Every Time I Deny Myself

... This Is The Paradox Of Vision: Sharp Perception Softens Our Existence In The World.

Is It A Coincidence That Stories From The Private Life Became More Popular Just As The Grand Hope For Public Redemption Through Revolution Was Beginning To Sour? I Witnessed A Similar Shift In Taste In My Own Time. In The 1960s, While A Hopeful Vision Of A Just Society Arose Again, Countless Poems And Plays Concerning Politics And Public Life Were Written, Read, And Performed. But After The Hope Diminished And Public Life Seemed Less And Less Trustworthy, This Subject Was Less In Style.

Yes We Are Devilish; That Is True We Cackle. Yes We Are Dark Like The Soil And Wild Like The Animals. And We Turn To Each Other And Stare Into This Darkness. We Find It Beautiful. We Find This Darkness Irresistible. We Cease All Hiding.

I Love That Moment In Writing When Language Falls Short. There Is Something More There. A Larger Body. Even By The Failure Of Words I Begin To Detect Its Dimensions. As I Work The Prose, Shift The Verbs, Look For New Adjectives, A Different Rhythm, Syntax, Something New Begins To Come To The Surface.

Each Life Reverberates In Every Other Life. Whether Or Not We Acknowledge It, We Are Connected, Woven Together In Our Needs And Desires, Rich And Poor, Men And Women Alike.