I should not exclude myself from this

I had the great gift of being interviewed by and having a discussion with a fellow poet, and an engaged audience, about the art and craft of writing poetry, and about revising, that wild, woolly activity. Although I acted like I had answers to the questions I was asked, I walked away, as always, questioning myself. Thinking, “Is that what I think?” Wondering, “I wonder what I meant when I wrote that…” and not entirely remembering. “Do I really believe what I just said?” (My book is called, after all, Always With the Questions…) It amuses me, sort of, in that fiddling-while-Rome-burns way, that we are so interested in having instant answers to our questions: the “smart” phone always at the ready. I am proud of our species for having so many questions. Ashamed at us for believing whatever we’re told. (Well, unless it disputes what we were already prepared to believe.) I sigh at us. I love our constant reaching for information, knowledge, answers, and discovering what’s over that next…