is that the question? Here we are. The universe is vast & we are fumbling through it. I'm fumbling, anyway--perhaps you're dancing effortlessly. But I'm a late bloomer, still pulling myself up out of the dirt, shedding seed coats & artifice. Still learning how to be true to myself. I have moments, of course, when everything is in tune, & I am the golden bird.
Even when I'm not, everything is. Nothing isn't.
Here's a poem by Wallace Stevens.
Of Mere Being
The palm at the end of the mind,
Beyond the last thought, rises
In the bronze decor,
A gold-feathered bird
Sings in the palm, without human meaning,
Without human feeling, a foreign song.
You know that is not the reason
That makes us happy or unhappy.
The bird sings. Its feathers shine.
The palm stands at the edge of space.
The wind moves slowly in the branches.
The bird's fire-fangled feathers dangle down.
Even when I'm not, everything is. Nothing isn't.
Here's a poem by Wallace Stevens.
Of Mere Being
The palm at the end of the mind,
Beyond the last thought, rises
In the bronze decor,
A gold-feathered bird
Sings in the palm, without human meaning,
Without human feeling, a foreign song.
You know that is not the reason
That makes us happy or unhappy.
The bird sings. Its feathers shine.
The palm stands at the edge of space.
The wind moves slowly in the branches.
The bird's fire-fangled feathers dangle down.
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