being a poet or thinker is necessarily to be caught up in the hopeless justification of life, which pulls with the insistence of gravity towards nihilism (or meaninglessness), which i would argue is the natural state of things. overcoming the senseless is the task of the transensual, the creator of imaginative fallacies. this is what i mean when i talk about architecture, the building of artificial structures towards meaning--all the temples, towers, hagia sophias and mausolays, language itself.
operating metaphors are important, and religion is full of them (religions are old-poetries-cum-politics). the image of moderation between extremes needs its own metaphors (some of these are plagiaristic, and i know that some poets put a special trust in the concept of the author, while others try to deauthorize themselves, neither of which bothers me or concerns me much, so):
the plumbline hung from the sky, whose slight shifts are a record of the earth's precarious balance (and calibrate the true scales of justice);
the tightrope walker, on a frayed rope, or...a slack rope, anchored to two embarrassed moons;
the green flash between dawn and day;
the long-legged aphorism straddling a mountain top;
the rappelling spider; the sticky cocoon in the baobab; the apple that fights the windfall; the last breath of the poet hanging from the waterpipes; the tongue in the bell; the drops on gate bars; the loose teeth of icicles; the ashberry; the zonkey foal...
the moderations are made possible by strong traits--curiosity and skepticism, the manacles pulling us up from hell and down from heaven, respectively. the BeeP is a poisoned well, and the filtered aquifer underneath, is an acid cloud, and the injured ozone above, is on a journey through all the wimpled rebates of the sea and sky, and cetera, and cetera...