Being As Poeisis, Heidegger's Favoruite Thesis
Being is. No simple universal category
Its meaning lost in an ancient allegory
The question lost through the march of time,
That which bursts forth in every rhyme.
No mere substance or underlying thing
Many perplexities does this question forth bring
Mocked and flogged, abused forgot,
This question at metaphysics kernel, does persist to rot.
No thought can pass without this guilty lack,
What we see when the surface starts to crack.
What does this ground well 'Being' mean?
Only through the circle can this we gleam
An insight such as his is rare
That in essence ours is being there.
Already we know something of Being’s meaning
Yet from our illusions still are we weaning
What we seek is already known,
Never truly lost that Being is thrown.
When telling the tale long did we all stammer
as the answer lay hidden in the Carpenter's hammer.
Truth is not a thing we can with hand grasp or yield,
but that which becomes as Being is unconcealed.
We see that as the circle is unfurled,
that we are at root Being-in-the-world
others Being to which all are we wedded
Being with, Intertwined, deeply embedded.