Metaphysics of Me: A Memoir

I was born

A yesterday of yesterdays

Bare,

But skin to my back,

I find family in spectral hues of epidermis,

Find love

Where it was,

and where it was not

to be promised at first

I grow,

stirring,

Determined,

Bossy,

to say the least,

I am a strong stalked flower,

My curls

Lush chocolate petals

I am the butterfly

That from a caterpillar

changed its shape and color,

Before your eyes slowly emerging,

Wings wet

with new and dew,

I come to be through struggle,

Overcoming adversity,

My fears

Are not of darkened shadows

But of the void of unknown ifs,

Fearful possibilities

Of life unlived,

I am the philosopher

With a problem

For every solution,

I am a seeker,

a thinker,

a complex web

Of as yet thought thoughts,

Give me time

I ask,

-So ask we all,

I am building my legend,

Piece by piece,

I am a lover,

Of few,

And all,

Holding my treasured so tightly

For fear they might break,

I give and give,

Wanting so much to multiply the love,

Into endless existence,

I am a creator,

An artist,

The young life before me,

Is my greatest piece,

I nurture,

water,

feed,

teach,

tend,

inspire her

In ways I know,

And in ways anew,

She is my story,

with a story of her own,

I am a mystic,

Finding light

in new corners,

Unexpected beauty

from the universal source,

Finding truth,

In the metaphysics

Experienced as if new,

I am the ill and well

In one package,

My healing and my hurting

Are not easily untangled from each other,

But both toughen the core,

With scar tissue

My inner

And outer

Are reborn,

I am everything

In me,

A soul with many

Names

Titles

To identify me,

But my soul

Ageless,

Graceful,

As it floats through being,

The essence

In all aspects of me

What comes next

I wonder,

But dare not guess,

Suspense

Makes this life fuller,

With richness

So decadent it can be tasted,

Can be sensed

In the air,

In the textures,

In the living,

In the every

Next moment

That will,

And does,

Then still

Inspires.

Clock Pieces

Well oiled,
Never seeing,
The ties that bind,
The tightly fitted cogs
That tick,
Tock,
Set in motion

A clock face never sees
Its own mechanics,
The screws,
wheels,
Springs,
Never outside
the finished product

But, they are all
valuable,
And of purpose,
independently

Until
Fitted in,
By a
hand,
Each piece
loses
independence,
and independent value;

Interconnected,
but seperated
from the other,
Each dependent on
maintained
function of
the "clock",
To thus do a job
of the machine,

for the hand.

8/3/2018

Identity

February 17, 2005
Lost to me
Are a thousand yesterdays,
Lost to me are the words
Foreign to the tongue
While familiar to the ear,
Lost to me are my peoples
The ones that stare back
In pictures of the past,
Lost to me
Is the life,
The nature,
The heart of a land,
I am too far from to call my own,
Lost to me are dreams of unity,
Dreams of peace,
Prosperity,
Liberty,
Acceptance,
Lost to me are the names,
The voices,
Faces,
Lost to me is a lineage
I can claim,
Lost to me is another world
Another way,
Label me,
But can you take way
The never knowing
Where you have come from?
Living as if the past had never been,
Lost to me is my identity,
As the child of a line
that is lost to me.

Remembering “Who I Am”

August 3, 2017
A song I have not heard
For years,
First few chords
And suddenly I am
15 again,
Ambitious and terrified,
Mapping me,
Experimenting in identity apothecary,
Blazing trails as if
I am fearless,
What a facade!
And memories are bittersweet
As I hear the song,
Boldly crooning,
Unapologetically,
Love of “Who I Am”