The poet John Keats coined the term "Negative Capatility" to argue against reason in favor of beauty, wonder, and mystery.
Billy Collins wrestles with mystery . . .
Keats: or How I Got My Negative Capability Back
by: Billy Collins
how lacking I was in Negative Capability,
It was on a long slope of lawn
next to a turreted stone building
that housed the shenanigans
of the department of English.
Some brown birds were pecking in the grass,
and yet here I was, a nineteen year old
too concerned with my clothes
and the nervous mystery of girls
to identify with this group of common sparrows
another student was pointing to,
let alone the nightingale we had read about,
invisible in the woods of England.
I was so short on empathy in those days
the only Negative Capability I could have possessed
would be negative Negative Capability,
which I could have turned into a positive
had Keats not so firmly determined
that regular Negative capability was already a positive thing.
All those birds are surely dead by now,
no more hopping around
in the grass of Massachusetts for them,
but I’m still here this afternoon
looking at a dog asleep half under the porch,
an old brown mongrel with a hoary muzzle,
his paws twitching so frantically
I can even see what he is dreaming
as the sun helps itself down the sky.
Yes, I am watching him jump a stone wall
in pursuit of a darting rabbit—
I am way up on a high branch
of a tree that is swaying in the wind of his dream.
I have always preferred wonder over logic. I don't need to understand how Christmas tree lights work in order to appreciate their glow on a winter's night. Nor do I have to master calculus or physics to embrace the beauty of a meteor shower or lunar eclipse. Negative Capability is free for the taking, as long as you can resist the urge to dissect and explain.
Now, I've spent a great deal of time recently trying to figure out why I'm experiencing such deep sadness during this season of light and hope. Perhaps it's leftover grief from the recent deaths of my mother and sister. Or maybe it's due to the lack of sunlight in the Upper Peninsula heavens. How about an imbalance of chemicals in my brain or a genetic predisposition?
Finding the cause of sorrow doesn't necessarily lead to happiness or joy. And, in a weird way, sadness itself can be beautiful. When I'm in one of my blue funks, as I am now, I've noticed that the tiniest of kindnesses (a small word of encouragement, a hug, a smile) can be profoundly moving, like seeing the thick brush strokes of a van Gogh painting up close. Grief and love are inextricably attached.
So, unlike Billy Collins, I possess a great deal of Negative Capability in my person. I don't need to understand WHY I'm sad. I just AM sad. Tomorrow morning, I may wake and feel the weight of the last few weeks lifted from my shoulders. Or I may not.
Whatever happens, Saint Marty embraces the mystery and wonder, whether bright or dark.
❤️
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