I bound around gazing at the stars. Where my wonder expands as far as the stars. Full of laughter I feel safe. Not only that I am free, all calls of nature come to me. It is dark; I frolic in the valley with white crystalline light swirling beneath and all around me. They are star dust. I am a child of the stars and the moon.
Daylight casts its light o n me by the stars and reflected upon the moon to ease my thoughts. I accept all that is for there is no explanation only curiosity and experience to make sense of what I feel. The day is on the horizon. I see that time is changing. I stretch out my arms awaiting the transformation. I turn my attention to myself. I am able to identify with my being, the physical – I am small but ever full of vitality, I have eyes as big as plums, and a smile that could reflect the sun.
The part of myself that encompasses me whole, that balances my masculine half is this bowl, a bowl of a haircut atop my head, something I used to hate as a kid – something I dread. Dreadlocks are what I dream of now. Back then it was the who, what, when, where, how… why – why does my sister hate me, what is the meaning of life? Questions that filled my mind through I was young – I needed to know to understand my vast and complex thoughts as it clashed against my bowl cuts and toys.
Wanting to make friends but I am alone in this field, feeling more kinship to the bird and the trees. I am a child who speaks freely, walks tall, and expresses her feelings like a well played horn – calling all life to share her stories to, to make sense of what she’s seen, heard, felt and thought.
And so, the elders gather around, some to encourage – turn my frown upside down. They tell me this and they tell me that, I accept what reality is presented before me. They know best, listen to them for they will guide me to the joys around me, how to reach for the skies with my gift of the gab. How silly they were to think I would listen, though I am a child, I knew not to listen.
Deep within as my body aged, that child kicked screamed and fought with rage. I am thankful for my inner child for all the times I’ve been called wild. For that child is wise, it still is, telling me to fight for the child within. That I hold the truth before it is explained, it is a feeling that cannot be named – it is to be discovered and experienced – not to be told – so I always spoke back challenging what I was being sold.
I am who I am today because of this child, she races through the field with light dust in hand, reminding me that I am who I am.