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Sometimes I feel like a mother. Sometimes I see that this experience, this life, the next 5 minutes are all up to me. That I am creator. It's when I start to feel that I'm being dragged around in this existence that the problems begin. That I start to panic. But when I realize that each reaction, each moment, each experience is my choice, then I'm filled with energy and excitement. And power. It's a letting go, a submission, but also a reclaiming of what's mine. And that's power. It's a walk on a burned-Autumn orange and wine tree-lined street realizing that I can be happy. Even in the face of things that would seem to make me not so. It's realizing that I have a RIGHT to be happy. That I want to be happy. And I don't need to give up that right or that privilege that easily. And with that all newly born in my mind, I started to see my experience here again with a new fondness. With a dearness indescribable. Like a mother looking at a baby born with a defect or just a difficult birth, I've watched some of the ugliness of this place. And then I've felt it wear off. Like the misshapen head of my own child, I've seen past it and am seeing the beauty of the child. The miracle of the birth. And then, too, like a mother, watching with surprise and delight as that child turns into a veritable miracle. And so repeats the lesson in my life. This Korean year is just a condensed version--another go at a lesson I've been trying to learn for years. It's another crash course at giving birth, at letting go, and at growing a perspective of real power and peace. My Korean child, ck [2002-11-04]
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Last five letters Gathering [2009-09-04] ?2002, Scott & Celeste. |