Inside: I sat down to write today and this poem came out. Recently my clients have been telling me that my work is helping them find their way home to themselves. A beautiful testimonial. The journey home is a hard and messy one but it’s also the path of freedom. This is who I am.
I am more than this body
if I’m pretty or not,
I am more than my thoughts and my mind-body health.
I am more than my pain
and the depth of my sorrow,
so much more than my knowledge
and where I have been.
I am not what I wear and not what I own,
I am not only mother, wife, or friend.
I’m so much more than my scars,
and more than my fear,
or what I do or how I see or all the ways that I serve.
More than my longing,
my capacity for hope,
I learn who I am as I come home to myself.
This path isn’t easy,
I am brave and also weary,
so I listen intently for the voice of my spirit.
You are a teacher she says,
A hope-bearer too,
A safe-house for others,
a light in the window.
You’re a tangle of strength and struggle and fire,
truth-teller and writer.
I am stubborn and questioning, I want more and need better,
disillusioned and disheartened,
soft and hurting. Messy human.
A drop in the bucket,
one seed in a forest,
a mere fleck of possibility along the arc of human story.
One of a kind, easily lost in a crowd,
rusty, unfinished, breath-taking artwork.
I am neither my rage nor am I my grief,
my limited capacity to do or perform,
not my self-judgment or your perception,
I am so much more.
I am breath
and swirling energy
I am one choice at a time.
I’m all of it and none of it, here today, tomorrow transformed,
mired briefly in fleshly experience and then
unshackled by language, cognition, and time.