[bonanova]

Paradox

Not truth, nor certainty. These I forswore

In my novitiate, as young men called

To holy orders must abjure the world.

"If ..., then ...," this only I assert;

And my successes are but pretty chains

Linking twin doubts, for it is vain to ask

If what I postulate be justified

Or what I prove possess the stamp of fact.

Yet bridges stand, and men no longer crawl

In two dimensions. And such triumphs stem

In no small measure from the power this game,

Played with the thrice attenuated shades

Of things, has over their originals.

How frail the wand, but how profound the spell!

Clarence R. Wylie, Jr., 1948

[Guest]

Oh too true. And a great poem. Interesting how the ryme an metre disguise the meaning of some pretty obvious sentences. The answer to this paradox, I think, is most readily found in mysticism. The Idea that what we percieve as real is not real at all is no new statement to a mystic. But the astute mystic would tell you that it's the urge to explain things that underlies the subject of the poem which causes "reality" to appear as it does. The way to break this "spell" is to

Look for what

you cannot see

and adore

the mystery!

Edited March 12, 2009 by Ghostwriter

[Guest]

Did you notice the exquisite irony of juxtaposing that poem with your signature?

I love the poem, and echo Ghostwriter's sentiment: Paradoxes are the ultimate source of joy.