FOCUSING THE KALEIDOSCOPE

Reconciling my heritage.  Who am I? My search.

Even as a child it seems I was always watching from the outside.  Some would say trauma could cause a shell of protection around the heart and mind. Mayhaps, the physical, mental and sexual abuse I know to be a part of my earliest days caused this very real part of who I am.

Inside the shell I know just how tender and fragile yet fiercely striving my heart and mind are.

Always I remember searching.

What was I searching for? - my unique place in the universe.

One thing I seemed to always know, God was within me, loved me, nurtured me, protected me in even the most horrendous of times.

When I gave my heart it was completely.  It was returned to me battered and sore.  Still I think to give it again.

From my family the traits of many cultures formed the kaleidoscope of who I am.  Getting the picture in focus has been my life's quest.  My feeble biased guesses tell me of the parts.

From the English I get the compulsions, the inclination toward living in the head rather than the heart, and the need for the image of perfection.

From the Irish I get the romantic notions, the thrill of the mysterious breezes and flutters of the butterfly, the quickening of my heart when I hear the whispers of the fairies, the raucous delight in the laughter of my children, the weepiness at the sigh of the stranger.

From the Scot I get the stoic, the persistence, the grit to put one foot in front of the other even though the path is thorny and around the corner may dwell danger and pain.

From the Jew maybe I get the sense of martyrdom, of being put upon by life's changes and chances, of persistence in my faith, of the desire for a culture that defines me yet is so illusive it shimmers distantly in its many forms and colors like a mirage.

From the Indian I get my center, my connection to the green, the wind, the sound of the rustle of leaves, the sense of the solidness of the earth, the soothing fluidity of a lake or ocean, the kinship to the animals who have their special purpose, the sense that there is a deep spirituality reflected in all of God's creation on this physical plane.  The beat of the drums echoes my heartbeat, the piercing poignancy of the flute lifts my soul and causes it to soar and dip and throb.  I sense an eternal wisdom in the still, calm acceptance of life's lessons and yet a fierceness of purpose in remaining true to inner understandings.

Who am I?  Will my later years find me softening the shell and coming forth from my chrysalis to fly freely, toward the sun and the flowers and perchance be willing to rest on your shoulder?

Anne Hunter Respess
Nov. 2002