How Galaxies Are Born

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That first contraction came as
a whisper
beckoning me from sleep.
In places deep and hidden
there had been a shift,
a pulling of thread.
And in my waking
I began to
unravel.

Like the sea
before a storm,
I roiled.
So many waves
rose and swelled
beneath my bosom.
Everything in me
gripping,
mooring,
clinging.

I remember thinking
that I would break
into a thousand pieces,
that my bones
would fly apart,
that I would
no longer
be.

I remember believing this
absolutely.
I have believed
other things that were
also untrue.
I see now
that this is the way of
becoming.

The earth must heave.
Seeds must break open.
We unravel.
We bleed.
And voices tell us
not to believe
that which Love has
sung over us.

But it is in our holy pivoting
that galaxies are born.
Leaning hard,
we can be caught.
This is how we become.

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