Meeting Myself

Having moved through several distinct artistic periods that mirror my life,

I find myself asking...

Who am I today?

I no longer feel the need to define myself.

I am interested in meeting myself.

Again.

And again.

And again.

I loved the coach.

I loved the teacher.

I loved the artist who made intricate symbolic dolls.

The same compassion I have offered so generously to others is finally finding its way home.

I have space within me

enough to open to

the woman who lets cloth remember.

The relationship between all my artistic periods has endured

because I haven’t demanded consistency.

Quality, yes.

I have welcomed evolution while encompassing the past.

Nature already understands this.

Shells.

Flowers.

Leaves.

Even galaxies spiral.

There is something about the Fibonacci sequence that has always captivated me.

Every new number contains the two before it.

Nothing is discarded.

Everything is included.

The spiral widens,

not by leaving the past behind,

but by carrying it forward.

Our deepest relationship with ourselves begins

when we realize

our past has not confined us.

It has accompanied us.

Compassion allows us

to carry every season forward

without asking any of them to disappear.

It opens the door to a quieter question.

Not,

Who have I been?

Nor even,

Who can I become?

But...

Who am I meeting today?

We have lived with ourselves long enough to know

that we will always remain

a beautiful mystery.

And perhaps...

that is the relationship

worth tending for a lifetime.

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