on why the "freight," the precious cargo, is "undeveloped." Perhaps there is no singular, final truth and all human life rests on nothing more than confusion? The "weight" would therefore refer to our knowledge of an essential lack at the heart of life--a reality that snuffs out our transcendent aspirations. Perhaps, on the other hand, if the universe is protean, this frees us to imagine new possibilities, new selves. from Christopher Nield: The Epoch Times: The Antidote--Classic Poetry for Modern Life: A Reading of 'Could mortal lip divine' by Emily Dickinson
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