In the cozy quietude of my studio, I am often reminded of how fine the line is between lost and found. Although every day is a menagerie of moving parts, to immerse one’s self in the expression of who we are, we must sometimes cross over into anonymity, where we risk “forgetting” where the story begins or ends, and how it should unfold. I was reminded of this the last several weeks, as I immersed myself in the idea of integration and all that that implies, which then reminded me of something I wrote and wanted to share.

So, from my quiet corner of the world…

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My Headquarters

The Island

I live on an island in the middle of the city. The island is my home… from where I expand my reach and vision with a solid foothold, among, but also apart from the community, the ocean whose surface I only skim, for fear of losing myself in its depths and wonder.

I am not afraid of drowning. Because, to pursue the fire is to also court death, who is always present alongside the living. But what I fear is forgetting, who I am, amidst the flow of those who never lost or gained, or never braved knowing how fire and water are truly the same.

I live on an island, at the center of myself. The island is my home… from where I exceed what is expected of me, and with a solid grasp of what that means, among, but apart from the rest of me, who belongs to the ocean.

I am not afraid of silence. Because, to seek the Self is to find yourself alone, though each of us belongs to the other, outside the body, in the way we experience and express one another. What I fear is forgetting, that the rest of the world exists, with or without me, and that it would never miss what I failed to give, for all the quiet time I spend within.

I am an island, among many islands. But this one is my home… from where I can escape, or seek refuge, whenever I choose.