Turning to the last date, 3/22/65 today, 1/8/67
is not as many years away as I had imagined. Since this has been with me all this time I thought to add a note as I prepare to wrap it - or them - for mailing.
My reading of the Diurnal(s) now is not that of the last days in Japan or aboard ship on a journey returning me, with wife and children born west of the sunset to the Midwest. Then when the Diurnal(s) were given me, I read seeking clues, means of understanding. The understanding , not of philosophy of thought, but of attitudes, human feelings of specific places, persons, events. And then the Diurnal(s) were put aside to be read no more until two days ago. And then are read a new - read as of Morning & Evening coming across, in fact, the opening of Morning & Evening. Said I cannot from memory record the Italian, which sound I can almost hear, resonant in its truth. So the Diurnal(s) read now in the light of the works, the poems and prose works -
But, echoing the personal reading of - how many years ago? reading in this hour also, I find myself having made a voyage and working now at a job, at a "company" - a university which the Governor refers to ages "one of the major industries of Ohio" where the student bookstore changes 300% profit on some supplies, and in a state where the Governor says "what's wrong with profit".
Unable to work, with a chest tight, with breathing labored - breathing as though under a weight on the chest - I find myself in a similar position with the man who brought me here a reflection of myself some years ago - So that in a sense I relive a reverse role(s) that life,or those lives lived entirely in that land wherein all is said to be released. More like the Noh in structure, however, and indeed the Noh did insight me here, on a western stage and those persons, Japanese and American, with whom my past life was linked, "returned" also, instilling here.
But now is time for work, for the past days have been good days. It is right that the Diurnal(s) return now, to you, Frank. It is their time.
To one who claims color blindness, can entrust my instill statements - for myself I confess a blindness in philosophy. I cannot claim to understand, am not trained to, have not the background nor the mind. Still it nourishes; and light reflect be light, enlightens. I ramble with wordings, sadly. But you, friend, have by now learned not to rely wholly on them. As if there is a color you do not see, I know you see, in what I do, so much else.
We have yet along journey. I read yesterday of Redon, who began painting at sixty.