Reflections From My True Self

Remembering Who I Really Am


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Clarification

[Letter to my 9 year-old son, and by way of him, to me, and you.]

Dear boy, my living heart, I am thinking of a conversation we had a few days ago, when you said school is supposed to prepare you to work as an adult. We talked about what work can mean, then.

But I want you to know this: It’s true, I send you to school to learn skills that will help you build the life that you want to live. I send you to school to learn different ways to see the world, to know it is wide and deep and rich in even more ways than are apparent. I do it in the same spirit with which I take you to play at the lake and walk in the shade of the forest, to acquaint you with this beauty and power all around, and inside.

But, ultimately, school, work, forest, lake, friendship, family, this relationship between you and me– everything– is simply a vehicle for you to experience and discover your Self, what feeds your mind, what nurtures your heart, keeps your body vital, and, especially, what nourishes your soul.

Everything you encounter and everything you create is an opportunity to experience an aspect of your Self, different versions of who you are and who you can choose to be. This life is a flowing river of opportunities to learn again and again, in different scenarios, what moves you at your core and what gifts (or the seeds of them) lie within you, to share with the world!

Photo credit: Mihai (Mike) Tamasila @RGBStock.com

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Meaning-less

I am brimming with excitement, like my 6 year-old before a long-awaited visit to the lake. I sit in front of a pile of magazines, a pair of scissors, glue, and an enormous poster board. Now it’s time for play! I page through the magazines, cutting out everything that looks intriguing, interesting, beautiful, everything that calls to me. I cut out two lawn chairs in front of a towering, thriving tree; a carrot growing orange and green out of the ground; an owl hovering, powerful, in a black sky; puppies, piled one on the other; a luscious orchid; the gilded statue of Strauss playing the violin in the Stadtpark.

Some of them bring me joyful memories. The statue stands two streets from the apartment I thrived in, in Vienna; the orchid is Colombia’s national flower. Others? I don’t know what they mean.

I notice this familiar, fierce urge to assign meaning to everything I lay eyes on, everything I experience.

But today I want to play, without layering any meanings. Like a child, trusting, because I am richly, vibrantly alive.

Orchid ©Mei Teng Wong at RGBStock.com