Every now and then you have to pull a little knowledge out of the Walt Whitman cap. I remember as a young girl I used to sit in the stacks at the library and read Uncle Walt. He seemed such a strange and wonderfully knowing being then and now. Sometimes my brain can't handle him, but today I wanted to pull a little bit from "Song of Myself". It feels spiritual to me.
In all people I see myself, none more and
not one a barleycorn less,
And the good or bad I say of myself I say of them.
And I know I am solid and sound,
To me the converging objects of the
universe perpetually flow,
All are written to me, and I must get
what the writing means.
And I know I am deathless,
I know this orbit of mine cannot be swept
by a carpenter's compass,
I know I shall not pass like a child's
carlacue cut with a burnt stick at night.
I know I am august,
I do not trouble my spirit to vindicate
itself or be understood,
I see that the elementary laws never apologize,
I reckon I behave no prouder than the
level I plant my house by after all.
Walt Whitman
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