jack kerouac letters

I have lots of things to teach you now, in case we ever meet, concerning the message that was transmitted to me under a pine tree in North Carolina on a cold winter moonlit night. It said that Nothing Ever Happened, so don’t worry. It’s all like a dream. Everything is ecstasy, inside. We just don’t know it because of our thinking-minds. But in our true blissful essence of mind is known that everything is alright forever and forever and forever. Close your eyes, let your hands and nerve-ends drop, stop breathing for 3 seconds, listen to the silence inside the illusion of the world, and you will remember the lesson you forgot, which was taught in immense milky way soft cloud innumerable worlds long ago and not even at all. It is all one vast awakened thing. I call it the golden eternity. It is perfect. We were never really born, we will never really die. It has nothing to do with the imaginary idea of a personal self, other selves, many selves everywhere: Self is only an idea, a mortal idea. That which passes into everything is one thing. It’s a dream already ended. There’s nothing to be afraid of and nothing to be glad about. I know this from staring at mountains months on end. They never show any expression, they are like empty space. Do you think the emptiness of space will ever crumble away? Mountains will crumble, but the emptiness of space, which is the one universal essence of mind, the vast awakenerhood, empty and awake, will never crumble away because it was never born.
The world you see is just a movie in your mind. Rocks don’t see it. Bless and sit down. Forgive and forget. Practice kindness all day to everybody and you will realize you’re already in heaven now. That’s the story. That’s the message. Nobody understands it, nobody listens, they’re all running around like chickens with heads cut off. I will try to teach it but it will be in vain, s'why I’ll end up in a shack praying and being cool and singing by my woodstove making pancakes.
—  Jack Kerouac, a letter to his first wife Edie, written in 1957.
3

“people   were  staring   at  lucien
because,  i  imagine,  he  was  so
beautiful. i asked him why people
were  always  staring  at  him.  he
said, “they’ve always done that.”
there  was  no  way  to explain it – 
actually, people do stare at lucien.”                                                                                                                             – jack kerouac in a letter to allen ginsberg

“It’s all like a dream. Everything is ecstasy, inside. We just don’t know it because of our thinking-minds. But in our true blissful essence of mind is known that everything is alright forever and forever and forever. Close your eyes, let your hands and nerve-ends drop, stop breathing for 3 seconds, listen to the silence inside the illusion of the world, and you will remember the lesson you forgot, which was taught in immense milky way soft cloud innumerable worlds long ago and not even at all. It is all one vast awakened thing. I call it the golden eternity. It is perfect. We were never really born, we will never really die.”

― Jack Kerouac, A letter to his first wife, Edie Kerouac-Parker, January of 1957

People were staring at Lucien because, I imagine, he was so beautiful. I asked him why people were always staring at him. He said, “They’ve always done that.” There was no way to explain it—actually, people do always stare at Lucien.
—  Jack Kerouac in a letter to Allen Ginsberg, September 18, 1948
I have lots of things to teach you now, in case we ever meet, concerning the message that was transmitted to me under a pine tree in North Carolina on a cold winter moonlit night. It said that Nothing Ever Happened, so don’t worry. It’s all like a dream. Everything is ecstasy, inside. We just don’t know it because of our thinking-minds. But in our true blissful essence of mind is known that everything is alright forever and forever and forever. Close your eyes, let your hands and nerve-ends drop, stop breathing for 3 seconds, listen to the silence inside the illusion of the world, and you will remember the lesson you forgot, which was taught in immense milky way soft cloud innumerable worlds long ago and not even at all. It is all one vast awakened thing. I call it the golden eternity. It is perfect. We were never really born, we will never really die. It has nothing to do with the imaginary idea of a personal self, other selves, many selves everywhere: Self is only an idea, a mortal idea. That which passes into everything is one thing. It’s a dream already ended. There’s nothing to be afraid of and nothing to be glad about. I know this from staring at mountains months on end. They never show any expression, they are like empty space. Do you think the emptiness of space will ever crumble away? Mountains will crumble, but the emptiness of space, which is the one universal essence of mind, the vast awakenerhood, empty and awake, will never crumble away because it was never born.
—  Jack Kerouac, a letter he wrote to his first wife, Edie, in 1957
The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes “Awww!
—  Jack Kerouac, On the Road
I went to Lucien’s last night, he talked with me at length after he phoned you—mad at me for hovering over and clapping hands and enjoying his telling you to write about him if necessary. He doesn’t really want you to, is serious, and I am to blame for urging you on all this time. He scared me. Encountered something in him I had not felt before, or realized, apparently he been ill since that drunken night, not eating much, having nightmares—keyed off by this situation. Communicated some of the chill dread to me. It’s more than I can bear, I’m sorry I intruded at all, Lucien feels I have tried to harm him, makes me feel it is so. Said he spoke to you on the phone and you were not going to write it, that’s good. Because it really pains him that much, and seems a life and death matter to him. He has lost weight suddenly and seems changed and naked, or I am mad, or both, it scares me. He loves us, reassure him better than I can. (And I accede to his wishes and feelings here).
—  Allen Ginsberg to Jack Kerouac, 5 November 1959
I have lots of things to teach you now, in case we ever meet, concerning the message that was transmitted to me under a pine tree in North Carolina on a cold winter moonlit night. It said that Nothing Ever Happened, so don’t worry. It’s all like a dream. Everything is ecstasy, inside. We just don’t know it because of our thinking-minds. But in our true blissful essence of mind is known that everything is alright forever and forever and forever. Close your eyes, let your hands and nerve-ends drop, stop breathing for 3 seconds, listen to the silence inside the illusion of the world, and you will remember the lesson you forgot, which was taught in immense milky way soft cloud innumerable worlds long ago and not even at all. It is all one vast awakened thing. I call it the golden eternity. It is perfect. We were never really born, we will never really die.
—  Jack Kerouac, Selected Letters(1957-1969)