'To Ache is human - not polite -'

Miss Dickinson, the impish minx.

Miss Dickinson, the impish minx.

I find intelligence alluring. I once wrote a MySpace blog post about 400 years ago stating that I believe Emily Dickinson is the sexiest lady of American literature. I still stand by that claim. In her honor, I scrapbooked my favorite poem by the ultimate introvert of 1860s Amherst, Massachusetts. I pledge my allegiance to Emily Dickinson, the 19th century goddess of American poetry.

To read and enjoy Emily - yes, I am on a first name basis with her - you have to appreciate brevity and lots of punctuation. God knows I love both, especially hyphens mid-sentence. You also have to appreciate precise little truths that slice through reality with swift, sharp incisions.

Which brings me to my favorite line: 'To Ache is human - not polite -'. The beauty of that line is infinite. As social beings we dare not share our innermost ache-ings. We do so much to hide our beastly nature - most of us are made aware at a very young age about practicing good social hygiene by keeping our ache-ings at bay. Or at the very least tying them up in neat little packages for easier digestion. Yet, most of us go through un-shareable very human ache-ings with rude intensity. I've always been disappointed by the fact that sharing our depths is socially overwhelming and semi-taboo. Some argue that keeping our depths out of the light lets us save a part of ourselves from outside eyes. True, but I want to read about the things others try to lock away. I kind of have a problem with wanting to plumb every depth to its core. Ms. Dickinson is my muse because she didn't mind sharing her depths one bit. She wrote so many poetic little snippets that glare truth in the face. No blinking allowed. The beauty is in the brevity, yet her poetry is delightfully deep. I'll let you do the searching to find a few of her pieces to fall in love with. (But may I suggest 'I taste a liquor never brewed' and 'Wild nights'?)