“Before You Were Born, Who Were You?”


The rain has opened the door onto a new world. It’s not just the same world gone grayish and damp; the birds are out there telling me there’s more to this changed day than that. Despite the headache that kept me from writing this earlier today as planned, I feel celebratory, quietly so. Two cats are curled on the rug before the fire; one husband is sipping tea on the couch and the thirsty plants outside are sipping the rainwater. Michael says, “Just as I think the sun is going to come out for a little bit, back comes the dark.” The dark of night is one thing; a dark day is another.
Thich Nhat Hanh wrote, “Ask a cloud when is your date of birth? Before you were born, who were you?” Easier to ask that kind of question on a quiet day like this one. Monterey poet Laura Bayless wrote, “Were you ever the river/ that finally flows/ to its mother sea?”
What questions approach you more willingly on a day like this one? Who were you before you had the body you live in now? Were you ever that flowing river, reaching its mother sea? Plenty to write and draw there!