Labels

I've always liked the time before dawn
because there's no one around to remind
me who I'm supposed to be,
so it's easier to remember who I am
~Brian Andreas

Don't we label ourselves, dear ones, with small labels? At any given moment, I am just as much Girl Washing Dishes as I am Girl Dancing With Baby. My ego revels in and clings to labels...labels like writer, artist, mother, wife. Deep down I know there is no difference...doing the dishes is just as sweet, just as good as writing poetry.

Moment by moment, life's transient nature is unveiled in the revelation of my “selfs.” This is where I begin to move, unattached to any one particular story of “me.” Here it is, the most beautiful, joyful place I have ever been, and then I realize that every moment is the play, every experience is exactly what I need to grow through. I melt into the action of washing a spoon, feeling the slipperiness of the suds and dish cloth over the surface, shiny, clean. I look into the utensil and am aware suddenly of the wonder in this moment, the ecstatic joy of holding such beauty in my very hand...and my hand so gracefully holding the spoon, plunging it beneath the water, rinsing the soap away...only silvery reflection. I am the Washer Of Spoons, I am the spoon.

My 2-year-old runs into the kitchen calling for me, tugging on my pant leg. I swing her up, knowing that her smile and laughter will break through. The spoon moment is gone and I am transformed into Mother....Mother with Child. Shimmering spoon no longer exists, I am in a new moment...the next now.

Small labels are sweet, dear ones, embrace them, love them, but do not cling to them. At this moment, I am Girl Sitting At Table With Coffee. My ego says, Writer....I am Writer...desperately clinging. This is a label I am stubborn with. This is a label that keeps me from loving “Girl Doing Dishes.” At times, it even keeps me from loving “Mother Playing With Children” and “Mother Singing Lullabies.” It is the label that keeps me identifying with this personality everyone calls “Ruthie.” I love it, but just like the spoon, it must sink below the surface and surrender to the waves of the moment by moment transience of life.

(This is an excerpt from a book project I'm working on, the one that's writing me.)