e pluribus unum

I feel...lighter.

Tonight, a dear friend asked me what I would do differently with raising my kids from what my parents did with me.
"I would make sure they knew that they are not alone."
"You're not."

I know. At least, I've learned so, despite what I've been taught.


I am the make-up of everything around me. Absence of starlight sits in my soul, near leaves and smog and imperfect moons. I am crowded with others. My mother's strength, my father's imagination. Her masochism, his selfishness. My brother's loneliness, diluted. A bit of the faith in God of my sisters, and also a tiny growing spark of their faith in me. The healing of my boyfriend, in small measure. I am fundamentalist, fire-and-brimstone, hellbound, heaven-gazing, slowly expanding, peace-searching, solitude drawn, community grounded, hell-denying, ever-opening in heart and mind. I am always everyone I meet. I am never who I used to be.

And, I am humbly grateful.