OriginalCulture: Sublime Crave

Like Coleridge, I dreamt of a pleasure dome being commissioned in Kubla Khan, inspired, I wrote furiously but was interrupted by a mysterious caller.  When the caller left, inspiration drained from my body through the sieve that was a shaky construction of ideas.  Afterwards, I created a story that was far from what I originally intended and fell short of my original vision, but thanks to Coleridge, I remembered that this does not necessarily constitute failure and I was able to turn it into a workable, hopefully publishable piece like him.

This week, after completely failing at being an extrovert in several situations and interacting with other human beings, I got an ice cream cone and parked my car under the bridge.   I felt stalled, uninspired, and parked literally and metaphorically, but then, I observed my surroundings.  The bridge, the movement of the water, the algae covering the concrete posts rooted in mud, the floating paper that at first could have been mistaken for a bird, moved me because I saw in nature, my place within it, somewhere I belonged and yet somewhere where I could never fully understand HOW I belonged.

If you have been shaken and inspired by the sublime as I was, please check out my weekly post on Writer’s Club:

HauteLit from HotLanta: Romanticism

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3 responses to “OriginalCulture: Sublime Crave

  1. I love that line, “…I saw in nature, my place within it, somewhere I belonged and yet somewhere where I could never fully understand HOW I belonged.”

    You couldn’t have been speaking more for me in that moment.

    We’ll have to talk about “Kubla Khan,” because I’m ashamed to say, even as a trained poet, I just don’t quite get it, but your passion for it makes me want to work at getting it. I think I may be missing some background in the Romantic period and/or Coleridge himself, so hopefully you can enlighten me by email!

  2. Yes, this poem does require a bit of research to fully understand it and I will happily try to remember all that my British Lit teacher taught me that I promptly forgot and had to research again later when I wanted to read the poem again haha. I love the worda, but they’re so much more when you have the context. I will send along more on this in my next email.

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