I love the unknown

As I began my morning work routine, checking my four email accounts and clicking on my daily donations to the hunger site, I found that my Butler email no longer works. Do you know what this means? It means it’s official, I am no longer even partially within the realm of the Butler community. That frame of my life has passed and I must move on. But I feel like my brain is atrophying without any form of stimulation over here. I tried one of those Barnes and Noble online courses, a review of Emily Dickinson’s poetry, but yeah, that didn’t work out so well, mainly because of the time difference and my constant dodging of typhoons, but also because I pretty much loathe analyzing poetry. There is a certain beauty in the unknown, allowing some minor quatrain, seemingly devoid of a greater meaning, to repeat without end through the expanse of my memory. There are some things in life that are meant to be appreciated sans understanding. Poetry is definitely one, jazz is another. These few, rare individuals have a gift, the ability to take the every day indescribable emotions we experience and turn the intangible into literature, or music. To make the abstract a little less, to connect at a level deeper than imaginable. To use literary devices to describe the insufferable pain and anguish Plath felt, the breakdown towards insanity no longer seems insane, but rather, normal, even expected, awaited. Improvising with eloquence, describing the abstract so perfectly….that needs no understanding, it should be intrinsic. If you don’t feel a compliance by nature, then move on…quit analyzing and ruining it for the rest of us.