Qui es-tu?

Cool air cuts me deeply as I stand exposed.  Dark clouds preview the crack of lightning likely to glisten not far offshore.  As I lean forward, whispers float and hover in the silent spaces within the wind.

What would you do if I told you that you are not what you thought you were?

What if I told you that you are not the lady who treks daily to the market.  What if you are not the person living abroad.  Nor are you the body that ebbs and flows quickly across space to care for her family.  What if you are not the one who hikes steep trails nor the one who adorns herself in the mirror.  

You are none of these. 

What if motherhood is just a label, just a task, just an identity.  What if it doesn’t have anything to do with you at all?  What if you are not a writer, not a yogi, not a baker, not a professional.  You are neither a wife, nor a daughter, nor a friend. 

You are none of these.

What if you are not fat and you are not thin.  What if you are neither pretty nor common.  What if you are not fit or able-bodied – you are neither old nor are you young.  You are not even the intention to age well and maintain your strength.  What if the aches you feel aren’t you either. 

You are none of these. 

What if you are not the heart in your chest, nor the legs that carry you.  What if these arms are just bone and flesh.  What if you are neither the gut nor the respiration.  The perimenopausal body isn’t clinging to you – in fact, you are grasping for it, but it isn’t who you are.  What if you are not your head nor your eyes.  What if taste is not you, scent is not you, touch is not you.

You are none of these.

I wrap my arms around my chest to keep from shivering and step back inside.  Faintly I hear a sound in my closet…a tiny giggle.  And I smile.

You are that tiny child, you are that laughter, you are that light.  Peak around the corner and see what you find hidden deep within.  See what the child has to share, as she is your wisdom.  Wisdom is not the duty that daily distracts you.  Duty only tells you what isn’t real. 

So choose carefully what you believe.

Choose the endless joy of your true essence.  Choose to use the pain to evolve.  Listen to the quiet yearning for play – the game of hide and seek – the song that sits at the back of your throat – the dance that aches to fling its arms wide and twirl until you collapse on the floor in laughter. 

Choose to be who you really are, not what you think you should be. 

Do you see it now?  Do you see the child there?  That’s you.  You are the childing hiding in your mother’s closet waiting to be found.