Room for Not Knowing

"The word “stanza” means “room.” "

(Edward Hirsch: “Each stanza in a poem is like a room in a house, 

a lyric dwelling place.”) 

"This means that every poem, and every book of poems, is a sort of house tour. 

The poet leads you, room by room, through the various chambers of his or her world. Different poets, of course, are very different hosts. 

T.S. Eliot cracks the front door solemnly, 

greets you with a formal nod and recedes into his velvety labyrinth; 

Wallace Stevens throws confetti in your face while shouting spelling-bee words; 

Emily Dickinson stares silently down from an upstairs window, blinking in Morse code."

-- Sam Anderson, “Sex, Death, Family: Sharon Olds is still Shockingly Intimate,” 10/17/22

Encountering Pema's quote brought this to mind.

How does one live in a house of not knowing?

What type of host would answer that door?

David Whyte comes to mind.

He's in to conversations...and horizons, and edges.

How does one converse with not knowing?

I guess one asks many questions?

Or do we sit silently and simply absorb the presence of each other?

Content in the duet of breathing?

kastilwell