This word. It’s haunted me my whole life. I love it. Every time I hear it it’s music to my ears. Always in passing. Always in witnessing. The pairing off of penguins… I seem to be my own thing. Not really mixing well with anything. Meshing beautifully, dancing through in passing. Always in passing. My feet never weary they serve me beautifully, reminding me it would be a noble thing to serve as a foot to a divine entity. I will be anything. A fool, maybe but I obey what’s in me. It’s served me because I begged to be of service to IT. The irony of opposites… is my guess.
When I was little I loved to read, but only because I was hungry for the stories coated in words once a bane to me. Dyslexia, they spelled it. Labeling me a deficient being, when underneath the scarlet lettering, I call it a child in distress. When I calm my mind and rest my head, the storm within me fades to nothing, the order returns to me along with my ability to read coherently… labels mean nothing but a cycle worth breaking to me.
…Back to stories; the stories resting beautifully beneath the paint and medium their authors covered them in. The tone would send me soaring, diving, twisting, turning through the growing seed of imagination in me. Words that bore witness to my weaknesses, became like water to me. Planting and driving, teaching and showing me the way each day the ones coming to meet me seemed to confirm or betray something unseen. A puzzle unfurling itself before me. A map unfolding. A beautiful sight to behold and I’m living in it. What is this place?
What is infinity and does it have a face? Will I see it in the mirror next time I look because I’ve found myself asking for it? I’m asking for it. Read me aloud like a book. I want to know who I am inside and out. Tell me who I am so I can’t be mislabeled again, especially not by my own hand. Only Life can tell me what my name and birth mean, I let my curiosity and intuition lead. I’m not just a number but the sum of its parts, not a sign but a totem in motion; not a million pieces that make me but the one thing they all embody, that is me. A hammer can’t define itself, I don’t think… I’m speaking metaphorically, before you stone me, I’m way ahead of you buddy, burned one down already.
…What does it mean to be in a family of beings who want nothing but good for me? Who goes about their business freely and powerfully? Energized by the wind not blown down by it?
What does it mean to begin one? To be the seed willing to blow away in the wind and see where it will take me? What will it be like? To be surrounded by strong trees, all willing and able to attach their roots and canopies to me and become a forest of hybrid harmony.
Thoughts like these are Medicine to me. I am my own medicine when I am listening deeply, once again proving life is a mystery desirous of Its own unfolding. So much so, it’s encoded its essence into my being, hoping I will desire to know myself deeply enough to see its reflection inside of me. Resting in my core, just waiting to ignite me on my command. I am commanding. asking. And bound to the idea of receiving in ways beyond my ability to imagine. Anything to hear those words spoken of me… To be Mine to my Everything