.
Beyond the unforgiving core
of gravity
she births herself
through molten rock
and hard-pan crust
into the space that soars
above the rant of tempests,
of burning bushes,
sun, moon,
the spin of stars
and far beyond
the fabled edges
of the universe
no longer up or down
but circling straight
into the riddle
of her Self.
.
.
Β© 2013, 2018Β Betty Hayes Albright
.
A re-post from 2013.
This was rewritten from an old poem, published
in my 1976 chapbook “Living Color”.
What a great origin story!
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Thank you, Ken!
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Ah…such riddles are the hardest to solve….the ones of self.
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I think you’re right. And hopefully solving our personal riddles leads us into truth.
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Awe inspiring how you write, my friend.
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Thank you for such kind words, Audrey. π
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This is a meditation! Is there an edge to infinity?
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A koan, perhaps?
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Mindfulness, indeed!
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Excellent and beautiful all rolled into one whole β€
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Thank you Kim! πΈβ€οΈ
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Excellent story of birth into a world
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Thank you so much, dear friend!
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Amazing and beautiful writing, Betty, as always…ππΌ
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Thank you for the kind words, Lauren. π β€οΈ
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πππ
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Well expressed, Betty! Life progressions, if we but accept the journey. π
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Thanks, Bela – I knew you’d relate to this journey. β€οΈ
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Circles of all kinds fascinate me. Drawing a perfect one with a compass still seems like a miraculous act. And of course we live on almost a perfect sphere (more perfect than a billiard ball, in fact), which may have something to do with it. The circle is so perfect because it is an expression of its abstract centre, a kind of singularity. It is like an idea made manifest, an idea we can all live on. Your rapturous poem – at least to me – touches on this notion.
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Thank you for that! Your comment is most interesting, about circles and spheres, which are symbols of perfection, on an abstract level. I didn’t know that the earth is closer to being perfectly round than a billiard ball. (I know Earth is slightly off but forget why or how.)
Along with circles and spheres, I’m fascinated by spirals. The path of a point on a spinning sphere moving through space also has a deeply symbolic meaning – perhaps of evolution.
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Yes, meaning those who refuse to accept the reality of evolution are all round the twist. But to be serious, ‘curvature’ of every conceivable kind seems to be built into the fundamentals of reality. I’ve always thought that a straight line is only a line that isn’t long enough.
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Yes! π A straight line is perhaps just a mathematical (geometrical?) equation. Even space is curved.
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Definitely a classic!
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Thank you very much!
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Beautiful, Betty.
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Thank you, Cynthia. π
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Another post well worth dusting off and reposting. π
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And it was indeed dusty. π Thank you.
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π
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Love this Betty; a poetic labyrinth rolled together unfurling in one place: a fern of a poem! β€
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A creative comment, thank you. π And I love ferns! β€οΈ
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Same here, especially when they’re fiddling π
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Yes, fiddling and unfurling. π I’ve always thought the curled up “nestlings” of sword ferns looked like the fuzzy heads of baby birds. π€
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Yes! There’s something very avian about ferns with their fuzzy heads that uncurl like slender necks and then the feathery plumage fanning the understory π π£πΏ
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Exactly! Somewhere I’ve got an old poem (from the 80’s) about sword ferns on this very thing. Will try to find it. ππ¦πΏ
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Seems you love to play with stars π
Excellent writing
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Thank you very much! π
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