Chisel not my name onto elegant stone, so you that I love might become slave to a time and place that no longer holds my soul, to which you could become tied, lost in sorrow and life’s limitations.
Rather, joyfully cast my dust to the wind, so I may dance on the breeze, and one day as the leaves rustle gently overhead, you will feel me there, riding a ray of sunshine kissing your face, and I’ll whisper in your ear, “Remember to live free.”
Happy
True, real, enduring, happiness is being at peace with who we are.
Who am I? Genetics, environment, and experience, they have all helped to shape me. I was born into this life with a touch of auburn in my hair from Dad, and long piano playing fingers from Mom.
But father, why did you not give me the flaming locks that run in your Scottish family? Why just a whisper of red for me? I have a fire inside that rages, and a call to blaze a path in this world. My Maori friend calls me “Fire”. Perhaps it is so my flame is evident only to those with eyes that see deeper?
And mother, why was I born with your hands and no musical talent? It felt cruel. It was a source of frustration to me that I failed at piano lessons. Perhaps it was so I could learn to see in myself what is, rather than what is not?
One summer afternoon, the girl I was lay on her bed daydreaming. I left my body and up I rose until I floated among the stars, tethered to Earth by a slender silver thread. I felt infinity for the first time, and I realized that I was so much more than they were telling me.
I am the artist in France, learning to express my soul on canvas. In this present life, I recall those lessons easily. Painting is like breathing to me. That other self walks in Monet’s garden, and I yearn to again. A photo of the Seine in the fog makes my heart ache with longing. It is a happy life.
I am the Japanese geisha in love with a powerful man. He loves me, but we cannot be together. Even now, pink cherry blossoms in spring make my heart both sing and weep, all at the same time. The lesson? I love and I am loved. In the end, the love is all that is important.
Sometimes when I walk along the sidewalk, I recognize a piece of myself in a stranger’s eyes. How can I say what it is exactly? It is fleeting, but I see it, and I feel it.
When I pass a beggar on the street, I attach a blessing to the coin I give. In my mind I say, “I know you, and I feel your pain. I have been where you are. It is a lesson you are learning, and it will all be okay.”
There is so much of me flooding in from the world, sometimes I feel overwhelmed by it. So I wash the dishes or sweep the floor, ordinary tasks that ground me in the here and now.
But I can never deny to myself, or to the world, that which I know to be true: I am stardust. I am Infinite. I am part of it All.
Pieces of Me is an excerpt from Becoming Bigger: In a world that wants to keep you small. Find it for sale in my bookstore here, or get this collection of life inspiration free when you subscribe for occasional newsletters here.
Susan L Hart / Author 