Fractals of my heart, I have many questions of you.
I have been dancing with you all these years. My mentor Deborah Hay guided me to you. We experienced you as the intelligence of every cell. I know myself as you, with our masterful curves forming beauty and ugliness beyond my imagination, beyond my ability to consciously create or imitate. Oh yes, my questions.
How is it that we know each other this well?
Are you the art of my life?
Are you instead the integral, the essence, the endless and simplest replication of myself?
What must it be for you to vary my kaliedascope every moment?
Am I that recognizable in any form? Or is it I that recognize?
I have wanted to ask for so long.
Do I send you the lines of chaos and the filigree of delight?
Rather is it that I open my gates to relished addictions that conflict my curved lines and you register them?
And finally for today at least, how is it that a simple addition or subtraction takes me a life time and yet you form my images long before a batting of my eye.
Tim Hurst 03/18/17
My Dear Fractal,
You can surely teach me of your filigree,
winding the hidden wave lengths of life.
I want to live as you live with minute variations
of spiral and helix and double helix in to “n” infinity.
I want to shape minute configurations into myself
willingly welcomed and cherished.
You know well my mind, a master at switching wave lengths yet
a known trickster in the realm of story telling.
You surely can teach me to live with unpremeditated conciseness
while monitoring for the nurture insisted for life.
Yes I suppose I will need to practice diligent courage to ride above the fresh challenges of each wave. And I may well need to consult with life itself for assistance.
Can you? Surely you can teach me.
Poem to My Fractals
If I took a curve with a deviation by loop or spiral,
And if I repeated a deviation on every edge of the remaining curves,
Then the melody would be a filigree
Worthy of any mosque or scroll, any India quarter-tone sonority.
For my self, a flight through the trees would bathe my eyes
In deviations of intimate and distant flickerings of light
From leaf edges large and small.
My cells would bathe in the multiplying fractals refreshing love beyond my only hopes.
Tim Hurst. 07/13/17