The lines and crevices in my hands speak of stories. I cannot remember how they began. I have no idea where they will end. I only know that I am them and they are me. It is these stories which I know I must honor. These truths which I must bear witness to.
When I tagged my Facebook friends on my first published article, my hands were shaky, I was sweaty, and I had trouble breathing. Even writing this article makes me feel uncomfortable, and I'm scared that people will think I'm bragging. But my main point is: Why are we hiding our talents?
As I listen to Prince, his voice becomes the beacon calling me home to myself. I am now lost in the ultimate irony: My past is destroying my inability to be fully present right here and now. I am being liberated from and by my yesterday. There is something young, untamed, wild, receptive waking ...
Do we dare to let our hungers dry up and be contented with who we are, with what we have? Do we dare to start feeling good, Divine, exactly where we are right now? Or do we make up conditions on how it’s supposed to look or feel or what enough-ness and creativity is for us?