I know enough to knowthat I don’t know. I know enough to know I’ll probably never know. I know enough to know that all this pulling apart of woven things, all this ripping and tearing and trying to grab one true thread, as if the truth is ever just one thread— I know enough to know that’s not how I want to live, shredding instead of sowing, I know enough to know that even if we break ourselves apart beyond all recognition, we are still stitched together, same atoms, same dust, same stars, and what I want in my own little gasp of life is to love the world with the whole of this tangled, unknowing self.
I feel your pain, sister! I keep getting sucked into reading comments on various subjects thinking maybe people are being sensible for a change and nope, they never are. It makes me want to publicly address this or that issue but then I think why bother? Nothing I can say will change peoples minds. So I too am TIRED.
Karri, I love the beautiful simplicity of this! And also it’s not simple in this world to notice when you’re tired and know that you’re trying your best and know that you’re turning in the direction of your values and toward hope for the future. Clearly, you are doing some things right. ❤️
This is beautiful KARRI! I agree with Lisa's comments, and the loveliness of the simplicity of your poem. Joanna Macy calls this time we are ;ving thnrough "the great turning" and you are turning. Your last lines are magnificient:
"I know enough to know
I am turning,
Toward hope
Toward joy
Toward the future."
What a gem your poem is. I can empathize so much with feeling tired and so weary of the discord, chaos, irrationality, the hatred, violence and vitriol, and how social media can drag us into hard spaces from which it can be hard to return. My prayer is in this turning, we turn away from such things into a sustainable future where love, loving kindness, compassion, justice and equity are the values we center around. Thank you for helping the world turn!
Larry, this is so tender and beautiful! I love "we are not made to have a 360 degree view of ourselves" . . . I imagined flying over myself like a bird when I read this, which then conjured the thought that it's probably good I can't do this, since it would make it all too easy to metaphorically let loose on my own head, a thought that ties in with the lines "I internally torment myself just so I can be sure to get to the critiques and the admonitions before anyone else does." I can definitely relate to that. There's so much honesty about what the world is in this poem, and there's also so much hope, and that's a beautiful, rare combination.
I love this, Larry. I've noticed a tendency in myself to "get to the critiques and the admonitions / before anyone else does" -- you worded this perfectly. "The world will still seem / battered and fractured in the morning" is achingly true, but I love the possibility you raise at the end, of what our acts of kindness can collectively lead to.
Larry, this is so relatable, in so many different ways...and teeming with wisdom, humility, and love. "We are not made to have a 360 degree view of ourselves" really got me. It's true, no matter how hard one tries to see themself. And just when we think we've gotten a clear view, we change (ha!). And yes, there is always more talking than listening. Reminds me of the adage (from the Tao, maybe?) "he who knows does not say, and he who says does not know." I admire your ability to see the rainbows and the beauty and the hope in it all.
This is beautiful Larry. And I understand that need to get the words out. Sometimes they are very incessant, they need to be expressed. And you did that wonderfully here. Especially liked, "I know enough to know that who I am is not the same as who I think I am or who I hope to be. We are not made to have a 360 degree view of ourselves." And I loved, "Love is larger than the word itself," Here, here!
What a great quote! And what a brilliant way to approach poetry . . . intentionally and artfully NOT playing every note. The brevity of your poems, the notes unplayed, really does add to their character and impact.
Ironically, I had just written this on my substack yesterday about all of the UNknowing I have going on right now so I thought I would share that as well.
This wonderful, Karri! I love how you start with "be still" and end with be "still and know..." In a society andf culturfe that can avoid the "be still" and the "knowing" your poem pierces the ambiguity nicely.
What a great expository poem on the nature of the human mind :)) - all the mental gymnastics we all go through, ad infinitum, when at the end of it all, nobody knows and the only thing to be known is that there is something bigger than us all making sure the earth turns and the sun shines. Love this.
The half-formed questions here say so much -- makes me think of when I get into a worry spiral and let my brain race into the future, way out into the zone of things that can't be controlled. Such a beautiful finish, back to being still and knowing in your not-knowing.
I read your post in kind of a skimmy way at first, because I hadn't eaten breakfast, and I thought the prompt was to come up with our own stem. And for some reason I thought of Dylan Thomas, and a whole poem arrived while cooking my eggs. Later I went back to actually read the post, played with the real prompt for a while, and wrote a second poem. I'm starting with the second because it's on-brand:
.
I know
a few things.
I can tell this bird
from that bird
sometimes, when the
light is right,
or when they sing
just like they’re
supposed to.
.
I know
is not my
usual perch, though.
So much more
than knowing,
I see and hear
and feel and make
and gather and
flutter and brood.
.
In my core I am a
wood-pewee
sallying out after
tender bits of life,
returning always to
my own steady branch,
bare and extended,
the best view
I know.
.
Okay, here is the first one, from before I fully read the prompt. It is not at all uplifting, so only read if you're up for that.
I didn't notice at first that I needed to expand the comment, so I thought your poem ended after the bit about knowing not being your usual perch, and I was completely smitten by the beauty and brevity of it . . . but then i scrolled down and was delighted to find still more beauty. I think it's your second poem that grabs me most, though. The way you use repetition both to emphasize and to set up the contrast between two worlds that exist within this single world is really powerful. It feels really real and really raw. Thank you for sharing!
I really related to the bird poem! As a fledgling bird watcher I appreciate the many ways you were in relationship with the birds. As an observer, then feeling in the birds experience and then being a bird yourself. Wonderful!
Rebekah, what tender and piercing poems these are. I love the bird theme in the first, and these lines are so wonderful:
"I know
is not my
usual perch, though.
So much more
than knowing,
I see and hear
and feel and make
and gather and
flutter and brood."
It is cool to ponder what types of birds we might be, and that perhaps changes on the day, mood, corcimstances. You have the attributes of the wise owl, wisdom, perception and seeing from the senses. I am grateful you share some of your bird sense with us.
The second poem is powerful, and neccessary. the sad and distrubruing poems often coem from an ability to feel, to empathize, to see life along the margins, to see things not only as they are, but as they can and should be. Thank you for sharing both of these fine poems.
I really enjoyed both of these, Rebekah...so lucky us that you interpreted the prompt two different ways. In the bird poem, I was thoroughly delighted by the last stanza especially. I love the name "wood peewee," just...because. And I love the idea of "sallying out after tender bits of life" but then returning to your own sturdy branch time and time again. As to your second poem, wow that it arrived while cooking eggs for breakfast. The imagery you invoke is grimly powerful, a calling in of consciousness during a time when such callings-in are sorely needed. I loved "in the talking points bought or bot or both" - a clever play on words in these times of ever-increasing AI.
I've been meaning to read all of these for two days but haven't felt up to commenting or writing my own poem, so I stayed away only to find that you've all written about grief and loss and hope and so many of the things I've been feeling and needing to hear. I'm very grateful to each of you. My poem is all I've got right now:
You just put a really big truth into a small package of words, A! Thank you for being here, grief and all. I don't have any magic words to tie pretty bows on your experience, but I'm so glad you're here.
Thank you, A. your presence here is even more heartfelt and essential than the marvelous poems and reflections you share. And you are enough, just right, abundantly you. I share this nice poem from David Whyte with you, my friend.
There's so much to sit with in your poem. I pictured myself being chased by a slab of granite, then a huge tree, which pulled its roots up from the ground and held them like a skirt as it hustled after me. I imagined that if I turned around and stopped to face them, they would stop running, too, and we'd just sort of stand there in a circle, looking at each other, saying "okay, now what?" But of course I do run, I do resist - not all the time, but a lot of it. I love your metaphor of democracy. I'm going to try telling certain voices in my head to stop being such colonizers.
Thanks to you and your imagination for a good chuckle. I love the cartoon of you being chased by heavy and deeply rooted feelings. Also love the idea of you decolonizing your parts world. Sadly, we probably all have internalized colonizers <grimace>
"I know enough to know / that it is only when I descend / to meet grief in deepest desolation / that sunlight flickers again" -- so beautiful, Keith. I also love the idea of inner multitudes all clamoring to be heard, a situation best treated as a democracy... but what a perfectly human ending, because god knows we all resist!
Thanks so much, Rebekah - and yes, the human impulse toward resistance to affect, particularly grief, is endlessly fascinating to me. Watching my own resistance is simultaneously fascinating and frustrating.
Yes we have been on the same page! What fun. I love this line,"I know enough to know that grief isn’t optional." And that we will never be fully lost in the grief because there is "a true democracy, where all emotions have equal voice." And I agree, it is even humorous, because even when I know, I can resist too.
This is very fine work, Keith! I love the introspective way you look at grief and loss, and the democracy of those conditions in our lives and the world. Your poem is a beautifully intact work. I love these lines:
"I know enough to know
that grief isn’t optional.
That to live is to lose things and
with loss comes with grief and
with grief comes rage.
I know enough to know
that it is only when I descend
to meet grief in deepest desolation
that sunlight flickers again,
because e pluribus unum.
The multitudes inside
are no autocracy, no meritocracy
but a true democracy,
where all emotions have equal voice."
What splendid poetic lyricism. I can feel these words and relate them in my own life. Thank you for your gifts and your sharing of them!
Lisa I loved your poem! These particular words really resonated with me, "I know enough to know, that’s not how I want to live, shredding instead of sowing" Me too! Not tearing apart but bringing together. Seeing how we are inherently linked and joined. And thank you for this exercise, I got a lot out of it. Here in distilled form...
.
I know enough to know,
that not knowing is the portal to curiosity.
Pools of sweet wonder that I love to dip my feet into.
Wellsprings of creative possibilities of unknown origins.
Painting landscapes and galaxies in a mystical dance.
.
I know enough to know,
that life is a jamboree of dichotomies.
An eternal momentum of quintessential friction.
Turning the wheel of life around, over and over again.
Ebbing and flowing, birth and death, night and day.
.
I know enough to know,
that there is no final destination.
There is only this precious moment, right here!
A somatic connection with this exquisite web of life.
Even when I don’t feel present…this is my now.
.
I know enough to know,
That grief and joy are basic ingredients for a lived life.
Sorrows from the myriad pains and disappointments.
Alongside the delights that come from inherent pleasures.
Not to be hidden away but felt into their depths. For…
What a delicious poem, Julie! The words "portal to curiosity" just pulled me right in, and it really felt like falling through a portal and into a really beautiful perspective on life, with its interplay of light and dark, grief and joy.
Julie, you and I are in some sort of mind meld lately. I too was contemplating the inextricable nature of grief and joy as I responded to this prompt. So many beautiful images dancing together in this beautiful poem of yours. I especially liked life as a "jamboree of dichotomies" and "An eternal momentum of quintessential friction" that turns the wheel of life.
This is so nice, Julie. I like the rhythm and flow of your lines, and the way you juxtapose two somewhat different perspectives and emotions, and find their common ground and connection. I also like your use of either/or and both togetehr, leading not to a reinfrocement of duality, but a deepening sense of the expanse of the world and our beings. There is an inherent hopefullness in your poem, a deep wisdom, and a true mindful sensibility. Exquisite work, friend!
This one deserves a standing ovation, Lisa (well, all of your writing does!). I love the wild text practice, and that phrase "I know enough to know..." is a wonderful one to play with. These last two stanzas melt me:
"we are still
stitched together,
same atoms,
same dust,
same stars,
and what I want in my own little
gasp of life
is to love the world
with the whole of this tangled,
unknowing self."
This is breathtaking, Lisa! I also love the writing that frames the prompt and poem. The first paragraph is a wonderful description of the power of poetry for you, but I read those words and thought "yes, that's it. That's what poetry feels like for me." I also realized that when I try to articulate it, it often sounds muddled and unclear, so I am thankful for your beautiful articualtion here! Thank you for loving the world and us!
The big smile makes me smile! No need to blush, though it is usually an involuntary reaction that I am certainly subject to. You deserve the affirmation and the accolades and they come from the heart!
A truth stronger than anything: even if we break ourselves apart beyond recognition, we are still stitched together. I think this is one of the most important things you can know, friend. Thank you for your beautiful words.
I feel your pain, sister! I keep getting sucked into reading comments on various subjects thinking maybe people are being sensible for a change and nope, they never are. It makes me want to publicly address this or that issue but then I think why bother? Nothing I can say will change peoples minds. So I too am TIRED.
As usual my thoughts are short and to the point!
I Know
I know enough to know
I am tired,
Of discord
Of hate
Of ignorance.
I know enough to know
I am trying,
To care
To work
To live.
I know enough to know
I am turning,
Toward hope
Toward joy
Toward the future.
Karri, I love the beautiful simplicity of this! And also it’s not simple in this world to notice when you’re tired and know that you’re trying your best and know that you’re turning in the direction of your values and toward hope for the future. Clearly, you are doing some things right. ❤️
I love your use of repetition here, Karri...and what could be more important than trying to care?? That alone is the worthiest of pursuits. And rare.
This is beautiful KARRI! I agree with Lisa's comments, and the loveliness of the simplicity of your poem. Joanna Macy calls this time we are ;ving thnrough "the great turning" and you are turning. Your last lines are magnificient:
"I know enough to know
I am turning,
Toward hope
Toward joy
Toward the future."
What a gem your poem is. I can empathize so much with feeling tired and so weary of the discord, chaos, irrationality, the hatred, violence and vitriol, and how social media can drag us into hard spaces from which it can be hard to return. My prayer is in this turning, we turn away from such things into a sustainable future where love, loving kindness, compassion, justice and equity are the values we center around. Thank you for helping the world turn!
Oooooh a fellow Joanna Macy admirer! I love her Rilke translations, and I read her memoir about a year ago - it's stunning.
Yes--very much so! I did not know about her Rilke translations or memoir, so will go explore! Thank you very much Lisa!
Karri, I love the simplicity of this. The repetitions and cadence, it all works so beautifully here. Turning towards...
Tired.
All evening, the phrase "I know enough to know..." has been swirling in my mind, forbidding sleep until I got a poem out! Sweet dreams, dear ones!
Knowing
I know enough to know
that who I am
is not the same as
who I think I am or
who I hope to be.
We are not made to have
a 360 degree view of ourselves.
I know enough to know
that I will make some mistakes
again and again, and
that I internally torment myself
just so I can be sure
to get to the critiques and the admonitions
before anyone else does.
I know enough to know
that despite a lifetime of learning
the volume of what I don’t know
Is so much greater that what I do know,
and the true measure of wisdom
is in the knowing, and gratefully accepting
that truth, one breath at a time.
I know enough to know
that Love is larger than the word itself,
and that it comes in various shapes and sizes,
is not confined to romance,
is sacred in its beauty,
and that rainbows appear when the words
“I love you” are lovingly spoken.
I know enough to know
that the world will still seem
battered and fractured in the morning,
there will be more talking than listening,
and hearts of all types will be broken.
I also know that every beautiful act of kindness,
is another glimpse into a future that is possible.
Larry, this is so tender and beautiful! I love "we are not made to have a 360 degree view of ourselves" . . . I imagined flying over myself like a bird when I read this, which then conjured the thought that it's probably good I can't do this, since it would make it all too easy to metaphorically let loose on my own head, a thought that ties in with the lines "I internally torment myself just so I can be sure to get to the critiques and the admonitions before anyone else does." I can definitely relate to that. There's so much honesty about what the world is in this poem, and there's also so much hope, and that's a beautiful, rare combination.
I love this, Larry. I've noticed a tendency in myself to "get to the critiques and the admonitions / before anyone else does" -- you worded this perfectly. "The world will still seem / battered and fractured in the morning" is achingly true, but I love the possibility you raise at the end, of what our acts of kindness can collectively lead to.
Larry, this is so relatable, in so many different ways...and teeming with wisdom, humility, and love. "We are not made to have a 360 degree view of ourselves" really got me. It's true, no matter how hard one tries to see themself. And just when we think we've gotten a clear view, we change (ha!). And yes, there is always more talking than listening. Reminds me of the adage (from the Tao, maybe?) "he who knows does not say, and he who says does not know." I admire your ability to see the rainbows and the beauty and the hope in it all.
Thank you Keith for your kind and generous words. And for always reading from the heart.
This is beautiful Larry. And I understand that need to get the words out. Sometimes they are very incessant, they need to be expressed. And you did that wonderfully here. Especially liked, "I know enough to know that who I am is not the same as who I think I am or who I hope to be. We are not made to have a 360 degree view of ourselves." And I loved, "Love is larger than the word itself," Here, here!
Thank you so much Julie!
always more talking than listening.
I know
I am not god. not even close.
I know
you can't always get what you want.
Chuck, you are a prophet of brevity. All that is gold does not glitter!
🙂
"It's not the notes you play, it's the notes you don't play" - miles davis.
It's kinda like that. in my head. Kinda scary.
What a great quote! And what a brilliant way to approach poetry . . . intentionally and artfully NOT playing every note. The brevity of your poems, the notes unplayed, really does add to their character and impact.
"But if you try sometimes..."
...you get what you neeeeed...🎶🎶
Yep, I was gonna share that, you get what you need!
Now, everybody, dance like jagger
Ironically, I had just written this on my substack yesterday about all of the UNknowing I have going on right now so I thought I would share that as well.
Be Still
What’s next?
After that?
What if?
And how?
Should I?
What about?
I have to know.
I cannot know.
Noone knows.
“Be still, and know.”
Ooooooh I love this. There is a knowing inside the unknowing when we let the need to know everything fall away, isn’t there?
I love synchronicities like that! What fun.
This wonderful, Karri! I love how you start with "be still" and end with be "still and know..." In a society andf culturfe that can avoid the "be still" and the "knowing" your poem pierces the ambiguity nicely.
What a great expository poem on the nature of the human mind :)) - all the mental gymnastics we all go through, ad infinitum, when at the end of it all, nobody knows and the only thing to be known is that there is something bigger than us all making sure the earth turns and the sun shines. Love this.
The half-formed questions here say so much -- makes me think of when I get into a worry spiral and let my brain race into the future, way out into the zone of things that can't be controlled. Such a beautiful finish, back to being still and knowing in your not-knowing.
I read your post in kind of a skimmy way at first, because I hadn't eaten breakfast, and I thought the prompt was to come up with our own stem. And for some reason I thought of Dylan Thomas, and a whole poem arrived while cooking my eggs. Later I went back to actually read the post, played with the real prompt for a while, and wrote a second poem. I'm starting with the second because it's on-brand:
.
I know
a few things.
I can tell this bird
from that bird
sometimes, when the
light is right,
or when they sing
just like they’re
supposed to.
.
I know
is not my
usual perch, though.
So much more
than knowing,
I see and hear
and feel and make
and gather and
flutter and brood.
.
In my core I am a
wood-pewee
sallying out after
tender bits of life,
returning always to
my own steady branch,
bare and extended,
the best view
I know.
.
Okay, here is the first one, from before I fully read the prompt. It is not at all uplifting, so only read if you're up for that.
.
And the Sabbath rang slowly in
mudpuddle water for drinking
.
in a little boy’s face stretched
from hunger, howling over soup
.
in potshots at the flour trucks:
the scrabbling, scattering hordes
.
in a grandfather’s tears
for your children
and yours
and yours
.
And the Sabbath rang slowly
in our world, too
.
in the clipped green sea
around the megachurch
.
in the talking points
bought or bot or both
.
in the bottom line
that is ours to toe
and toe
and toe
I didn't notice at first that I needed to expand the comment, so I thought your poem ended after the bit about knowing not being your usual perch, and I was completely smitten by the beauty and brevity of it . . . but then i scrolled down and was delighted to find still more beauty. I think it's your second poem that grabs me most, though. The way you use repetition both to emphasize and to set up the contrast between two worlds that exist within this single world is really powerful. It feels really real and really raw. Thank you for sharing!
I really related to the bird poem! As a fledgling bird watcher I appreciate the many ways you were in relationship with the birds. As an observer, then feeling in the birds experience and then being a bird yourself. Wonderful!
Rebekah, what tender and piercing poems these are. I love the bird theme in the first, and these lines are so wonderful:
"I know
is not my
usual perch, though.
So much more
than knowing,
I see and hear
and feel and make
and gather and
flutter and brood."
It is cool to ponder what types of birds we might be, and that perhaps changes on the day, mood, corcimstances. You have the attributes of the wise owl, wisdom, perception and seeing from the senses. I am grateful you share some of your bird sense with us.
The second poem is powerful, and neccessary. the sad and distrubruing poems often coem from an ability to feel, to empathize, to see life along the margins, to see things not only as they are, but as they can and should be. Thank you for sharing both of these fine poems.
I really enjoyed both of these, Rebekah...so lucky us that you interpreted the prompt two different ways. In the bird poem, I was thoroughly delighted by the last stanza especially. I love the name "wood peewee," just...because. And I love the idea of "sallying out after tender bits of life" but then returning to your own sturdy branch time and time again. As to your second poem, wow that it arrived while cooking eggs for breakfast. The imagery you invoke is grimly powerful, a calling in of consciousness during a time when such callings-in are sorely needed. I loved "in the talking points bought or bot or both" - a clever play on words in these times of ever-increasing AI.
I've been meaning to read all of these for two days but haven't felt up to commenting or writing my own poem, so I stayed away only to find that you've all written about grief and loss and hope and so many of the things I've been feeling and needing to hear. I'm very grateful to each of you. My poem is all I've got right now:
I know enough to
know that sometimes, no words will
ever be enough.
You just put a really big truth into a small package of words, A! Thank you for being here, grief and all. I don't have any magic words to tie pretty bows on your experience, but I'm so glad you're here.
You and your poem are enough, always/all ways, A. Thanks for being here.
Thank you, A. your presence here is even more heartfelt and essential than the marvelous poems and reflections you share. And you are enough, just right, abundantly you. I share this nice poem from David Whyte with you, my friend.
Enough. These few words are enough.
If not these words, this breath.
If not this breath, this sitting here.
This opening to life
we have refused
again and again
until now.
Until now.
David Whyte
Thank you for being here and sharing so honestly, A.
And it is more than enough! Completely to the point, thank you!
This is what grew from my stem.
I know enough to know
that you cannot outrun yourself,
you cannot stay ahead
of your feelings
not even those that are
heavier than granite
and rooted deeper than a Shepherd’s tree.
I know enough to know
that grief isn’t optional.
That to live is to lose things and
with loss comes with grief and
with grief comes rage.
I know enough to know
that it is only when I descend
to meet grief in deepest desolation
that sunlight flickers again,
because e pluribus unum.
The multitudes inside
are no autocracy, no meritocracy
but a true democracy,
where all emotions have equal voice.
And yet
knowing what I know,
still,
I resist.
There's so much to sit with in your poem. I pictured myself being chased by a slab of granite, then a huge tree, which pulled its roots up from the ground and held them like a skirt as it hustled after me. I imagined that if I turned around and stopped to face them, they would stop running, too, and we'd just sort of stand there in a circle, looking at each other, saying "okay, now what?" But of course I do run, I do resist - not all the time, but a lot of it. I love your metaphor of democracy. I'm going to try telling certain voices in my head to stop being such colonizers.
Thanks to you and your imagination for a good chuckle. I love the cartoon of you being chased by heavy and deeply rooted feelings. Also love the idea of you decolonizing your parts world. Sadly, we probably all have internalized colonizers <grimace>
"I know enough to know / that it is only when I descend / to meet grief in deepest desolation / that sunlight flickers again" -- so beautiful, Keith. I also love the idea of inner multitudes all clamoring to be heard, a situation best treated as a democracy... but what a perfectly human ending, because god knows we all resist!
Thanks so much, Rebekah - and yes, the human impulse toward resistance to affect, particularly grief, is endlessly fascinating to me. Watching my own resistance is simultaneously fascinating and frustrating.
Yes we have been on the same page! What fun. I love this line,"I know enough to know that grief isn’t optional." And that we will never be fully lost in the grief because there is "a true democracy, where all emotions have equal voice." And I agree, it is even humorous, because even when I know, I can resist too.
Thanks, Julie...yeah, I have yet to run across a human who doesn't resist some of the time at the very least. I know I'm in good company :)
This is very fine work, Keith! I love the introspective way you look at grief and loss, and the democracy of those conditions in our lives and the world. Your poem is a beautifully intact work. I love these lines:
"I know enough to know
that grief isn’t optional.
That to live is to lose things and
with loss comes with grief and
with grief comes rage.
I know enough to know
that it is only when I descend
to meet grief in deepest desolation
that sunlight flickers again,
because e pluribus unum.
The multitudes inside
are no autocracy, no meritocracy
but a true democracy,
where all emotions have equal voice."
What splendid poetic lyricism. I can feel these words and relate them in my own life. Thank you for your gifts and your sharing of them!
Thanks for your kind comments, Larry (always). So glad to know you found it relatable. You are good company!
Likewise, Keith! Your writing is magnificent and I thoroughly enjoy it! 💐
Thank you, Larry - and my turn to say "likewise!" I enjoy your writing very much :))
Lisa I loved your poem! These particular words really resonated with me, "I know enough to know, that’s not how I want to live, shredding instead of sowing" Me too! Not tearing apart but bringing together. Seeing how we are inherently linked and joined. And thank you for this exercise, I got a lot out of it. Here in distilled form...
.
I know enough to know,
that not knowing is the portal to curiosity.
Pools of sweet wonder that I love to dip my feet into.
Wellsprings of creative possibilities of unknown origins.
Painting landscapes and galaxies in a mystical dance.
.
I know enough to know,
that life is a jamboree of dichotomies.
An eternal momentum of quintessential friction.
Turning the wheel of life around, over and over again.
Ebbing and flowing, birth and death, night and day.
.
I know enough to know,
that there is no final destination.
There is only this precious moment, right here!
A somatic connection with this exquisite web of life.
Even when I don’t feel present…this is my now.
.
I know enough to know,
That grief and joy are basic ingredients for a lived life.
Sorrows from the myriad pains and disappointments.
Alongside the delights that come from inherent pleasures.
Not to be hidden away but felt into their depths. For…
.
I know enough to know,
they are two sides of the
same coin that I willingly
ante up for another hand
in this thing called life!
What a delicious poem, Julie! The words "portal to curiosity" just pulled me right in, and it really felt like falling through a portal and into a really beautiful perspective on life, with its interplay of light and dark, grief and joy.
Julie, you and I are in some sort of mind meld lately. I too was contemplating the inextricable nature of grief and joy as I responded to this prompt. So many beautiful images dancing together in this beautiful poem of yours. I especially liked life as a "jamboree of dichotomies" and "An eternal momentum of quintessential friction" that turns the wheel of life.
This is so nice, Julie. I like the rhythm and flow of your lines, and the way you juxtapose two somewhat different perspectives and emotions, and find their common ground and connection. I also like your use of either/or and both togetehr, leading not to a reinfrocement of duality, but a deepening sense of the expanse of the world and our beings. There is an inherent hopefullness in your poem, a deep wisdom, and a true mindful sensibility. Exquisite work, friend!
This one deserves a standing ovation, Lisa (well, all of your writing does!). I love the wild text practice, and that phrase "I know enough to know..." is a wonderful one to play with. These last two stanzas melt me:
"we are still
stitched together,
same atoms,
same dust,
same stars,
and what I want in my own little
gasp of life
is to love the world
with the whole of this tangled,
unknowing self."
This is breathtaking, Lisa! I also love the writing that frames the prompt and poem. The first paragraph is a wonderful description of the power of poetry for you, but I read those words and thought "yes, that's it. That's what poetry feels like for me." I also realized that when I try to articulate it, it often sounds muddled and unclear, so I am thankful for your beautiful articualtion here! Thank you for loving the world and us!
You’ve put a big smile on my face, Larry, and I might be blushing. Thank you so much for your generous words!
The big smile makes me smile! No need to blush, though it is usually an involuntary reaction that I am certainly subject to. You deserve the affirmation and the accolades and they come from the heart!
A truth stronger than anything: even if we break ourselves apart beyond recognition, we are still stitched together. I think this is one of the most important things you can know, friend. Thank you for your beautiful words.
Thank you, Keith! 💖