London
Thomas Merton in his journal, written six months before his Asian journey:
I realise that I have a past to break with — an accumulation of inertia, wrong, foolishness, rot, junk. A great need of clarification, of mindfulness, or rather, of no mind. A need to return to genuine practice, right effort. Need to push on the great doubt. Need for the spirit. Hang on to the clear light.
A freak electrical accident in Bangkok would kill him, midway through the trip.
Aura of the lost.
In London, I tended to hang with the fallen. My aura of eroding decay was a beacon to those travellers of the road less survived. The drunks, dopers, cons, losers, dead angels. Come to me, all ye who are lost, and I’ll give you identification. Two people I cultivated most. They belong on the fringe of the
