I spent a lot of time trapped behind the labels and expectations that others put on me and the ones I snatched and attached in an effort to fit in. I created the appropriate characters to match the circumstances and situations that I faced. Over time the sculptures I’d built began to crack. At times when it rained, the essence of who I really was underneath it all began to seep out. Soon the pressure of holding it all in became too great, and I erupted. Because I had not reverenced the power of eruption and braced for impact, my eruption was devastating rather than beautiful.
As I began to sort through the damage, I found the pressure had produced some beautiful remains. Though fragmented, they were still beautiful and useful. There I lay in a pile of steaming rubble, oozing greatness and vibrant color. I could create a work of art from the pieces of me. But I would have to act fast to capture the radiance. If not, I would dry, harden and lose my color.
I took snapshots and journaled as a way of preserving the memories. The intensity was sometimes lost, but the impact was everlasting. I wasn’t extinct, just dormant. It took the shifting and the build for me to flow freely. I am now seen and understood as a wonder. I know how to position myself so that I am not decimated with each eruption. Instead I set up camp at a distance to capture them in all of their glory.
No longer an unpredictable disaster, what you see of me today is an active monument full of splendor.
