Linda's Literary Home

Tag: death

  • Emily Dickinson’s “I often passed the village”

    Image: Emily Dickinson - Amherst College - Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 - likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet
    Image: Emily Dickinson – Amherst College – Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 – likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet

    Emily Dickinson’s “I often passed the village”

    Emily Dickinson’s “I often passed the village” dramatizes the speaker’s recognition that death remains a quiet and loving continuation of existence.

    Introduction and Text of “I often passed the village”

    Emily Dickinson’s “I often passed the village” employs the poet’s characteristic hymn-like cadence and slant rime to fashion a musing on death that remains oddly tender instead of terrifying. The speaker moves from childhood curiosity to spiritual intuition, finally offering solace to those who fear loneliness, confusion, or mortality itself.

    I often passed the village

    I often passed the village
    When going home from school–
    And wondered what they did there–
    And why it was so still–

    I did not know the year then–
    In which my call would come–
    Earlier, by the Dial,
    Than the rest have gone.

    It’s stiller than the sundown.
    It’s cooler than the dawn–
    The Daisies dare to come here–
    And birds can flutter down–

    So when you are tired–
    Or perplexed–or cold–
    Trust the loving promise
    Underneath the mould,
    Cry “it’s I,” “take Dollie,”
    And I will enfold!

    Commentary on “I often passed the village”

    Emily Dickinson’s “I often passed the village” reveals the speaker’s effort to transform the fear of death into a loving spiritual promise.

    First Stanza: Wondering

    I often passed the village
    When going home from school–
    And wondered what they did there–
    And why it was so still–

    In the first stanza, the speaker recalls passing a mysterious “village” while returning home from school. The child speaker remains fascinated by the silence surrounding the place, wondering what activities occur there and why such profound stillness dominates the atmosphere.

    The “village” is clearly a cemetery, but the speaker cleverly avoids naming it directly. As in many Dickinson riddles, the speaker permits readers gradually to intuit the truth rather than stating it openly and directly.

    The phrase “going home from school” also subtly implies humanity’s passage through earthly existence. School symbolizes the soul’s earthly training ground, while the silent village represents the inevitable destination awaiting every traveler on the physical plane.

    The speaker’s youthful curiosity resembles Paramahansa Yogananda’s teaching that death should not be feared because “life and death are only different phases of one continuous reality.” The spiritual master repeatedly reminded devotees that the soul merely changes states of consciousness rather than ceasing to exist.  

    Like the speaker in Dickinson’s “There is another sky,” this speaker senses another realm existing behind ordinary appearances. The child may not yet understand death intellectually, but intuition already whispers that the silent village conceals an important spiritual mystery.

    Second Stanza: Not Knowing

    I did not know the year then–
    In which my call would come–
    Earlier, by the Dial,
    Than the rest have gone.

    The second stanza shifts from childhood wondering to mature realization. The speaker now understands that one day her own “call” will come, summoning her into that same silent village she once regarded with innocent curiosity.

    The term “call” softens the harshness of death by suggesting invitation instead of annihilation. The speaker does not portray death as violence but as a summons issued according to divine timing.

    The line “Earlier, by the Dial” implies that the speaker expects to die relatively young. The “Dial” symbolizes the clock of earthly time, which measures each individual’s appointed span within mortal existence.

    Dickinson frequently portrayed earthly life as temporary residence while hinting that eternity remains the soul’s true homeland. The speaker now recognizes that her own departure will arrive “earlier” than others expect, yet she accepts that destiny calmly rather than rebelliously.

    The stanza echoes the speaker’s confidence found in “There is another sky,” where a permanent metaphysical realm surpasses earthly mutability. In both poems, the speaker demonstrates unusual composure before realities that traditionally provoke fear and despair.

    Paramahansa Yogananda often taught that intuitive souls gradually perceive death not as catastrophe but as transition. His observation that “the soul is ever free, untouched by birth and death” harmonizes remarkably with Dickinson’s serene handling of mortality. 

    Third Stanza: Naturing

    It’s stiller than the sundown.
    It’s cooler than the dawn–
    The Daisies dare to come here–
    And birds can flutter down–

    The third stanza offers further description of the mysterious village. The speaker compares the place to twilight and dawn, two naturally quiet transitional moments that already suggest movement between worlds.

    Yet the village remains “stiller” and “cooler” than either sunset or sunrise. Such comparisons elevate the cemetery into a realm existing outside ordinary earthly motion and noise.

    The speaker’s nature imagery softens the starkness of death. Daisies “dare” to enter this place, while birds confidently descend upon it, implying that nature itself recognizes no ultimate separation between life and death.

    Flowers and birds continue to flourish around graves because nature engulfs cyclic renewal. Human beings alone recoil emotionally from death, while, apparently, the natural world calmly accepts transformation as part of divine order.

    The speaker’s use of the verb “dare” subtly acknowledges humanity’s fearfulness. Even so, the daisies possess courage enough to bloom near the graves, suggesting that innocence and beauty can survive in the presence of mortality.

    Dickinson’s speaker resembles the poet-speaker of “There is another sky,” who fashions a permanent garden untouched by decay. Both speakers envision spiritual continuity overcoming earthly transience and corruption.

    Fourth Stanza: Trusting in Love

    So when you are tired–
    Or perplexed–or cold–
    Trust the loving promise
    Underneath the mould,
    Cry “it’s I,” “take Dollie,”
    And I will enfold!

    In the final stanza, the speaker directly addresses future mourners and sufferers. Those who feel “tired,” “perplexed,” or spiritually “cold” are instructed to trust the “loving promise” lying beneath earthly burial soil.

    The phrase “underneath the mould” transforms the grave from frightening abyss into sacred shelter. The speaker insists that divine love persists even beneath the physical earth covering the body.

    The intimate expression “I will enfold” conveys warmth, comfort, and protection. Instead of depicting death as isolation, the speaker imagines it as loving embrace and spiritual reunion.

    “Dollie” likely refers to Susan Gilbert Dickinson, the poet’s beloved sister-in-law and intimate companion. The speaker’s affectionate tone therefore intensifies the emotional tenderness permeating the poem’s conclusion.

    Like the speaker in “There is another sky,” this speaker invites loved ones into a realm untouched by earthly sorrow. The invitation finally becomes not merely literary or imaginative but profoundly spiritual and eternal.

  • Flesh and Desire

    Image: Created by Grok inspired by the poem
    Image: Created by Grok inspired by the poem

    Flesh and Desire

    “Humankind cannot bear very much reality.”  —T. S. Eliot

    Into the fire of wisdom, thoughts go to perish.
    “Get thee behind me, Satan!” Christ commands.
    But we still wobble behind the Devil
    Hoping to be snatched from the arms of death
    In time for supper and for the many tomorrows
    We image we still possess.
    In the valley of dreck and poison, I have lived
    Even as I knew better or thought I did.
    No, I am not here to testify.
    Although a word or two of testimony
    May slip out every line or so!
    I can pound sand with the best of them.
    But I can also bitch and moan.
    Where is the beginning of joy and rectitude?
    One might ask.  Where is the promise?
    O, come on!  You know where the promise is . . .
    Yes, just testing the waters and they are warm.
    Every time I delay, I am warned.  Just pray
    And wait and listen close and tight to the hum
    In the brain.  I will follow.  I will follow close.
    Yes, I will.  And flesh with its crude desire
    Will no longer taint the years
    With their distractions.
    The mercy of Spirit will wipe my tears. 

  • Emily Dickinson’s “I haven’t told my garden yet”

    Image: Emily Dickinson - Amherst College - Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 - likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet
    Image: Emily Dickinson – Amherst College – Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 – likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet

    Emily Dickinson’s “I haven’t told my garden yet”

    Emily Dickinson’s “I haven’t told my garden yet” reveals the speaker’s profound confrontation with the impending transition of death. She is envisioning a quiet departure from the physical plane, utilizing her beloved natural surroundings to dramatize the hesitation of breaking this ultimate news to her terrestrial companions.

    Introduction and Text of “I haven’t told my garden yet”

    Emily Dickinson’s “I haven’t told my garden yet” is an American-Innovative ballad composed of four quatrains. Each stanza utilizes short, rhythmic lines alternating between iambic tetrameter and iambic trimeter, tied together by near or slant rimes.

    This brief drama functions to showcase the tension between the physical world of senses and the inevitable transition into the metaphysical realm. The speaker of the poem contemplates her looming departure while striving to keep the truth hidden from her earthly friends.

    By maintaining this absolute silence, she seeks to spare the natural world, such as her beloved garden and the hillsides, from the sorrow of her absence. On a second note, she is also inviting her readers to ponder the great mystery of where the soul journeys after the physical shell is cast aside.

    On the literal level, the poet is creating a speaker who is announcing her inability to break the news of her mortality to her immediate surroundings. It will be such a quiet transition that she desires no public display or open acknowledgment of her passing.

    Because she holds a deep affection for nature, she worries that sharing her secret will conquer her remaining emotional strength. Thus, she decides that her impending departure must remain a hidden secret, unspoken among her companions and the fields she has traversed.

    Posing as a quiet meditation on mortality, Dickinson’s little drama serves as a riddle regarding the boundary between life and death. By keeping her plans hidden from the natural world, she emphasizes the ultimate solitude of the soul’s transition.

    I haven’t told my garden yet

    I haven’t told my garden yet –
    Lest that should conquer me.
    I haven’t quite the strength now
    To break it to the Bee –

    I will not name it in the street
    For shops would stare at me –
    That one so shy – so ignorant
    Should have the face to die.

    The hillsides must not know it –
    Where I have rambled so –
    Nor tell the loving forests
    The day that I shall go –

    Nor lisp it at the table –
    Nor heedless by the way
    Hint that within the Riddle
    One will walk today –

    Reading of “I haven’t told my garden yet”

    Commentary on “I haven’t told my garden yet”

    Emily Dickinson’s “I haven’t told my garden yet” reveals an attitude of deep devotion to nature and a profound hesitation to disrupt its peace with the heavy reality of physical mortality.

    The poem is a literal contemplation of death, where the speaker is erecting a barrier of silence to protect her beloved earthly companions from the grief of her departure.

    First Stanza:  Hesitating to Report

    I haven’t told my garden yet –
    Lest that should conquer me.
    I haven’t quite the strength now
    To break it to the Bee –

    In the first quatrain, the speaker begins by alerting readers that she has kept her impending departure completely hidden from her closest companion, her “garden.” To vocalize this transition would overcome her fragile emotional state and deplete her remaining determination.

    The garden and the bee represent the living, vibrant physical plane of existence that the speaker is preparing to leave behind. She confesses that she lacks the personal fortitude to deliver such heavy news to the busy “Bee” that frequents her blossoms.

    This hesitation highlights the speaker’s delicate sensitivity to the beautiful life forms around her. She fears that acknowledging her departure openly would dismantle her quiet resolve.

    Behind her reluctance lies a deep understanding of the transition of the soul. As explained in the teachings on “Understanding Death and Loss” by Paramahansa Yogananda, “the body is only a garment,” and death is merely a “temporary emancipation” where the soul returns to its native home.

    Second Stanza:  Refusing to Alert

    I will not name it in the street
    For shops would stare at me –
    That one so shy – so ignorant
    Should have the face to die.

    The speaker then turns her gaze toward human society, declaring that she will not speak of her death in the public sphere. She envisions the local merchants and shopkeepers staring in absolute disbelief at her audacity.

    The public would find it unfathomable that a person so incredibly “shy” and “ignorant” of the grand ways of the world could possess the boldness to face death. This social commentary highlights the speaker’s preference for the quiet, solitary realm of nature over the bustling skepticism of human commerce.

    She remains deeply private, choosing to shield her sacred transition from the judgmental eyes of the town. Her ultimate journey is not a matter for public gossip or superficial curiosity.

    This choice to withdraw from the public eye mimics the lifestyle of a contemplative seeker who is focused entirely on the internal spirit. On my literary website Linda’s Literary Home, I note that the poet “lived a solitary life that in many ways paralleled that of a religious monastic,” choosing quiet contemplation over societal interaction.

    Third Stanza:  Keeping It Hush Hush

    The hillsides must not know it –
    Where I have rambled so –
    Nor tell the loving forests
    The day that I shall go –

    The speaker now directs her attention back to the natural landscape, asserting that the familiar “hillsides” must remain completely unaware of her departure. These are the beautiful places where she has spent countless hours walking and meditating in quiet joy.

    She also insists on keeping the secret from the “loving forests” that have provided her with shade and inspiration throughout her life. She cannot bear to cast a shadow of grief over these natural sanctuaries.

    By sparing the hills and forests from the date of her exit, she preserves the untouched joy of those spaces. She desires that her memory remain woven into their eternal beauty without the stain of physical decay.

    This deep communion with nature reflects a realization of the divine presence within the created universe. Her relationship with the “loving forests” mirrors the pantheistic devotion where every tree, leaf, and hillside is recognized as a living expression of the Divine Mother.

    Fourth Stanza: The Riming Riddle Will Out

    Nor lisp it at the table –
    Nor heedless by the way
    Hint that within the Riddle
    One will walk today –

    In the final stanza, the speaker reinforces her vow of absolute secrecy, forbidding herself from whispering the truth at the family dining table. She must not accidentally drop any careless hints to passersby along the road.

    The ultimate destination of her journey is described as “the Riddle,” a capitalized mystery into which she will walk before the day is done. This riddle is the metaphysical realm, the unseen world that lies just beyond the reach of human sensory perception.

    She steps into this grand unknown with quiet dignity, leaving her earthly companions to continue their physical cycles undisturbed. Her departure is a silent transition, a gentle slip from the physical plane into the cosmic consciousness.

    This transition into the “Riddle” is not a descent into destruction, but an entry into a higher state of awareness. As Paramahansa Yogananda teaches, the soul at death experiences a “joyous sense of relief and freedom,” realizing its eternal nature as it reunites with the infinite light of the Creator.

  • Emily Dickinson’s “There’s something quieter than sleep”

    Image: Emily Dickinson - Amherst College - Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 - likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet
    Image: Emily Dickinson – Amherst College – Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 – likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet

    Emily Dickinson’s “There’s something quieter than sleep”

    Emily Dickinson’s “There’s something quieter than sleep” dramatizes the speaker’s reverence for the mystery of death, portraying it as a sacred and nearly mystical transition beyond earthly experience.

    Introduction and Text of “There’s something quieter than sleep”

    Emily Dickinson’s “There’s something quieter than sleep” features four minimalist quatrains that progress from observation to meditation. The speaker contemplates the stillness surrounding death, yet she approaches the subject delicately, refusing crude or noisy emotional excess. 

    Dickinson’s characteristic dashes and slant rimes contribute to the hushed atmosphere, while the speaker’s use of euphemism reveals both awe and uncertainty before the soul’s departure from its physical encasement.

    The poem’s spiritual atmosphere recalls Paramahansa Yogananda’s teaching that death is merely “a sleep of forgetfulness” before the soul awakens again in divine consciousness. 

    There’s something quieter than sleep

    There’s something quieter than sleep
    Within this inner room!
    It wears a sprig upon its breast –
    And will not tell its name.

    Some touch it, and some kiss it–
    Some chafe its idle hand –
    It has a simple gravity
    I do not understand!

    I would not weep if I were they –
    How rude in one to sob!
    Might scare the quiet fairy
    Back to her native wood!

    While simple–hearted neighbors
    Chat of the “Early dead” –
    We – prone to periphrasis,
    Remark that Birds have fled!

    Commentary on “There’s something quieter than sleep”

    The speaker contemplates death as a solemn but peaceful mystery whose stillness transcends ordinary sleep and earthly sorrow.

    Stanza 1: Deeper Than Sleep

    There’s something quieter than sleep
    Within this inner room!
    It wears a sprig upon its breast –
    And will not tell its name.

    The speaker opens by comparing death to sleep, yet she quickly insists that death possesses an even greater silence. The “inner room” suggests both a literal chamber where the deceased lies and the inward spiritual realm where the soul retreats after leaving the body. 

    By refusing to name the condition directly, the speaker creates an atmosphere of reverent uncertainty, as though ordinary language cannot fully contain the mystery before her.

    The “sprig upon its breast” likely refers to a funeral flower or symbolic greenery placed upon the body. Such imagery quietly evokes immortality because evergreen branches traditionally symbolize eternal life. 

    Paramahansa Yogananda frequently taught that the soul remains untouched by bodily death, affirming that spirit “cannot die because it was never born.” The speaker appears instinctively aware that what lies in the room is not annihilation but transition.

    Stanza 2: What Some Do

    Some touch it, and some kiss it–
    Some chafe its idle hand –
    It has a simple gravity
    I do not understand!

    The speaker now observes the behavior of mourners gathered around the deceased. Some touch the body tenderly, while others attempt to warm the “idle hand,” as though reluctant to accept the final stillness. Their gestures reveal humanity’s instinctive resistance to separation and mortality.

    Yet the speaker remains fascinated less by grief than by the strange dignity surrounding the dead. 

    The phrase “simple gravity” conveys both physical stillness and spiritual weight. The body no longer participates in earthly activity, yet it seems surrounded by a quiet authority the speaker cannot explain. 

    Dickinson’s speakers often encounter realities that intuition senses more deeply than reason can analyze, and here her speaker admits openly that death possesses meanings beyond intellectual understanding.  The stanza also reveals the speaker’s restraint. 

    Rather than indulging in emotional display, she studies the scene with contemplative wonder. That attitude resembles Dickinson’s many poetic riddles, in which truth emerges indirectly through symbol, suggestion, and silence rather than declaration.

    Stanza 3: Shy Fairies

    I would not weep if I were they –
    How rude in one to sob!
    Might scare the quiet fairy
    Back to her native wood!

    The speaker gently criticizes loud mourning, suggesting that sobbing is almost discourteous in the presence of death’s delicate mystery. Her use of the term “quiet fairy” transforms death into a shy spiritual visitor rather than a terrifying destroyer. The fairy imagery softens the scene and presents death as something ethereal, elusive, and perhaps even benevolent.

    By imagining that noisy grief could frighten the fairy away, the speaker implies that death deserves calm reverence instead of emotional chaos. The image resembles ancient folklore in which supernatural beings vanish when approached too aggressively. Dickinson’s speaker thus elevates death into a sacred event requiring inward stillness.

    The stanza also reflects the speaker’s intuition that the soul belongs ultimately to another realm, the “native wood.” The earthly body merely hosts the spirit temporarily before it returns to its true home. 

    uch an idea harmonizes with Yogananda’s teaching that the soul journeys through many states of existence while remaining eternally connected to Divine Spirit. 

    Stanza 4: Euphemism and Evasion

    While simple–hearted neighbors
    Chat of the “Early dead” –
    We – prone to periphrasis,
    Remark that Birds have fled!

    In the final stanza, the speaker contrasts ordinary language with poetic circumlocution. The “simple-hearted neighbors” speak plainly of the “Early dead,” employing conventional social terminology without reflection. The speaker, however, admits that “we” prefer “periphrasis,” or indirect expression.

    Instead of saying someone has died, the speaker remarks that “Birds have fled.” The bird symbolizes the departing soul escaping the confinement of the physical encasement. 

    Dickinson often employed birds as emblems of transcendence, freedom, and spiritual aspiration. Here the image beautifully transforms death from grim cessation into graceful departure.

    The stanza closes the poem on a note of mystery rather than despair. The speaker never claims complete knowledge regarding death, but she senses that the soul’s leaving resembles flight more than extinction. 

    Like many Dickinson speakers, this speaker balances uncertainty with spiritual intuition, allowing poetry itself to gesture toward ineffable truths, which ordinary speech cannot fully express.

  • James Weldon Johnson’s “Go Down Death”

    Image: James Weldon Johnson - https://www.green-wood.com/event/the-autobiography-of-an-ex-colored-man-110-years-later/
    Image: James Weldon Johnson – Green-Wood

    James Weldon Johnson’s “Go Down Death”

    James Weldon Johnson’s funeral oration, “Go Down Death,” offers one the most beautiful and heartfelt expressions of the soul’s journey through life.

    Introduction and Text of “Go Down Death”

    The epigraph to James Weldon Johnson’s poem, “Go Down Death,” from God’s Trombones: Seven Negro Sermons in Verse, identifies the poem as a dramatic “funeral oration.” This dramatization of the soul’s journey from life to death and beyond remains one of the most beautiful metaphoric expressions on the subject.

    The poem, “Go Down Death,” features ten versagraphs in which a pastor ministers to a grieving family.  The uplifting sermon remains  an example of Johnson’s marvelous craftsmanship with words and profound ideas regarding life and death.

    Go Down Death

    (A Funeral Sermon) 

    Weep not, weep not,
    She is not dead;
    She’s resting in the bosom of Jesus.
    Heart-broken husband—weep no more;
    Grief-stricken son—weep no more;
    Left-lonesome daughter —weep no more;
    She only just gone home.

    Day before yesterday morning,
    God was looking down from his great, high heaven,
    Looking down on all his children,
    And his eye fell on Sister Caroline,
    Tossing on her bed of pain.
    And God’s big heart was touched with pity,
    With the everlasting pity.

    And God sat back on his throne,
    And he commanded that tall, bright angel standing at his right hand:
    Call me Death!
    And that tall, bright angel cried in a voice
    That broke like a clap of thunder:
    Call Death!—Call Death!
    And the echo sounded down the streets of heaven
    Till it reached away back to that shadowy place,
    Where Death waits with his pale, white horses.

    And Death heard the summons,
    And he leaped on his fastest horse,
    Pale as a sheet in the moonlight.
    Up the golden street Death galloped,
    And the hooves of his horses struck fire from the gold,
    But they didn’t make no sound.
    Up Death rode to the Great White Throne,
    And waited for God’s command.

    And God said: Go down, Death, go down,
    Go down to Savannah, Georgia,
    Down in Yamacraw,
    And find Sister Caroline.
    She’s borne the burden and heat of the day,
    She’s labored long in my vineyard,
    And she’s tired—
    She’s weary—
    Go down, Death, and bring her to me.

    And Death didn’t say a word,
    But he loosed the reins on his pale, white horse,
    And he clamped the spurs to his bloodless sides,
    And out and down he rode,
    Through heaven’s pearly gates,
    Past suns and moons and stars;
    on Death rode,
    Leaving the lightning’s flash behind;
    Straight down he came.

    While we were watching round her bed,
    She turned her eyes and looked away,
    She saw what we couldn’t see;
    She saw Old Death.  She saw Old Death
    Coming like a falling star.
    But Death didn’t frighten Sister Caroline;
    He looked to her like a welcome friend.
    And she whispered to us: I’m going home,
    And she smiled and closed her eyes.

    And Death took her up like a baby,
    And she lay in his icy arms,
    But she didn’t feel no chill.
    And death began to ride again—
    Up beyond the evening star,
    Into the glittering light of glory,
    On to the Great White Throne.
    And there he laid Sister Caroline
    On the loving breast of Jesus.

    And Jesus took his own hand and wiped away her tears,
    And he smoothed the furrows from her face,
    And the angels sang a little song,
    And Jesus rocked her in his arms,
    And kept a-saying: Take your rest,
    Take your rest.

    Weep not—weep not,
    She is not dead;
    She’s resting in the bosom of Jesus.

    Wintley Phipps’ amazing recitation of “Go Down, Death”  

    Commentary on “Go Down Death”

    James Weldon Johnson’s “Go Down Death,” a dramatization of the soul’s journey from life to death and beyond, remains one of the most beautiful metaphoric expressions on the subject.

    First Versagraph:  A Command not to Weep  

    Weep not, weep not,
    She is not dead;
    She’s resting in the bosom of Jesus.
    Heart-broken husband—weep no more;
    Grief-stricken son—weep no more;
    Left-lonesome daughter —weep no more;
    She only just gone home.

    The often rhythmic, deeply dramatic oration begins with a refrain, “Weep not, weep not.” This command is directed to the family of a deceased woman, who is survived by a “Heart-broken husband, a Grief-stricken son, and a Left-lonesome daughter.”

    The minister delivering the funeral sermon tasks himself with convincing the grieving family that their loved one is not dead, because she is resting in the bosom of Jesus, and she has only just gone home.

    Second Versagraph:  God’s Pity and What’s Often Forgotten

    Day before yesterday morning,
    God was looking down from his great, high heaven,
    Looking down on all his children,
    And his eye fell on Sister Caroline,
    Tossing on her bed of pain.
    And God’s big heart was touched with pity,
    With the everlasting pity.

    The minister creates a beautiful narrative beginning on the day just before the beloved died. He says that God was looking down from his great, high heaven, and He happened to glimpse Sister Caroline, who was “tossing on her bed of pain.”  God in His great mercy was filled “with everlasting pity.” 

    The minister weaves a beautiful narrative designed not only to relieve the pain of the mourners but also to let them know a truth that is so often forgotten at the time of loss and grieving at death.

    Third Versagraph:   A Creature not to be Feared

    And God sat back on his throne,
    And he commanded that tall, bright angel standing at his right hand:
    Call me Death!
    And that tall, bright angel cried in a voice
    That broke like a clap of thunder:
    Call Death!—Call Death!
    And the echo sounded down the streets of heaven
    Till it reached away back to that shadowy place,
    Where Death waits with his pale, white horses.

    God instructed His “tall, bright angel” standing on His right to summon Death. The angel then summoned Death from the darkness in which he is always waiting with his pack of white horses.

    Death is now becoming an anthropomorphic creature who will perform a function directed by God.  If God is directing the creative Death, then mourners will begin to understand that Death is not a creature to be feared, only to be understood as a servant of the Belovèd Lord.

    Fourth Versagraph:   Death before the Great White Throne

    And Death heard the summons,
    And he leaped on his fastest horse,
    Pale as a sheet in the moonlight.
    Up the golden street Death galloped,
    And the hooves of his horses struck fire from the gold,
    But they didn’t make no sound.
    Up Death rode to the Great White Throne,
    And waited for God’s command.

    Hearing the call, Death leaps on his fastest stead.  Death is pale in the moonlight, but he continues on, speeding down the golden street.  And although the horses’ hooves “struck fire f rom the the gold,” no sound emanated from the clash.   Finally, Death arrives at the Great White Throne, where he waits for God to give him his orders.

    Fifth Versagraph:  Death Goes down to Georgia

    And God said: Go down, Death, go down,
    Go down to Savannah, Georgia,
    Down in Yamacraw,
    And find Sister Caroline.
    She’s borne the burden and heat of the day,
    She’s labored long in my vineyard,
    And she’s tired—
    She’s weary—
    Go down, Death, and bring her to me.

    God commands Death to travel down to Georgia in Savannah.  There he must find “Sister Caroline.”  The poor sister has suffered for a long time; she has been a valiant laborer for God.  Now she has grown too tired and too debilitated to continue on in her present incarnation.  

    Thus, God instructs Death to fetch the soul of Sister Caroline to Him.  Knowing that Death is simply the conveyance employed by the Blessèd Creator to bring His children home is a concept that can bring comfort and relief to the mourners.

    Sixth Versagraph:   Death Obeys God’s Command  

    And Death didn’t say a word,
    But he loosed the reins on his pale, white horse,
    And he clamped the spurs to his bloodless sides,
    And out and down he rode,
    Through heaven’s pearly gates,
    Past suns and moons and stars;
    on Death rode,
    Leaving the lightning’s flash behind;
    Straight down he came.

    Without uttering a sound, Death immediately complies with God’s command. Death rides out through “the pearly gates, / Past suns and moons and stars.” He heads straight down to Sister Caroline, to whom God had directed him. 

    Understanding the nature of God’s servant “Death” continues to build hope and understanding in the heart of the mourners.  Their grieving can be assuaged and directed to a whole new arena of theological thought and practice.

    Seventh Versagraph:  Welcoming God’s Emissary

    While we were watching round her bed,
    She turned her eyes and looked away,
    She saw what we couldn’t see;
    She saw Old Death.  She saw Old Death
    Coming like a falling star.
    But Death didn’t frighten Sister Caroline;
    He looked to her like a welcome friend.
    And she whispered to us: I’m going home,
    And she smiled and closed her eyes.

    Upon seeing Death approaching, Sister Caroline welcomes him as if he were an old friend, and she informs the others who were standing around her, ministering to her, that she was not afraid. Sister Caroline then tells them she is going home, as she smiles and closes her eyes for the last time.

    By seeing that the dying soul can be so accepting of her new circumstance of leaving the physical body and the earth level of existence, the mourners continue to grow in acceptance as they become capable of letting their grief go.  They can replace grief with the joy of knowing God and God’s ways.  

    That God simply uses Death for his own purposes goes a long way to healing the misunderstanding that one life on earth is all each soul has.  The physical level of being becomes a mere step in the evolution through which the soul passes on its way back to its permanent home in God.

    Eighth Versagraph:   The Soul Moving into the Astral World  

    And Death took her up like a baby,
    And she lay in his icy arms,
    But she didn’t feel no chill.
    And death began to ride again—
    Up beyond the evening star,
    Into the glittering light of glory,
    On to the Great White Throne.
    And there he laid Sister Caroline
    On the loving breast of Jesus.

    Death then takes Sister Caroline in his arms as he would a baby.  Even though Death’s arm were icy, she experiences no cold.   Sister is now able to feel with her astral body, not her physical encasement.  

    Again Death rides beyond the physical evening star and on into the astral light of “glory.”   He approaches the great throne of God and commits the soul of Sister Caroline to the loving care of Christ.

    Ninth Versagraph:  Sister Shed Delusion of Earth Life

    And Jesus took his own hand and wiped away her tears,
    And he smoothed the furrows from her face,
    And the angels sang a little song,
    And Jesus rocked her in his arms,
    And kept a-saying: Take your rest,
    Take your rest.

    Jesus brushes away all sorrow from the soul of Sister Caroline.  She soothes her, and she loses the deep furrows that marred her face, after long living in the world of sorrows and trials.   The angels then serenade her as Christ comforts her.   Sister Caroline can finally rest from her all her trials and tribulations; she can now shed the delusion that kept her hidebound as she passed through life on the physical plane.

    Tenth Versagraph:  Repeated Command not to Weep

    Weep not—weep not,
    She is not dead;
    She’s resting in the bosom of Jesus.

    The minister then repeats his opening refrain, “Weep not—weep not, / She is not dead; / She’s resting in the bosom of Jesus.”  The refrain becomes a chant that will relieve all souls of pain and headache.  Resting in the bosom of Christ will now become the aspiration for all listeners as they begin to understand truly that, “she is not dead.”  

    They will become aware that if Sister Caroline is not dead, neither will they die, when the time to leave this earth comes.  They will understand that their own souls can look forward to resting in the arms of Jesus the Christ.

  • Emily Dickinson’s “The feet of people walking home”

    Image: Emily Dickinson – Amherst College – Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 – likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet

    Emily Dickinson’s “The feet of people walking home”

    In a uniquely dramatic way, Dickinson’s speaker reveals the simple truth that people are happier when they are on their way home.

    Introduction with Text of “The feet of people walking home”

    Emily Dickinson’s “The feet of people walking home” plays out its little drama in three octaves or eight-line stanzas.  Instead of the literal meaning of the word, “home,” this poem employs the figurative meaning as in the old hymn lyric “This World Is Not My Home.”  This Dickinson poem features highly symbolic imagery, while at times seeming to point to things of this physical world. 

    Every image works in service of supporting the claim that each human soul wears “gayer sandals” as it strides toward its permanent “home” in the abode of the Divine Creator.  Again, the Dickinsonian mysticism provides the poet’s speaker with an abundance of mystic meaning garnered from that “Bird” of hers that ventures out and returns with new melodies.

    The feet of people walking home

    The feet of people walking home
    With gayer sandals go  –
    The Crocus  – till she rises
    The Vassal of the snow  –
    The lips at Hallelujah
    Long years of practise bore
    Till bye and bye these Bargemen
    Walked singing on the shore.

    Pearls are the Diver’s farthings
    Extorted from the Sea  –
    Pinions  – the Seraph’s wagon
    Pedestrian once  – as we  –
    Night is the morning’s Canvas
    Larceny  – legacy  –
    Death, but our rapt attention
    To Immortality.

    My figures fail to tell me
    How far the Village lies  –
    Whose peasants are the angels  –
    Whose Cantons dot the skies  –
    My Classics vail their faces  –
    My faith that Dark adores  –
    Which from its solemn abbeys
    Such resurrection pours.

    Reading: 

    Commentary on “The feet of people walking home”

    In a uniquely dramatic way, Dickinson’s speaker reveals the simple truth that people are happier when they are on their way home–especially as they are making progress toward their Divine Abode.

    First Stanza:  Happier on the Way Home

    The feet of people walking home
    With gayer sandals go  –
    The Crocus  – till she rises
    The Vassal of the snow  –
    The lips at Hallelujah
    Long years of practise bore
    Till bye and bye these Bargemen
    Walked singing on the shore.

    A paraphrase of the first two lines of Dickinson’s “The feet of people walking home” might be:  People are happier when they are on their way back to the abode of the Divine Creator.  The physical earthly place called “home” serves as a metaphor for Heaven or the Divine Place where the belovèd Lord resides.  

    That “Divine Place” is ineffable, and therefore has no earthly counterpart, but for most human beings and especially for Emily Dickinson, home is the nearest thing on earth, that is, in this world to the spiritual level of being known as “Heaven.”    So according to this speaker even the shoes of people who are on their way “home” are “gayer,” happier, more peaceful, filled with delight.  

    The speaker then begins to offer support for her claim: the flower exemplified by the “Crocus” is restrained by the “snow” until it pushes up through the ground and displays it marvelous colors.   Similarly, the human soul remains restrained by maya delusion until it pushes up through the dirt of this world to reveal its true colors in God.  

    Those who have practiced meditating on the name of the Divine for many years ultimately find themselves walking and “singing on the shore” like “Bargemen,” who have come ashore after a long haul of work.

    Second Stanza:  The Value of Commodities

    Pearls are the Diver’s farthings
    Extorted from the Sea  –
    Pinions  – the Seraph’s wagon
    Pedestrian once  – as we  –
    Night is the morning’s Canvas
    Larceny  – legacy  –
    Death, but our rapt attention
    To Immortality.

    Further examples of those who are going “home” are divers for pearls who are able to “extort” those valuable commodities “from the sea.”  Again, highly symbolic is the act of diving for pearls.  The meditating devotee is diving for the pearls of love and wisdom that only the Blessed Creator provides his striving children.  

    This image is comparable to the line in the chant by Paramahansa Yogananda “Today My Mind Has Dived”:  “Today my mind has dived deep in Thee / for Thy pearls of love from my depthless sea.”  

    The metaphoric diving for pearls enlivens and strengthens the message regarding the spiritual seeker’s search for God’s wisdom and love.  In both discourses, the “sea” serves as a metaphor for the Divine.   

    The “Seraph” before getting his wings once was confined to walking, not riding in a wagon.  His wings or pinions now serve him as a useful vehicle to alleviate his need to take the shoe-leather express.  “Night” serves the “morning” as a “canvas” on which can be painted taking and giving.  

    If in dreams, the poet can see herself as a channel for providing mystic truths, she will be leaving a “legacy,” but if she has envisioned only selfish wish fulfillment, she will be committing “larceny.”   

    Therefore, as night serves morning, morning serves the soul as it allows expression to blossom.   “Death” is not the end of life, not the life of the soul, because the soul is immortal; therefore, the only purpose for death is to focus the human being’s mind on the ultimate fact of “Immortality.”  Without the duality of death vs immortality, the latter could not be grasped in the physical world on the material plane.

    Third Stanza:  Ultimate Home in Heaven

    My figures fail to tell me
    How far the Village lies  –
    Whose peasants are the angels  –
    Whose Cantons dot the skies  –
    My Classics vail their faces  –
    My faith that Dark adores  –
    Which from its solemn abbeys
    Such resurrection pours.

    The speaker now admits that she has no idea how far away the “Village” is, that is, how far or how long it will take to reach her Ultimate Home in Heaven.   But she then makes sure that her audience knows that she is indeed referring to Heaven when she asserts that Heaven’s “peasants are the angels.”  

    The souls that have already entered that Kingdom of Ineffable Reality have joined the angels.  The speaker then refers to the stars calling them “Cantons” that “dot the skies.”   The speaker is implying that the “Village” she speaks of is full of light, and the only earthly comparison is the stars in the sky.  The speaker reports that her old, established expressions have hidden themselves, as her faith remains cloistered and “solemn.”

    But from those “abbeys” of her faith, she senses that the “resurrection” of her soul is certain, as the pouring out of sunshine from a dark cloud that divides to reveal those marvelous, warm rays.

    Dickinson’s Grammar/Spelling Errors

    Some of Dickinson’s poems contain grammatical and/or spelling errors; for example, in “The feet of people walking home” in line 6,”Long years of practise bore,” she employs the British spelling—a verb form—instead of the noun form “practice,” which is actually required in this phrase.  

    Interestingly, while American English currently uses “practice” for both noun and verb, the British forms use “practice” to function as a noun and “practise” as a verb. It remains unclear why editor Thomas H. Johnson did not quietly correct that error, because he reports in the introduction to his The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson, 

    I have silently corrected obvious misspelling (witheld, visiter, etc), and misplaced apostrophes (does’nt).

    However, those errors do tend to give her work a human flavor that perfection would not have rendered.

    The Metaphor of Divinity

    The impossibility of expressing the ineffable has scooped up poets of all ages.   The poet who intuits that only the Divine exists and that all Creation is simply a plethora of manifestations emanating from that Ultimate Reality has always been motivated to express that intuition.  

    But putting into words that which is beyond words remains a daunting task.   Because Dickinson was blessed with a mystic’s vision, she was able to express metaphorically her intuition that the soul of the human being is immortal, even though her sometimes awkward expressions seem to lurch forward in fits and starts.   But many of her best efforts feature the divine drama, which she often plays out in her poems.