I was asked to construct a six-word memoir, so I did: Everything I will be, I am. It came to me quite quickly and I suppose the thought was sitting right on the proverbial tip of my tongue, waiting anxiously for the chance to be expressed. There was no hesitation nor reconsideration. That, quite simply, was it.
Dear Divine Source,
When I consider the words I say them over and over in my mind letting them drip in elusive meaning and slippery construct. I am? As if there is a question to be asked of me or my being. A hint of surprise as though I was unaware of my presence and uncertain of my matter. I am? As if I were the only one who were not. Or the anomaly in humanity so detached from other beings I cannot make sense of myself. Lacking in definition for all the ubuntu still leaves me paralyzed in wonder. I am…the things that cultivate my identity. My ego self. Mother, wife, lover, and all the weight of each world I carry. But what of “I am.”
Dare I say I, presently reside within my Self. I feel the soft lining of my own walls and see the garden through my own windows. I have access to my sunshine and within I am is the world. I made a bed with loneliness, with guilt, with shame and in a sick lovers tryst they tried desperately to cloud my eyes leaving me blind to truth. But I am. I proclaim it and with my fist held high I close my eyes, faithful and in full knowledge that seeing bears no weight on my belief.
I dwell within a space of stasis and satisfaction. A place void of apology, secrecy, and judgment. What kept me? The thought that my physical reflection was not worthy of awareness? The notion that I would not live up to expectation? It was another me, then, you would have to ask her.
And thus in this petition I ask for nothing more. I have myself. Which is god. Which is love. Which is everything. I require nothing more.