There was
all ways the myth
of the beginning
in her, that was
un-named and known
as force of making, Matrix
and in that mystery,
found, burdened, measured
then lost in the fool
that was man. The
scent of the beginning
drifted away, yet remains
[ p e r f u m e ]
in the sentience of those
that sight, tongue, grasp,
hear(d), fragran(ced) that
beginning when she
was known the heroine,
maker of one
thousand(s) names.
She calls back, in you.
You vocalize that
long heard call, the myth
maker and spellbinder
of arachnid telling
[web woven to the center]
drawing me and others
near, as I go in
there, to the cavern
of your making. Back to her,
back to you, back to
the heart that
I’d forgotten, now that
is found.
Anew, song sung.
In celebration of the telling,
the retelling, the recalling
the re-minding: Isabel Allende
TED | 2007