Innocence and Authenticity

I am five.  Chronologically, I am five.  Inside, I feel as old as I’ll ever be.

I am free of the burdens and distractions that surround me, and often, alone.

I have a sense of something I can’t quite articulate – purpose, mingled with wisdom; trust, and a connection larger than me.

I do not question whether I am wearing the right clothes for my figure, or if my hair suits my face.  I do not worry about where the money for the next bill is going to come from.  I seldom wonder if what I say might offend or is relevant at all.

At five, I live honestly; authentically.  I am all that I’ll ever be:  undefined, yet confident.  I am alive for a reason.  I feel it.

All I have to do is be patient and wait for life to unfold.

My true self.

Half a life time later, I still remember her:  that girl with such a full future ahead of her.   Such an innocent.

Like a treasure, she is buried within me, holding space.  I look for her in the mirror, but her light no longer shines in my eyes.  I search for her in the clutter that has become my mind, yet her clarity eludes me.  In the eyes of others, I am mother, friend, teacher, lover, and adviser, but not innocence; never my true self.

So, I seek to ignite that sense of self, through the inspiration that is my granddaughter.  Her smiles, her tears, her constant curiosity and unabashed response to life is a reminder:  somewhere in all of us there is a simplicity of being that defies any other reality.  Our true self.

 

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