This Fractal I See

What is it, this fractal I see?
Moving in, differentiating
In endless bifurcations
Breaking apart into the Particular

What is it, this fractal I see?
Drawing back, integrating
Compressing it all
Into a unified Whole

How can I capture it?

How can I share it?

Like a quiet pulse
The sound of divine Breath
Whispering
Some long-forgotten Name

Who else is in on this secret?

How would I know that you know?

That which cannot be expressed

I try to express it, just as I am now
But I can’t quite get at it
For I can see clearly that I am within it
One of its branches

 It is the one expressing
And I am its expression
My expressions are its expressions
These very words its attempts to get at itself

 Yet with each expression the fractal changes
Fashioning a hand by which to grasp its own shape
Only to be reshaped by the creative act
Forever evading the grasp

All I want is to be real

To express

And to know through my expression

I Am

But where is the Real in this fractal?

I can’t seem to find it
Each expression is lifeless, fleeting
As if forgetting
Who it is expressing

Where is the Real in the fractal?

I won’t find it in any static thing
The whole thing is moving, each part
For it is Movement
Yes, it’s a Dance

Where is the Real in the Dance?

Surely, it is in the movement
In the grace
In the ongoing unfolding
In the flow and continuity

That’s it
Continuity
Continuity is real
Continuity is good

This much I know 

But what good is knowing truth as yet another proposition?
Another fleeting expression
Surely it points to something real
But I see only the hand that points 

Why do I forget?

Always I forget

That ineffable truth we all once knew

Long, long ago 

Knowing that is not the same as Knowing
Hearing the words is not the same as practicing the steps
I must learn to move
I must learn to dance, with grace

 In the unique history
Contained within this branch
Echoes of the path traversed
On the road to its expression

 History shapes its movements
And its movements shape history
Always toward greater grace
I Am becoming

I can see now
Wisdom, my great love
You are the grace with which I move
Through this fractal I see

 Though I am yet but fragments
Disjoint in my steps
Always there is grace, pouring
Into these aged wounds

 Stitching, mending each broken branch
Restoring continuity
To expressions that never were
As if the fractal itself were learning 

How to move
How to dance
How to breathe
How to whisper its own Name