Let us suppose that everyone in the world wakes up today and tries to write a poem. It is impossible to know what will happen next but certainly we may be assured that the world will not be made worse. I believe in the divinity of profligacy*. The creation of art, okay, just the attempt at the creation of art, as well as the appreciation of it, is both an enlarging and an expanding of the consciousness. To write a poem is to explore the unknown capacities of the mind and the heart; it is emotive, empathetic exercise and, like being struck by lightning, it will probably leave you stunned, singed, but also a bit brighter, and too your odds of being struck again then go much higher.*I admit I had to look up the definition for profligacy, and here's what I found:
1. shameless dissoluteness*; 2. reckless extravagance; 3. great abundance
I then had to look up the definition of dissoluteness:
1. lacking moral restraint; indulging in sensual pleasures or vices.
Hmmmmm......I think I can buy into the divinity of profligacy. Sounds damn refreshing. And free.
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