I had no idea that I had it in me until it happened not long ago. Although Robin Williams definitely helped, in Dead Poets Society. As did the Chinese Daoist Juangzi (Chuang-tzu), who dreamt that he was a butterfly, and woke to wonder whether he was a butterfly dreaming that he was human.
Euclid alone has looked on Beauty bare.
Let all who prate of Beauty hold their peace,
And lay them prone upon the earth and cease
To ponder on themselves, the while they stare
At nothing, intricately drawn nowhere
In shapes of shifting lineage; let geese
Gabble and hiss, but heroes seek release
From dusty bondage into luminous air.
O blinding hour, O holy, terrible day,
When first the shaft into his vision shone
Of light anatomized! Euclid alone
Has looked on Beauty bare. Fortunate they
Who, though once only and then but far away,
Have heard her massive sandal set on stone.
Edna St. Vincent Millay, The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems, 1923
In response, this popped out.
This sonnet is about a lot of things
But high among them is what we don’t know
Who come along and see what some made grow
From bits and pieces, that in union sings
Beyond imagining of what we thought was so.
Yet now so clearly in our minds it rings
As if, like butterflies new to their wings
who far above the crowded earth now go
Rememb’ring not the form in which they crept
So long, nor all that time in which they lay
Sleeping, and changing wholly as they slept
Until they came back to the light of day,
We make pretense that it was always thus,
And miss our chance to know what changes us.