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in bright mind essence,
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innumerable lotuslands
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falling open in the magic mothswarm of heaven.
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That language at the end there is pure Allen Ginsberg.
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So, that's that incantatory Beat mysticism.
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It's a mysticism of emptiness, in the end,
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but what fills that emptiness as we lead up to that moment is
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this fantasy of trans-historical existence,
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that he can somehow embody a whole human story across time.
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Where's that story coming from?
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Well, this is a Dickensian mother.
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It's Dickens in part, that stereotype of old London,