I Specify You With Joy, O My Comrade

Walt Whitman I specify you with joy, O my comrade

A poem by the American poet Walt Whitman has been making its way around the New Message from God worldwide community.

I specify you with joy, O my comrade

I was not aware of this poem until very recently. It appeared as one of the “Messenger Leaves” of the 1860 edition of Leaves of Grass, and also appears in the “Autumn Rivulets” section of the 1892 “deathbed” edition.

This poem vibrates sympathetically with a portion of the revelation “The Meaning of Christmas,” received by Marshall Vian Summers in December of 1994. This teaching has inspired me to write a number of posts.

“Christmas is a celebration of every moment that the person is moved by Knowledge and contributes with Knowledge. Though it is celebrated as one event in your calendar, as a unique time of the year, it is meant to be an experience for you to have in life and for you to share with others.

Then you will come to know Jesus, not because you can sympathize with him, but because you are undergoing a process that he underwent, and you are beginning to experience the reality that he represented. Then he will no longer be a historical figure. Then he will no longer be an idol for you, someone to worship. Then he will no longer be beyond your reach. Instead, he will become your friend, your companion, your elder brother. And his demonstration and his life, his suffering and his achievement will all have great meaning for you because you will be beginning to experience them for yourself. And you will know that he is not to be idolized, but to be embraced.”

I specify you with joy, O my comrade. Whitman wrote about how others shared his experience now, and how others would share his experience in the future. Did he write about people like you and me?

A compassionater in this context is someone who thinks and feels like someone else. No, I never use the word “peremptorily.” It means “insisting on immediate attention or obedience,” which makes sense from the context.

To Him that was Crucified

MY spirit to yours, dear brother;
Do not mind because many, sounding your name, do not understand you;
I do not sound your name, but I understand you, (there are others also;)
I specify you with joy, O my comrade, to salute you, and to salute those who are with you, before and since—and those to come also,
That we all labor together, transmitting the same charge and succession;
We few, equals, indifferent of lands, indifferent of times;
We, enclosers of all continents, all castes—allowers of all theologies,
Compassionaters, perceivers, rapport of men,
We walk silent among disputes and assertions, but reject not the disputers, nor any thing that is asserted;
We hear the bawling and din—we are reach’d at by divisions, jealousies, recriminations on every side,
They close peremptorily upon us, to surround us, my comrade,
Yet we walk unheld, free, the whole earth over, journeying up and down, till we make our ineffaceable mark upon time and the diverse eras,
Till we saturate time and eras, that the men and women of races, ages to come, may prove brethren and lovers, as we are.

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