I am content enough in my aloneness. I have no need to distract or to divert from it or to seek to remedy the sense of loneliness that at times may arise. I turn to what I am beyond words and look to do away with all conventional meanings of why and how because these ineffable revelations realized in silence are the source of what is meaningful.
It is partly in the conventional use of language—the construction of abstract words, concepts and the meanings, that we assign to them, that we come to rely on something other than direct experience to know life. There are, on the other hand, the words of the poet, the ideas of a poem not being those that occur to the poet before he writes his poem, but rather those that appear in his work afterward, whether by design or by accident. Content stems from form, and not vice versa. Every form produces its own idea, its own vision of the world. Form has meaning; and, what is more, in the realm of art only form possesses meaning. The meaning of a poem does not lie in what the poet wanted to say, but in what the poem actually conveys.