First there is this poem by Robert Frost, "For Once, Then, Something":
Others taunt me with having knelt at well-curbs
Always wrong to the light, so never seeing
Deeper down in the well than where the water
Gives me back in a shining surface picture
Me myself in the summer heaven godlike
Looking out of a wreath of fern and cloud puffs.
Once, when trying with chin against a well-curb,
I discerned, as I thought, beyond the picture,
Through the picture, a something white, uncertain,
Something more of the depths—and then I lost it.
Water came to rebuke the too clear water.
One drop fell from a fern, and lo, a ripple
Shook whatever it was lay there at bottom,
Blurred it, blotted it out. What was that whiteness?
Truth? A pebble of quartz? For once, then, something.
And there is this personal postscript:
In terms of form, consider Frost's choice of eleven syllables per line (a pattern adopted from Catullus, according to what I recall reading someplace long ago). Then consider the theme: searching for Truth. Notice that the persona of the poem nearly manages to see something beyond himself in the reflection, but the fallen drop ripples the water's surface and the picture is blurred and blotted out. Truth, that obscured whiteness, is there but can be too easily obscured or confused. However, what was glimpsed might only be a pebble of quartz. Apparently, though, the search for Truth remains worthwhile. Of course, I might be wrong about my "explication." So, good friends, I invite your comments and corrections.
Well, friends, I too am searching for Truth within the waters and among the pebbles. I haven't always been concerned with such realities, especially as I have been distracted for much of my life by other less important matters, but present circumstances and my encroaching sunset have become catalysts for the search.
The challenge then, as I think Frost suggests in the poem, is to see beyond the self because the Truth is elsewhere. So, I surmise, somewhere within all by which I am surrounded and confused, the Truth might be found. However, into which direction should I gaze? Upon what should I focus? And in the final analysis, does Truth exist?
Perhaps Frost's poetry will help me. Well, not expecting too much -- certainly not ultimate Truth in the words of one poet -- but nevertheless somewhat hopeful, Frost just might help me see more clearly in my search. Stay tuned because I might be posting more about Frost in the future.