Hi, it's Sarah Kay here. You're about to hear a poem by me recorded at Ted 2019. I hope you enjoy it. I also have some exciting news. I'm the new host of another podcast from Ted called Sincerely X..

Each episode features powerful ideas and stories from anonymous guests here from a former cult member rewriting the script of her life, or a woman who unearths a hard truth about her birth father through DNA technology. And a lot more you can hear sincerely acts on the Luminary podcast app. Find out more at Luminary Dot Link, Ted, that's luminary dot Ally and Kay Slash Ted. Thanks for listening. I have a friend. Named Kova ACBAR, who's a fellow poet, and I found this photo online of the anatomical heart of a blue whale that scientists had hung on a hook from the ceiling, which is how they were able to observe that the heart of a blue whale is big enough that a person can stand up fully inside of it.

And when Cava shared this photo online, he did so with the caption. This is another reminder that the universe has already written the poem you were planning on writing. And when I first saw that, I was horrified. I was like, come on, man, I'm trying to invent new metaphors. I'm trying to discover beauty that hasn't been discovered yet. What do you mean? The universe is always going to get there before me. And I know this isn't a uniquely poet problem, but on days when the world feels especially big or especially impossible or especially full of grandeur, those are the days when I feel.

What do I possibly have to contribute to all of this? Not long ago, I saw this video that some of you may have seen, it makes the Internet rounds every couple of months. There are these birds that are called starlings and they fly in what's called a murmuration, which is generally just a big cloud of birds. And someone happened to catch a quick video on their phone of these starlings flying. And at first it's just an amorphous blob.

And then there's a moment where the birds shift and they form the shape of a starling in the sky.

And as soon as I saw it, I was like, the universe has already written the poem you were planning on writing, except for the first time.

It didn't fill me with despair. Instead, I thought, OK, maybe it's not my job to invent something new. Maybe instead it's my job to listen to what the universe is showing me. And to keep myself open to what the universe offers so that when it's my turn. I can hold something to the light. Just for a moment. Just for as long as I have. The universe has already written the poem that you were planning on writing, and this is why you can do nothing but point at the flock of starlings whose bodies rise and fall in inherited choreography, swarming the sky in a sweeping curtain that for one blistering moment, forms the unmistakable shape of a giant bird flapping against the sky.

It is why your mouth forms then an Oh, that is not a gasp, but rather the beginning of oh, of course, as in of course, the heart of a blue whale is as large as a house with chambers tall enough to fit a person standing. Of course, a fig becomes possible when a lady wasp lays her eggs inside a flower dies and decomposes the fruit evidence of her transformation. Sometimes the poem is so bright your silly language will not stick to it.

Sometimes the poem is so true. Nobody will believe you. I am a bird made of birds. This blue heart, a house you can stand up inside of. I am dying here. Inside this flower. It is OK. It is what I was put here to do, take this fruit, it is what I have to offer. It may not be first or ever best, but it is the only way to be sure that I lived at all.

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