Tags
attracting abundance, brave new business leadership, Elaine Stirling, form poetry, Law of Attraction, light bodies, Live in the Momentum, manifestation, Merkabah, myths and stories of the Wheel, sacred geometry, star tetrahedron, The Corporate Storyteller, triple sestina, vibrational reality
So, welcome now to other half of space
in time untellable, a few parts still untouched
these planes and curves of tetrahedral night
through journeys have no end, they are not mine
or yours, they are—and timed precise to follow
neuro-logic beats from zero, empty, slow,
to speedy seventeen, the time it takes upon
initial thought to grow a system beam
of argument, to feel connected or alone,
deprived, inspired; better, worse. We fell,
some say, to density but have never been apart
and all that glitters (why ever not?) is gold
we seek with more than measurable eye
when led by starry realms, we see ahead
to all that is, to which we may add words
of sweetness and soft cushioning. No king
could claim the finer—all the while, the girl
who leads this tale continues to be born.
Soon, she started noticing while traveling, apart
from increased speed, that others sought to follow
her approach of conflict-free. Some touched
her feet; others tried to write her words,
which seldom worked; for what I say is mine
and you, yours; all the meanings that you fell
and tripped on were inherited; and thus the night
of suffering appears to jaundiced eye
to never end. However, our intrepid girl
moves on, approaching ever closer to the king
she seeks whose edifice is just ahead,
so close you’ll see the filigree of gold
around his bed. He sleeps alone
and sports quite merrily by day. Born
to natural abundance, he’ll sometimes slow
for pleasure’s sake, no other, and the space
he claims and freely reigns upon
is infinite. He thinks in exponential beam.
All you thought of him before to space
dust has returned, and what befalls, befell
our heroine has vanished too. For Now is born
continuous, which means that all I claim is mine
by saying so. To argue for assent is slow,
exacerbating loneliness, when alone,
All One, imagining is fabulous! Our girl,
her fable of ever-weaving tabulae of gold
is lifting her to heights ne’er touched
by any but the ecstasies, exalted beam
of graces, cubed, quadrupled. Words
fall short, though if we carry on, the eye
can lead us through immensities, a part
beyond, including sacred and profane. Follow
where untroubled leads, and joyful night
encompasses the day. You might well sit upon
the carpet known by Al-lah-Din, ahead
he was of his own time & thus became a king.
Too much of same perpetuates the slow
in thought streams that are born
a-fresh in dreams. With all being mine
our monarch too forgets that light of eye
must be renewed in ways apart
above, beyond the flesh and thence to beam.
One day, a young gazelle began to follow
him, fearless, even while he hunted. The king,
perplexed, left grain for her one night
and when he woke she stood alone
in his encloséd garden whereupon
he thought he’d lay a trap and so fell
at her feet to offer charming words
that always brought him praise and gold.
The tawny creature stepped back a space,
wide-eyed, recoiled when he touched
her, and to his disappointment ran ahead
into the woods. Of course, she is the girl
who, running, left behind footprints of gold
that worlds material spent until they fell
and wars broke out and angry words
became the currency that holds apart
what never was unjoined. Had he touched
her prints or gathered them, to follow
would have been impossible. Through space,
through layers, twists & coils, he closed in upon
his object of renewing desire, and the girl,
confused, knew not why she fled. Mine
has been to journey here; by cruel night
and day, I’ve shaken off insipid eye
and feeble thought, have mastered born
and born again, yet now this kingly beam
disorients and I feel more than anything, alone.
If I should stop, consent to what the king
might say or do, if I should slow
myself to let him run ahead…
She backed into a quiet space
dissolving in a way that few except the girl
had learned. To think she was alone
would be inaccurate. Countless others fell
before her to this state, newly touched,
unable to discern from practiced eye
of history a remedy for overwhelming beam
that led her to this voice proclaiming, mine
you are, without the tinge of slavery. Slow
and cautious, she crept behind, apart,
surrounding her pursuer like a mist to follow
and know better the nature of this king
whose dreams through every reborn
state included her, and all the gold
she thought and left behind at night
appeared to be the same prosperity upon
which he constructed kingdoms. Ahead
he ran. Not seeing her, he turned to words.
To you, who are my life, I am your king.
To think that I had everything, apart
from you, I could not know. If all is mine
and you are not, then futile are my words.
By thinking that for you I have been born
opens a chasm of impossibility ahead
that no current measurements of human eye
can see as real, apportions me a space
that if I could, through mastery of night
unfear what talents this young girl
displays, I’d move beyond palatial gold.
But isn’t this how kings and nations fell
before my time? Meta-states pursued alone
with neither cause nor rhyme, of touchéd
mind they are a sign. That I must follow
if you choose to lead I swear upon
this puzzled head to do, and beam
me with an iron cauldron if lazily I slow.
Too much of rank suspicion had the king
consumed through envy and competing space.
That infinite might rearrange if born
within new thoughts impelled the girl
to creep into his room at night
and stroke his arms and hair. He fell
with each successive dream upon
new planes with greater destinies, a beam
of light became his bridge, untouched
by mere solidity which moved too slow.
Allowing symmetry and wholeness of alone,
he learned pure imagery to build and follow;
crusts of centuries of shame from eye
and ear dissolved, replaced by gold
the pure vibration humans seek to mine
in ways corruptible and fevered. Ahead
lies everything, no need to stand apart.
The simple thing now, to draw down words.
The wedding feast became a part
foundational of all the holy books: mine,
yours, and every metaphor of eye
and ear to pluck or lend, their role alone
to amplify. For when the king & girl first touched
in full desire of awareness, thereupon
the limitless becomes inheritance. No night
so dark, no lies of hopelessness, though born
will live to overthrow the fulfilled king
whose partner, spirited and free with words
cavorts in lively play behind, sometimes ahead
of him to bring back caravans of gold.
And should you decide, one day, to follow,
leaving behind the unworkable and slow,
to meet unseen the brightening beam,
your tale untellable of not who rose and fell
will reach the eardrums of a certain girl
who soars, a comet, through galaxies of space.
Though apart we’ll never be, illusions of space
of mine and yours will link us like the girl
whose fixéd eye ensured the one who fell
would never be alone. Believe the lighted beam
that’s touched you will accelerate, not slow
the dreams upon your pillow that you follow
every night flawlessly to earthly and divine gold.
For these you were born. All that lies ahead
is promised by the king of infinite words.
~~~
© Elaine Stirling, 2013
Image from merkaba-weltkugel.jpg
Creative said:
I keep reading these two posts and each time I find there are the wheels within wheels, and wheels “with-out” wheels – polarities, spirals – all telling her-story, his-story, our-story, earth-story, multi-versal story – engineered, commandeered, imagineered and then up to me to realit-eer into my own being’s story.
If were to put music to it – it would be to start this link playing in one browser window, then at the exact right moment start it playing again in another window at the same time. If you do it just right, or at least on my computer – it sounds like the two are entire pianist/orchestras playing in rounds and in collaboration with each other.
It is a profound work you posted here. I feel like I’ve barely tapped the simple, beautiful understanding I will fold into myself as I spend more time with it.
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elainestirling said:
Creative, I’m reading your comment as I listen to the musical piece you posted, and marveling at your quicksilver ability to leap from word to music and infinite other realms to find systems of commonality. Thank you! My brain cells are leaping in some Croatian-style dance celebration at the joy of feeling heard.
This was one of the most exhilarating writing experiences I’ve known, especially given that I had no one to follow, only an infinitely expandable form.
It may be a very similar writing experience to someone else I know. Say goodbye to fear, hello, hello, hello to FUN! It’s the only rule that seems to apply anymore.
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Creative said:
Could you tell me more about the form? I would enjoy more fully understanding the poetic architecture you have demonstrated. I may well understand it on some level, but would still enjoy flipping to the back of the teacher’s edition to understand it on more levels.
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elainestirling said:
Here’s the Wiki link, Creative: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sestina
It’s as good an explanation as I’ve found anywhere. 39 lines for the basic sestina; 150 lines for the double…and 333 when one triples the form. The experience of writing them is really quite a thrill, and each creates its own magic.
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elainestirling said:
p.s. Note, especially, in the Wiki article the graphic about “backwards and forwards triads”.
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Russel said:
I am entranced by this long old retold tale of ancient Arabian Nights. You like all great storytellers have have adapted it to your own devices and left us with a new “king of infinite words.” There is something very embalbejewelic about that for those of us who find similar value in that treasure house. Again these verses have carried me along with scarce an idea that I am reading for so long; even with frequent retracings to savor some of the imagery. It is a journey that is so pleasurable in each moment that I was surprised when I arrived at the finish about how far it had allowed me to come with it. But of course your return to the beginning in such a beautiful way allows us to arrive there and as Elliot says, “know it for the first time.” I hope you feel as proud of this effort as I do of you for writing it. For the time being I will enjoy the ripple of the carpet as I ride it with you; inhale deeply with each reading the ethereal heady vapors that those who haven’t undertaken similar journeys will probably never feel nor realize what they are missing. Mind you though, I am saving metals of successful transmutations up for a carpet of my own. Thank you for letting me ride on this one with you. You have an invitation in advance to take a spin on mine.
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Russel said:
After rereading my comments above a few hours later, they somehow seem woefully inadequate and incomplete. I will append them here. Part of the quandary here is somehow trying to “describe” the beauty and music of poetry with mere prose (note my derisive tone) nonetheless, I shall say a bit more. I sensed an underlying current of alchemy throughout this whole work culminating in the alchemical marriage. You have borrowed from symbol rich tradition and added new luster. In the process shown the reader/listener insights into how the process actually worked for you by describing the expansiveness of your newly perceived world–no easy task (as you tell us by your aptly chosen title) but one in which by your choice of medium and its flawless execution you have eloquently succeeded. By keeping your characters archetypical you have allowed discerning readers to identify with them making this tale come alive. Once again you have transmuted the dross of mere words into a far far finer tincture that falls on my sensibilities as treasured drops of pure gold.
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elainestirling said:
Russel, I’m currently nudging Creative gently in the ribs so that she can enjoy the rich benefits of your reaction to this triple (my God!) sestina. Far from being inadequate, your words provide texture to the all-important reader response that is, for the writer, mostly inaccessible. And you come from the knowledge of a double sestina writer…a sparsely populated island, indeed!
I do have a chart of the word order if either of you (or anyone who reads this) would like. Bear in mind, of course, that my “inventing” the order doesn’t make it gospel. My basis was the 3-D shape of star tetrahedron, which I sat with for a few days and traversed randomly with a pencil. What I learned, to my delight, is that “random” with that shape still creates distinct cross-overs, patterns and repetitions within repetitions. These in the “form vs. content” pairing often determined the content. Shape guided the story, events, characters, all of it–as long as I stayed with the premise of expansion.
Thank you, Russel, for your thoughtfulness and detail.
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Russel said:
Ah, Elaine, a chart, a chart, my kingdom for a chart! That is the hardest part of writing these formlings! I will certainly take you up on your offer to share. I had looked a bit to see if I could discern the pattern but of course it is not something one does in few minutes so had meant to ask you at some point if you had preserved it for sharing. Let us hope no deranged muse ever more than whispers Platonic dreams of dodecahedrononicalmaniacallity anywhere with in earshot.
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elainestirling said:
Russel, I neglected to mention the triple sestina may be a fertility poem, so your mention of “dodeca”, etc. within earshot? (It’ll begin with morning sickness.) 😉
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Creative said:
Ok, I needed the comments here from both of you to understand what I understand at some inchoate level from and about these writings. And Russel, I needed you to put all that texture into me so I could move from recognition of some sound pattern, onward into understanding the texture of the pattern…and the fact that sparked Elaine to discuss the geometric shape -all suddenly clinked all kinds of things into place within my being.
My senses just KNEW there was something beyond the sestina pattern at work there – and it was making me cranky not understanding why I felt what I felt – which is in itself a repeating pattern of mine! I have walked through life knowing I’m missing a great deal for not having been exposed to any fiction throughout my education. Hence I’ll often chock the cranky in me up the gaps to lack of knowledge. However, more and more I am seeing a pattern for myself that tells me if I follow some knowing I “feel” back to some mathematical/geometric/shape/sound origination point it explains something I know I know even if I got to it some wangle fangled way that drives Russel crazy. 🙂
This experience with Elaine’s triple spiraling, full split, backbending, upending, new-ancient-ending sestinas, Russel’s tight clear share of what he observed, Elaine’s follow-on illumination – has all given me knowledge I needed this morning. So see, DIALOGUE with the ancient, geometric,sound,linguistic, and each other gave me more than any dusty old book could have ever imparted – THAT is the way of the future.
And YES, the chart would be so welcomed! Thank you for thinking of showing it to us!
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elainestirling said:
Everything you said about the way of the future, Creative, I agree with completely. You are geometrically, in the most sacred manner possible, on the right track.
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elainestirling said:
Okay, that was weird. I sent Creative the chart, thinking it was she who said, “my kingdom for a chart” …when it was, in fact, Russel, to whom I then sent it, thinking Creative had requested the chart. I may have done permanent inner ear damage…too soon to tell.
Happily, ultimately, you both requested it, and the chart is on its way to you, and now I shall enjoy reading both your commentaries.
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Creative said:
Don’t hit me Russel, but I have to note that Elaine’s last comment went up at 11:11am. When I saw that, I stopped and reiterated to myself and All that is what I wish to manifest with the power of that numeric energetic. I’m betting the power of these sestinas is heavily laced with all kinds of alchemical potential.
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fledgist said:
I am deeply taken by the complexity and intensity of this poem.
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elainestirling said:
Fledgist, I appreciate knowing your experience of this poem. There is such joy in writing the sestina, and leaping into a trident version was an experience of continuous astonishment at where language might take us. Thank you, dear friend!
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jguenther5 said:
Fun! Nicely done. Must put this form on my bouquet list.
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elainestirling said:
Thanks, Jeff! You would find the sestina–single, double, or treble–most fragrant for your bouquet list, especially because you are a puzzle maker…what is that called, puzzlist? The medieval forms were like puzzles, and they are incredibly fun.
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