In recent times i've come to experience a not so new new feeling .. as contradictory and paradoxical as that may sounds allow me to explain; I had almost completely forgotten this feeling .. come to the point where i barely even remembered what it felt like and didnt think i would experience it again however at one time it was such a familiar feeling, a companion of sorts that i grew used to but now it seems so new once again that i almost dont know what to do. But as each day passes i begin to think more and more of Tennyson's poem "Ulysses" and each day it comes to fit me more and more. The daily grind is indeed a fitting name seeing how its ground me down to the point i need to get away: im so ready for .. ironically the ides of march so that i can begin working on the beach again and finally have tim to sit and thnk .. time to myself. I've journeyed along my own path though many wouldnt consider it a journey to not have gone anywhere but ive come very far along and changed a great deal from this time 2 years ago .. yet there are certain things which refuse to die for me even after i thought i had buried them along with the rest of my past it appears i was wrong. In any case i wanted to also post the poem i previously mentioned because it truly is a great piece and i get a new and deeper meaning every time i read it so here it is.
"Ulysses" By Alfred Lord Tennyson
It little profits that an idle king,
By this Still hearth, among these barren crags
Match'd with an aged wife, i mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel; I will drink
Life to the lees. All times I have enjoy'd
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vext the dim sea. I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have i seen and known, -- cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honor'd of them all, --
And drunk delight of battle with my peers, Far on the
ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met:
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains; but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
This my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom i leave the sceptre and the isle, --
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfill
This labor, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
in offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his, I mine.
There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail;
There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me,--
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads, -- you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honor and his toil.
Death closes all; but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming mend that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks;
The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends.
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows: for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are, --
One equal temper of heroic hearts, ..
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive , to seek, to find, and not to yield.