Models

We wear clothing and personalities that separate us like long distance, neither telephone nor email helping us to bridge the gap of differences. Sometimes even our ear drums deflect the words we choose not to hear in face to face conversation. Our models, our perfect selves are sculpted from artisan marble. We are too afraid to break, to lose ourselves.

Last night I broke my model. As pieces of my shattered ego lay scattered on the floor, my heart also spilled out, raw and messy like an unboiled egg. I feared my family members would laugh at it or step on it, and the only remnants of me would be the yellow streaks of a coward who did not fight for her cause.

To my surprise, no one died. i learned that seeing others and loving them requires a certain loss of self in order to open to a universal being. No color is brighter than another. The ones that highlight themselves are likely to be the first ones that burn out.