“You will hear every day the maxims of a low prudence. You will hear, that the first duty is to get land and money, place and name. ‘What is this Truth you seek? what is this Beauty?’ men will ask, with derision. If, nevertheless, God have called any of you to explore truth and beauty, be bold, be firm, be true. When you shall say, ‘As others do, so will I: I renounce, I am sorry for it, my early visions; I must eat the good of the land, and let learning and romantic expectations go, until a more convenient season;’ then dies the man in you; then once more perish the buds of art, and poetry, and science, as they have died already in a thousand thousand men.…Be content with a little light, so it be your own. Explore, and explore. Why should you renounce your right to traverse the star-lit deserts of truth, for the premature comforts of an acre, house, and barn? Truth also has its roof, and bed, and board. Make yourself necessary to the world, and mankind will give you bread, and if not store of it, yet such as shall not take away your property in all men’s possessions, in all men’s affections, in art, in nature, and in hope.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson

If, if I could wind

The rusty hinges of your clock

Back to the place, the beginning,

where the numbers disappear

and the hands rest forever,

I would.

If I could unweight your scales

and if, for only a second,

you could know weightlessness,

I would.

If I could hold up a mirror to you,

And allow you to see not your mind,

But the limitless truth;

your yearning for love, a walk through sunlit pines,

a moment–out of time–laying on the grass, naming clouds,

I would.

To rewind, if I could,

And whisper to you,

what you have enabled me to learn,

of the endless depths;

of feeling and meaning

and thereby unlearn it myself,

I would.

If I can dismantle my walls,

brick by brutal brick

And find the lost keys

to my battle tested gates,

and share with you not what I wish you were,

but what I’m infinitely grateful

you are,

I will.