Wasn’t it Walt Whitman (hope I don’t have my poets confused) who basically refused to have anything to do with the “intellectually elite” of his day. He preferred hanging out with the likes of taxi drivers and carpenters and bartenders instead. He was also a deeply spiritual person, whose work is largely driven by the spark of the Divine so evident within it. He was one of the most lauded poets of his day, perhaps the greatest American poet of the century, he was brilliant, a genius, and yet he was in no way an elitist. He thought himself no greater than any man, or woman. And he thought no man greater than himself. he adored the scent of his own armpits as much as the most costly French perfume. He found no shame in his own nakedness, no cause for rebuke in the nakedness (bodily or otherwise) of others. He loved men and women both, as well as all creatures, and all created things. The grass of the fields, the dust of the earth, he counted himself no greater then these. The stars of the heavens, no less.

Walt Whitman should be an example to us all. His works read like a Bible unto themselves. A Bible for every man and every woman and evey child upon this earth, whether of elite ir humble birth.

-”Learning never stops till the very end of life’s existence from whoever and at whatever time or situations.”