Palimpsest

I participated in a facilitated conversation about race and discrimination, hosted by Yvonne Curtis and Eugene 4J school district. At one point, a poem called "Silver Star" by William Stafford, was read, and we were asked to reflect and respond. Many found points in the poem that rang true for them.

I found myself disagreeing -- I decided that I don't need to be "lucky and have people give me a dignified name". I realized that the truth of me is true about me even if the people in my circles don't know it, even if the name they give me is not dignified, even if they don't know *me*. And that if I know who I am, and make each decision and take each action based on that truth, eventually others may come to know it too.

But that part isn't necessary to my happiness. Nice to have, but not essential. My rebuttal:

Palimpsest

The truth of me is true about me
even if nobody else knows it.

The mask I wear, spun of mist and air,
shields the soul that owns it.

Reflections abound, mirrored sight and sound,
bent by the glass that shows it;

Step through the maze, wipe away the haze
to reveal the truth below it:

The soul of me is the whole of me
even if I choose never to show it.

Folded and bent, my soul’s light spent,
I sought a guide to restore it.

The seed of peace (and love’s release)

needs a gentle breath to sow it.

Warmed by the sun, anchors and ties undone, 

the cradling earth below it;

Roots entwine as tendrils unwind,
the soul of the bloom will know it:

The truth of me is true about me

and I am unafraid to show it.

March 11, 2009