Myself means me, not you too.

Did you read Whitman and still feel you are just one of millions of stand alone lifeforms? Or perhaps his poetry inspired you to feel the lifehumm from the universe coursing through your veins.
So I finished my initial reading of Song of Myself and headed to the Y to pick up my kid. Along the way, I contemplate my relationship with the trees on Harrison Blvd. Walt broadcasts I am the tree, as he is, too. To me, this is actually a sensible argument, from the standpoint of manure, ecosystems, and, to quote The Lion King, "The Circle of Life". My ability to accept and comprehend this idea is confined to this Earth, however. Where Walt says his argument stands as true on the moons of Jupiter and beyond, my spaceship is pretty much stuck in Boise.

Now, as I continue my afternoon errand, I stop to pick up my son at the Y. I make a conscious decision, as an exercise and tribute to Mr. Whitman, to try and feel what my son feels as I ask him about his day. Boom! Indeed! There is an interconnection among us all! Yes, his atoms are my atoms, etc. This unexpected transcendental experience results in a spontaneous grin and chuckle. At this, my son's expression is quizzical as he asks me "what's up?" Obviously, he is not a student of Whitman's work.

Ah, but this is my son -- truly my flesh and blood. I am so familar with him. I love him unconditionally. I should make a habit of connecting with him on this level. It brings me such joy. I determine that I owe the experience to biology and fatherhood, of course, and not to confirmation of the existence of Walt's universe. I just couldn't get the same rise with the trees on Harrison, nor their squirrels.

To my knowledge, Walt did not procreate. No children. This seems to me an enormous contradiction, him being large and containing multitudes notwithstanding.

Although I am not a subscriber to Mr. Whitman's philosophy, I rather did enjoy reading his work; Much like I enjoy great music I am hearing for the first time.