Taijitu. 

The symbol.  Clean, smoothly symmetrical; rather moving than rigid; calming to the aesthetic ebb and flow within.  Symbol of all the truth in our souls, our hearts, our minds, our blood and bones.  Containing and contained within all the great things we are, and all the things of which we are not, regardless of our subjectivity, our system of belief, our objectivity, our knowledge of the world, our universe and everything beyond.  It matters not what truths we hold, because they ALL exist within the Taijitu.  Everything flows through and around in ever harmonious duality.  Neither right nor wrong, there is truth in the erratic and erroneous just as in the constant and correct.  Truth and lie; good and evil; guilty and innocent.  All are one in the gorgeous (un)reality that is Taijitu. Yin & Yang: we are both, and we are neither.  Nothing is real, and nothing is delusory.  Within every darkness there is a gleam; within all lightness there is a shadow.  The feminine contains the spark of the masculine; the masculine contains the umbra of the feminine.  Every question contains the answer, every answer the question. All, if we let them, lead us to the poetry of our prosaic lives, where we want ruminatively to think, even if we cannot know.

Taijitu provides fundamental symbolism underpinning the human condition.  We are everything, and we are nothing.  Nothing but the flowing, symmetrical energy of matter, which is.  And then again, we are not.  And between being and not being we find ourselves cast into a universe of chaotic order.  A place in which reality is unclearly luminated, yet often blindingly bright.  A place in which reality is sunny and boundless, yet cloudy and finite.  The lucid, the opaque.  The beautiful, the grotesque.  The known and the unknown.  The poetic and the prosaic; the endlessly fascinating and the consistently banal. The is and the is not. Where we must struggle to answer our questions and question our answers.

I have many question; I have many answers.  All of them decent, yet all of them trifling.  Because in the end I will not be.  But here I am for now, in time. So, let’s end here at the beginning, together we, paradoxical, exploring Poetry of the Prosaic.