e. e. cummings: teers of wonder

A message from e. e. cummings, no longer whinnying with us, yet  with us still:

'pity this busy monster, manunkind' pity this busy monster, manunkind, not. Progress is a comfortable disease: your victim (death and life safely beyond) plays with the bigness of his littleness --- electrons deify one razorblade into a mountainrange; lenses extend unwish through curving wherewhen till unwish returns on its unself.                           A world of made is not a world of born --- pity poor flesh and trees, poor stars and stones, but never this fine specimen of hypermagical ultraomnipotence. We doctors know a hopeless case if --- listen: there's a hell of a good universe next door; let's go

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If you haven't read cummings' The Enormous Room, do it.  Now.

                                                            or don't.

And if you read The Enormous Room it'll show.  It will be reflected in your face.

A new sympathy for the one in your crowd mist picked on in will shine out from your eyes;

 and a new glow of awe when the bullied sings like an angel, when the room is quiet and one is listening

You'll love your world more than you already do.