maybe meaning is less fixed than I believed
"It seems important to you that your work have meaning" the professor had said,
and you nodded vigorously thinking she was crazy that you would want it to be anything else.
You shied away from the power of creating meaning, preferred it as an ultimate truth to be expressed, uncovered.
"I am having such a great time," you told Dr. Clark in Yellowstone, with a notebook covered in scrawls of everything everyone had said. "I'm just trying to figure out what it all means."
She shook her head at you, tut-tutting, you had learnt a lot, but not everything:
You had not yet learnt that you could not learn everything.
maybe I just want to create feelings, colors, questions,
there are hurts that are thrust upon us, ones we create for ourselves, ones given like gifts,
I have never felt more stupid and confused.
my understanding has not yet caught up to my perspective,
not yet pushed it into a new place.
And I begin to think maybe the thing it is perceiving,
the meaning, is not a fixed object. Like a leaf turned in your hand,
It changes with the light.
