I write here, sharing who I am and what I’m about. But you, the reader, remain anonymous to me. I’m curious to know you, too.
Tell me – who are you?
As words begin to flow from my fingertips with gentle abandon, I wonder who will be reading them?
What are you like? Are you enjoying this site? What do you really think of it?
What makes your heart dance and your soul sing? What books adorn your favourites list? Do you love your life? What do you wish for? Long for? Hope for?
I am curious…
THE CONVERSATION: Let's Talk About Tell Me, Who Are You?
The ideas on this site may touch something inside that makes you go, "Aha! Yes!" Some may irritate you because they don't apply or you don't agree.
Both are equally valuable.
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i found this because i was searching for myself, your blog and my blog have similiar names…
anyway a random flickering of bones on plastic and then your words sing into my ears, up my nostrils and through my eyes. and i read them automatically out loud…
who are you?
and what are you like?
who am i? who are we? who are you?
i sit for awhile with these questions. i can not even repond to the enjoyment or liking of your site because i havent read anything other than this post – which caught me. caught me and held me still and in raptures at the same time. i feel like this is what i have been searching for today. someone to ask me who i am so directly and with gently curiousity. someone so human as i feel too.
and yet i dont really know how to answer these questions.
i am me. always changing and moving and becoming and lessening and growing, in a constant state of flux, change and movement.
Dropping everything and finding i have all that i search for.
Heat and soul, singing and dancing? For me they are small things like cracking walnuts with the bottom of my boots, making sourdough bread, the sound of a teaspoon hitting the edges of a ceramic cup, singing while walking in the city when i think no-one can hear, making improvised performances of dance and noise, drawing all the tiny lines present in botanical structures onto smooth cotton paper.
Books? Wild Fermentation by Sandor Ellix Katz, Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, How Language Works by David Crystal, The Australasian School Atlas (1939).
Hopes and dreams and loves?
Yes, all of them. I yearn so much for something indescribable. Maybe it is belonging. contentment. acceptance of myself… its funny to type those things, because on defining they seem so obvious and i realise that those things are all present, its just myself that holds me back from myself.
and you? what do you truly hope for? who are you anyway?
why am i writing to you like this? flying forth and scrabbling in this rubble for words which mean something or can really… really, really? haha.
Yes, the curiousity of life.