I could not be a poet without the natural world. Someone else could. But not me. For me the door to the woods is the door to the temple.
—Mary Oliver
When I came to a teachable age, I was, as most youngsters are, directed toward the acquisition of knowledge, meaning not so much ideas but demonstrated facts.
Education as I knew it was made up of such a preestablished collection of certainties.
Knowledge has entertained me and it has shaped me and it has failed me. Something in me still starves. In what is probably the most serious inquiry of my life, I have begun to look past reason, past the provable, in other directions.
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