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By Maria Popova
Like arithmetic, the truest metaphors should not invented however found. In actual fact, they hardly really feel like metaphors — they really feel like equations equating one thing beforehand unseen with one thing acquainted in an effort to see extra deeply into the character of actuality.
One morning out on a run whereas touring for a poetry workshop, I ended mid-stride on the sight of a tiny tree capturing up from the middle of a trunk twice as large as me — a regenerative development referred to as coppicing. I should have walked previous dozens, lots of of such cussed second lives over time. However for some purpose, this one — at that second in my life, at that second on the planet — grew to become a mirror, a portal, a miniature of a bigger reality about what made us and what we now have fabricated from ourselves.
By sunset, it had change into a poem — learn right here to the sound of Zoë Keating’s “Optimist” from her breathtaking album Into the Bushes.
HOW TO MAKE A WORLDby Maria Popova
What are you, little treerising from the centerof the previous slain stump?You might be no requiem,no prophet,no metaphor for howlife goes on asserting itselfover loss of life.
No — you appear to bejust a fractal branchof the identical dumb resilienceby which we rose from the oceansto compose the Benedictusand to construct the bomb.
Couple with one other discovered metaphor within the form of a poem in regards to the stubbornness of hope, then savor Pattiann Rogers’s beautiful “Homo Sapiens: Creating Themselves.”
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