by Edgar Allan Poe
From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
The holidays are an important time as they allow us to take a breather from the daily grind (not the aromatic kind) and they also mark a period of celebration, a ritualizing of routine in paying respects to our gods and idols. (more…)
Why does anything exist? Does it share an interdependent co-existence with everything else and therefore is interconnected to each and every other entity in the universe? Or does it thrive in isolation, existing for the sake of existence: sans interdependence, sans meaning, and sans purpose. If a blog had no readers, a performer without an audience, and beauty without eyes to behold, would they truly be that which they are without the complement that helps them to define what they strive to be? Can we know what love is if weâ€™ve never known hate? Can we feel pleasure if weâ€™ve never felt pain? Can we recognize the absence of light if weâ€™ve never stumbled amidst darkness? Seemingly, these dualities are interdependent and they interact to maintain a state of equilibrium, a cyclic regeneration of diametrically opposing and harmoniously coalescing forces. Thus, a blog shares an intimate connection with its reader via vicarious means and if it was used exclusively as a private journal then the relationship would be direct with its creator. Its purpose is defined by the intent of its creator and its meaning is derived from the experience of its existence. It exists for the reader and the reader exists for it.