Poetic Paradox

Life is poetry.
It can be inspiring or boring.
You can run through it and ignore its complexity and majesty,
or you can slow down to analyze, appreciate--internalize the countless and timeless messages.

Poetry is not a four letter word. It is not unreachable; it can belong to all of us.
When I was a kid I never read a book! I confess, I was more into sports, hanging out, TV, and socialization (nice way to say, girls!).

I never stopped to consider the poetry of my existence; the rhythmic movements of my body; the consistent inconsistency of my day; the irony, symmetry, inclusios and dramatic events of my life.
I just lived monotonously, day by day. What a waste!

Imagine if I had sensed it then. If I had perspective then, during my youth, during the vitality of my incipient existence... I might have been infused with creativity, expanded horizons, engaged my spirit on higher levels, connected with so many more ebullient souls--I might have soared.

Perhaps.

Or, perhaps I would have nevertheless been depressed. Perhaps all that multi-dimensional self-expression would have rendered me lonely, distant, introverted. Maybe too much cerebral activity would have suffocated me; too much creativity would have left me ungrounded; too much self-exploration would have inhibited my social networking. Perhaps in the end I would have sunk into a deep despair.

Oh boy, I made a mess. I have self-contradicted!

That's poetry for you. Two readings, two interpretive experiences, but one text, one life.

Which reading is truer? Herein lays the beauty of the poet. Both are true. Both endure, both inspire. A poem is worthless and meaningless without the corroborating reader; without our imagination as we partner with the psalmist and create something new. Through reading and interpreting, the words take on meaning, the ideas materialize, our metaphysical notions morph into reality! Cool.