You don’t read poetry? Try , this is a good one. It isn’t difficult, it is important. It is how I see the world needs to keep moving in a forward direction. It speaks eloquently about one of the defining characteristics of being human – the natural drive for connection. I work alone for most of my days, whether it’s doing the household chores or grabbing some space and time to create a drawing or a poem, perhaps play a bit of piano. I still need to create connection in order that I can feel alive. That happens by someone replying to a blog, mainly by me reading something that resonates with me. I like having family around me to plug into. Now the internet is creating opportunities for new interaction, and with the increasing complexity of the worlds economic systems , collaboration will be the one of the biggest tool in humanity’s tool box. Homo Sapiens collaborated to evolve an increasingly sophisticated brain. Now we need to use it collaboratively to face the challenges of the future. If you are interested in the future, or the future of your children this TED talk may be of interest.
The Tuft of Flowers by Robert Frost
I went to turn the grass once after one
Who mowed it in the dew before the sun.
The dew was gone that made his blade so keen
Before I came to view the leveled scene.
I looked for him behind an isle of trees;
I listened for his whetstone on the breeze.
But he had gone his way, the grass all mown,
And I must be, as he had been — alone,
‘As all must be,’ I said within my heart,
‘Whether they work together or apart.’
But as I said it, swift there passed me by
On noiseless wing a bewildered butterfly,
Seeking with memories grown dim o’er night
Some resting flower of yesterday’s delight.
And once I marked his flight go round and round,
As where some flower lay withering on the ground.
And then he flew as far as eye could see,
And then on tremulous wing came back to me.
I thought of questions that have no reply,
And would have turned to toss the grass to dry;
But he turned first, and led my eye to look
At a tall tuft of flowers beside a brook,
A leaping tongue of bloom the scythe had spared
Beside a reedy brook the scythe had bared.
The mower in the dew had loved them thus,
By leaving them to flourish, not for us,
Nor yet to draw one thought of ours to him.
But from sheer morning gladness at the brim.
The butterfly and I had lit upon,
Nevertheless, a message from the dawn,
That made me hear the wakening birds around,
And hear his long scythe whispering to the ground,
And feel a spirit kindred to my own;
So that henceforth I worked no more alone;
But glad with him, I worked as with his aid,
And weary, sought at noon with him the shade;
And dreaming, as it were, held brotherly speech
With one whose thought I had not hoped to reach.
‘Men work together,’ I told him from the heart,
‘Whether they work together or alone”