I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
Gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
As though to breathe were life. Life piled on life…
~ Alfred Lord Tennyson
I love this passage from, “Ulysses”. It is passion. It’s the kind of poem that needs to be entered into. Ulysses returns home from his journeys… and realizes for him, life is about moving. going. traveling. shining rather than rusting. and breathing. about archways and other places. other worlds. ‘… Life piled on life.’
This past weekend was a return home. For a rest. To meet someone with that same spirit of going out and going forward. And I suppose, even after diligently translating Homer’s Odyssey from the Latin ( I wish I could say I hated it, it might make me a little less geeky) , I could’ve misinterpreted Tennyson. But I know what it means to me.