(Inspired by the first five paragraphs of Sven Birkerts’ essay on Emerson’s “The Poet” – A Circling, Poetry, April 2012) This, then, is why and how, and all the other important questions rolled into one. There is no burning question worth it all, after all, if soul is not mentioned, understood as primal and holy, outside of any sect or belief. Soul – quiet being, deep inside that is more than we can ever hope to be, that is the purest form of us – without doubts or misguided fetters into deep waters that grow dank and murky. Soul – strong and sure, more comfortable than we are in our own skin. Completely self-assured, deeply knowing its inherent talents without ever playing shy or self-effacing, dwindled down to nothing through every fault of its own. Soul – knows – soul is everything we hope for and more. Soul fears nothing but our never venturing toward it – never touching the earthen door that waits to open to us.