Reposted from the Live Journal Wicapis' WhispersI'm reminded of a dear teacher I had in high school who refused to go on to the next poem in our antiquated textbook until we had all agreed on the same interpretive vision of each poem -- her vision.
Wearily we raised our hands. Yes, yes, that poet was just about to jump off a cliff. Onward!
If we can offer each other a cognizance of mystery through the poems we share, isn't that a greater gift?
Won't a sense of inevitable mystery underpinning our intricate lives serve us better than the notion that we will each be given a neat set of blanks to fill in -- always?
– an excerpt from Lights in the Windows by Naomi Shihab Nye