No More Learning

One cannot acquire
it, except by surrendering everything that one has. It is only when one
has lost all things, that one knows that one possesses it.

Now I have realised that it is in me, I see quite clearly what I ought to
do; in fact, must do. And when I use such a phrase as that, I need not
say that I am not alluding to any external sanction or command. I admit
none. I am far more of an individualist than I ever was. Nothing seems
to me of the smallest value except what one gets out of oneself. My
nature is seeking a fresh mode of self-realisation. That is all I am
concerned with. And the first thing that I have got to do is to free
myself from any possible bitterness of feeling against the world.

I am completely penniless, and absolutely homeless. Yet there are worse
things in the world than that. I am quite candid when I say that rather
than go out from this prison with bitterness in my heart against the
world, I would gladly and readily beg my bread from door to door. If I
got nothing from the house of the rich I would get something at the house
of the poor. Those who have much are often greedy; those who have little
always share.
I would not a bit mind sleeping in the cool grass in
summer, and when winter came on sheltering myself by the warm
close-thatched rick, or under the penthouse of a great barn, provided I
had love in my heart. The external things of life seem to me now of no
importance at all. You can see to what intensity of individualism I have
arrived--or am arriving rather, for the journey is long, and 'where I
walk there are thorns. '

Of course I know that to ask alms on the highway is not to be my lot, and
that if ever I lie in the cool grass at night-time it will be to write
sonnets to the moon. When I go out of prison, R--- will be waiting for
me on the other side of the big iron-studded gate, and he is the symbol,
not merely of his own affection, but of the affection of many others
besides. I believe I am to have enough to live on for about eighteen
months at any rate, so that if I may not write beautiful books, I may at
least read beautiful books; and what joy can be greater? After that, I
hope to be able to recreate my creative faculty.

But were things different: had I not a friend left in the world; were
there not a single house open to me in pity; had I to accept the wallet
and ragged cloak of sheer penury: as long as I am free from all
resentment, hardness and scorn, I would be able to face the life with
much more calm and confidence than I would were my body in purple and
fine linen, and the soul within me sick with hate.

And I really shall have no difficulty. When you really want love you
will find it waiting for you.

I need not say that my task does not end there. It would be
comparatively easy if it did. There is much more before me. I have
hills far steeper to climb, valleys much darker to pass through. And I
have to get it all out of myself. Neither religion, morality, nor reason
can help me at all.