Surface

As you look at the surface of this picture, you see waterlilies peacefully swaying on a frog pond. Each lily pad covers the surface of the water. The frogs jump from pad to pad, rarely touching the water.

But as you look closely at the pads and lilies, in between the lily pads are glimpses of black water.

I think the reason that I had a hard time with the word surface is because I had to look beneath the surface of myself. What is real? What is unreal? Am I an illusionist that covers my real purpose with words?

On the surface, I have lived 44 years. I was raised in a small town in Utah. I have travelled the world. I am a Wegener's Granulomatosis patient. I joined the US Navy for six years. I was born in Canada. All of these little facts cover the surface of myself. They show what I have done, but not what I am.

In the black water, under the lily pads, I am an introvert. I have a need to create. I learned a long time ago, that my talents had nothing to do with painting. Art and form are not my clay. I needed to use the black and white spaces in words. Before reading, before writing, I may have been a storyteller or bard. In my hand I would have held a mandolin, as I told the epic stories.

Or maybe not. I would have been female, I think. I would have stared at the bard with an empty heart, wishing for the impossible. Wishing that I was the one telling the story and entertaining the crowd. My days would have been spent washing and scrubbing clothes. Probably I would have stirred the huge lye pot. Or maybe I would have hung the clothes on the lines with wooden pins. Maybe I would have been fortunate.

I would have dressed the grand ladies, sprayed them with perfume, and watched them walk towards their knights. I know that as I live today I would have needed, wanted to create something of lasting importance.

I was once a Mormon. I was raised to be a "mother in Zion." It was not enough.

Weekly Anamnesis