From Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman<\/p>\n
3
\nI have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the
\nbeginning and the end,
\nBut I do not talk of the beginning or the end.<\/p>\n
There was never any more inception than there is now,
\nNor any more youth or age than there is now,
\nAnd will never be any more perfection than there is now,
\nNor any more heaven or hell than there is now.<\/p>\n
Urge and urge and urge,
\nAlways the procreant urge of the world.<\/p>\n
Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and increase, always sex,
\nAlways a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life.
\nTo elaborate is no avail, learn’d and unlearn’d feel that it is so.<\/p>\n
Sure as the most certain sure, plumb in the uprights, well entretied, braced in the beams,
\nStout as a horse, affectionate, haughty, electrical,
\nI and this mystery here we stand.<\/p>\n
Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul.<\/p>\n
Lack one lacks both, and the unseen is proved by the seen,
\nTill that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn.<\/p>\n
Showing the best and dividing it from the worst age vexes age,
\nKnowing the perfect fitness and equanimity of things, while they
\ndiscuss I am silent, and go bathe and admire myself.<\/p>\n
Welcome is every organ and attribute of me, and of any man hearty and clean,
\nNot an inch nor a particle of an inch is vile, and none shall be
\nless familiar than the rest.<\/p>\n
I am satisfied – I see, dance, laugh, sing;
\nAs the hugging and loving bed-fellow sleeps at my side through the night, and withdraws at the peep of the day with stealthy tread,
\nLeaving me baskets cover’d with white towels swelling the house with their plenty,
\nShall I postpone my acceptation and realization and scream at my eyes,
\nThat they turn from gazing after and down the road,
\nAnd forthwith cipher and show me to a cent,
\nExactly the value of one and exactly the value of two, and which is ahead?<\/p>\n
–Read at St. Lydia’s on July 17<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" From Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman 3 I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the beginning and the end, But I do not talk of the beginning or the end. There was never any more inception than there is now, Nor any more youth or age than there is now, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[9],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/stlydiasliturgy.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/877"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/stlydiasliturgy.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/stlydiasliturgy.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stlydiasliturgy.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stlydiasliturgy.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=877"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/stlydiasliturgy.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/877\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":879,"href":"https:\/\/stlydiasliturgy.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/877\/revisions\/879"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/stlydiasliturgy.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=877"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stlydiasliturgy.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=877"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stlydiasliturgy.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=877"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}