at market than the meat, so the practice is, fortunately, not widespread.

I bathe in a river near a rock on which usually basks a very large and rather peculiar-looking iguana -- about 8 feet long, but rather scaley. I have just learned that the reason it is so peculiar-looking is that it's not an iguana but a crocodile. It has caused no trouble at all -- and we have been quite close together -- even when I startled it in its sunbath and it slipped into the river where I was swimming and itself swam away. There is a gorgeous white bird, body about 6 inches, with a tail about 15 inches long trailing behind it like a cape, which often perches unharmed on the crocodile. I'm not the only one to bathe here also, and no one is bothered -- maybe this is the Garden of Eden. Not quite: I have now learned there were once many crocodiles in this river; one ate a man a few years ago and it was shot; the other crocodiles have, it seems, taken the lesson to heart. A mosquito net has also been procured; it's pink and has given me both protection and a much rosier outlook on things.

As to what I learned on the walk, it might be put another way: Experience is existence. Does that help? And best ignore all the ill-will which was contained within the long account of the journey -- an account longer, perhaps, than the journey itself.