I enjoy e. e. cummings‘ poetry. I read it several times and it reminded me of my other reading today. I read Alfred North Whitehead for part of the afternoon. It has been pretty circular as well, but at the end it comes to the same point. Life is full of uncertainty and mystery which is what is worth embracing. A good portion of life is missed if I am not attentive and mindful of the world.
how many moments must(amazing each
how many centuries)these more than eyes
restroll and stroll some never deepening beach
locked in foreverish time’s tide at poise,
love alone understands:only for whom
i’ll keep my tryst until that tide shall turn;
and from all selfsubtracting hugely doom
treasures of reeking innocence are born.
Then, with not credible the anywhere
eclipsing of a spirit’s ignorance
by every wisdom knowledge fears to dare,
how the(myself’s own self who’s)child will dance!
and when he’s plucked such mysteries as men
do not conceive–let ocean grow again