I was re-reading Whitman’s Leaves of Grass and it occurred to me that there is a strong parallel between his work and that of our own. The leaves represent the cycle of life and death, yet he continued to work on the body of poems until his own death in 1892. Perhaps he, like us, was unable to fully understand his own work as he continuously tried to re-write, add and expand upon it, willing away his own work’s cycle of life… just as we have. Perhaps it’s simpler to recognize when something is gone and learn from the magical lesson of grief rather than avoid it and remain in a consistent state of dissatisfaction.
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