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76 - I, Mary MacLane by Mary MacLane · I, Mary MacLane

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  Speaker 1: Chapter seventy six of I Mary mc lain by Mary
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  Speaker 1: mc lean. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain
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  Speaker 1: recording by Lynn Thompson, Chapter seventy six, Rhythm to Morrow
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  Speaker 1: Now and again. I think I catch some truth by
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  Speaker 1: the sweat of its rhythm. Often I read the beatitudes
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  Speaker 1: in the Sermon on the Mount and feel their truth
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  Speaker 1: in the blood sweating tune of their rhythm. Rhythm, unspeakable
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  Speaker 1: and ecstatic. The prophet Christ believed himself divine and was
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  Speaker 1: all rhythm in his utterances, and so sounds true as
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  Speaker 1: the scheme of digestion and the laws of hygiene. He said,
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  Speaker 1: Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted.
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  Speaker 1: Everybody who has tried it knows that to be true.
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  Speaker 1: With the flawless, rhythmic truth of health and illness. Morn
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  Speaker 1: fright day, and the next day will be a day
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  Speaker 1: of soothed warmth and quiet, like a grateful, pitiful heat
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  Speaker 1: current in the breast. Morn a week, and that will
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  Speaker 1: come the week following morn a year, and the next
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  Speaker 1: year will be the year of peace. For anguish peace
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  Speaker 1: for peace, anguish, It never fails. The great thing lacking
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  Speaker 1: in Christ, the sense of humour permitted his perfect personal rhythm.
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  Speaker 1: Humour oddly wants rhythm. The human race is made in rhythm,
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  Speaker 1: like its beating heart, but humor is an extra. Everybody
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  Speaker 1: is so full of lies that humor an extra, always
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  Speaker 1: wonderfully appetizing and out of season and inexplicably God given
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  Speaker 1: feels like a great keystone of the race. So it is,
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  Speaker 1: but in a lying race, and Christ, in his beautiful
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  Speaker 1: duel role, would lack humour. As a god come among
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  Speaker 1: a human race to save it, knowing it as he did,
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  Speaker 1: his measureless worldly wisdom being paramount even to his gentleness,
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  Speaker 1: his mind and his personal tenor could be set only
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  Speaker 1: in intense, terrific gloom. The rhythm in the beatitudes is
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  Speaker 1: equal rhythm of sense and rhythm of sound, rhythm of
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  Speaker 1: music and rhythm of meaning equally half and half. The
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  Speaker 1: most rhythm thing in it is Blessed are the pure
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  Speaker 1: in heart, for they shall see God. I feel it
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  Speaker 1: soft prickling just under my skin, rhythm, rhythm and ecstasy.
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  Speaker 1: I have read it many times since I was a child,
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  Speaker 1: till I know it in my brain, in my soul,
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  Speaker 1: in my hands, in my breast, in my throat, in
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  Speaker 1: my forehead, in my gray eyes, in my aching left foot.
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  Speaker 1: I know it and feel it by its rhythm. There
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  Speaker 1: is barbarous justice in it. It cuts everybody off from
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  Speaker 1: seeing God. Pure in heart I take to mean pure
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  Speaker 1: in motive. A fool has an equal chance with a philosopher,
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  Speaker 1: a harlot with a horse thief, a nasty ragpicker with
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  Speaker 1: a small sweet child. But none is pure in motive
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  Speaker 1: of other persons. I don't judge, but me I know
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  Speaker 1: to be murderously unpure of heart. If I could open
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  Speaker 1: a window or unlock a door with only the simple
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  Speaker 1: mechanical motive in the act, but I can't. There's a
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  Speaker 1: romantic impurity in even the look of my hand as
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  Speaker 1: it touches the window sash or the door key. There's
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  Speaker 1: a pervasive, delicate infusion of impure motive all over me
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  Speaker 1: soul and bones as I perform the act. It is
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  Speaker 1: one curse in the necklace which God himself bestowed on
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  Speaker 1: me so long ago. It is not my fault that
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  Speaker 1: I am unpure heart, and it is not God's. It
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  Speaker 1: is a comfort to me that I can reason out
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  Speaker 1: that it is not God's fault. He knew I needed
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  Speaker 1: the necklace and each blue green stone in it to
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  Speaker 1: rhyme and balance me. In the wide surprisingness of the universe,
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  Speaker 1: everything will be rhymed and balanced in me being savagely complex,
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  Speaker 1: that balancing took a bit of doing, hence my unusual necklace.
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  Speaker 1: It comforts me that I can reach that analytic point.
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  Speaker 1: It leaves me a lightning conviction that God is worth seeing.
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  Speaker 1: And if a day dawns for me when I can
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  Speaker 1: open a door with no ulterious motive, thinking only of
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  Speaker 1: the door and the fine, small muscular power of smooth
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  Speaker 1: hand and supple wrist given me to open it, thinking
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  Speaker 1: only that I want to get the door open, then
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  Speaker 1: back of that door I know I shall see God.
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  Speaker 1: It is so written in that barbarous, blood sweating worldly
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  Speaker 1: rhythm on the mount end of chapter seventy six,