The Beginning of Philosophy.
The Beginning Of Philosphy We've reached that time of night when repetition starts to look like the best kind of argument, so I keep insisting it was wrong--meaning what they did to the remake of Cat People. No, my friend replies, just different, more attentive to the worries of the moment. But I prefer the old worries: rustling branches, footsteps in the fog, the hiss of the bus that wasn't a panther, but will be. Why do we need to see so much? To know what we're afraid of, he says, and since it's late I tell him this is like the beginning of philosophy all over again-- one proposition, then another, and after a few thousand years we're back to what's true, or only seems to be: flickering light on the wall, that confusion of shadows. How still the room becomes. A little rain touches the windows, and both of us mention other movies in which not even love could repair the past. Then the snow mixes in. And yet, my friend says, by morning all this could change. No nagging doubts, no secret afflictions-- as if the light had burned them away. And a man might find himself wondering about the sky instead. Why is it so blue? Why do we feel different when the sun grabs hold of us? Why do we need to be sure of anything?
I love the art of poetry: where else can a silly late-night argument about a B-movie evoke something as serious as the origins of philosophy? As the film's flickering light sends us back to Plato's cave, we remember that we are still creatures afraid of the dark who "feel different when the sun grabs hold of us." To allay our fears we are still seeking truth, still asking question after question of each other and the universe.
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|Title Annotation:||POETRY/A New Way of Understanding|
|Publication:||Spirituality & Health Magazine|
|Date:||Jan 1, 2012|
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