in the midst of metamorphosis

This will be a series of posts in which I honor people who have made an impact in my life, both in my past and in my present. I am blessed to still have some of these people in my life; others have left this life for another; and still others are no longer a part of my close circle, yet still made a difference to me. I want to share them with you. I want to honor them. I want them to know how much I love and respect them. The third one is dedicated to one of my very best friends, Casey B. "To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment."  ~Ralph Waldo Emerson When I met you, a little over two years ago, you were unlike everyone else in my life at that time. You came in like a whirlwind, blowing away all of my insecurities about who I am. You taught me that it is okay to embrace the real me, with all of my junk, and faults, and scars;  that being true to myself is more important than being what others...

The area reverberated with gunshots. Shell casings littered the floor. In the far corner, I felt trapped. Too many people lined the narrow room, preventing my escape. I wanted out. I needed out. I couldn't breathe. Uncontrollable fear was pushing its way to the surface. The room was cold. I was sweating. Tears were threatening to fall but I knew that that would be the action that would cause the dam to break. The tiny shred of control that I had would then be lost and chaos would ensue. I knew what was happening. I knew that I was in the grip of a panic attack. I just didn't know why. and at that moment, I didn't care why. I knew that I had to restrain these feelings, compose myself. Long minutes passed by while the rest of my class continued with their target practice. By the time my turn came, I was collected enough to shoot again. I had elected to participate in this gun safety course. I own a gun. I had shot guns before. So, why was this happening now? A...

You may wonder what that is behind me. Let me introduce you. It's my closet. I take it with me wherever I go. Like Superman, I walk in, then reappear in costume. I have a lot. Too many. So tonight, I'm cleaning out my closet. . There's some old ones shoved way in the back. They haven't been worn in years, but occasionally make their way to the front. They taunt me. I did my best to do them proud. I failed. . There are worn ones. I wear them often. They don't fit me, but they do fit other's ideas of me. Grudgingly, I put them on and become what they want me to be. Each time, I lose a little piece of me. I hate them. . There are fancy ones. The good ones. Reserved for times where I need to impress others with who I am, or who I think that I want to be. I keep these separate. In my mind that somehow makes them better. They're not. . There are tight ones. Constricting. There is no flexibility, no room for growth, and change, and newness, and creativity. ...

At the beginning of this year(2010), I heard someone speak about the Golden Buddha encased in plaster (google it if you don't know the story). This post details my struggle to rid myself of my own plaster encasing in order to be the me that I was always intended to be.   Year after year. Layer upon layer. It continues to build up. More, more, more. Outsiders contribute some, with their demands, expectations, thoughtless words, rejection. More, more, more. I can't help but add to it myself, in a hopeless attempt to preserve the vulnerable core. More, more, more. The plaster shell is rock hard. It has to be. How else will I protect myself? Inside, I hide, unsure if the real me even wants to venture out. What is waiting for me? The unknown can be frightening, intimidating. If I stay here, I have a chance at protection, at anonymity. But, locked inside, I am growing weaker, emaciated. I want to kick out, break loose, take off these bindings, tear down the wall...