My sweetie and i have different methods of hanging clothes on the clothesline: i drape the clothes over the line; he uses clothespins.Returning from vacation, he finds a bird nest with 3 little eggs in the clothespin bag, so today he's draping the clothes over the line.
The ego wants to own the right answer. How many little squawks have we had?
"Cheryl! Use clothespins!"
"No, i don't need to."
How he hangs up clothes is none of my business, even if they are "my" clothes.
How i hang up clothes is none of his business, even if they are "his" clothes.
Here's a poem by e.e. cummings. Maybe we could substitute "hanging up clothes" for "poetry"?
"Poetry
is being, not doing."
Poetry
is being, not doing
If
you wish to follow
even
at a distance
the
poet's calling,
You've
got to come out of the
measurable
doing universe into
the
immeasurable house of being.
Nobody
else can be alive for you -
Nor
can you be alive for anyone else.
If
you can take it -Take it and be.
If
you can't—cheer up and go about
Other
people's business and do or undo
til
you drop.
--e.e. cummings
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