Diaspora.
The taking of my community of selves and throwing to the winds of the worlds in which I walk.
Like dandelion seeds, full-ripe fluff ball perfect when held tight to my center…and with a quick out-breath, sent into the new and shot to chaos.
Except in my new-visions seeding, an invisible thread connecting to each tiny parachute, taking me into the more of life.
The more of who I consider myself to be.
Am I a doctor? A mom? A chef? A tattoo artist?
Today a chauffeur, tomorrow a seamstress, last week a plumber.
Horizontally expanding into more roles, wearing more hats…vertically enlarging my sense of self deepening mastery in those roles, and the diagonal ineffable.
The overlap.
A Venn diagram representing what I consider Me now looking more like a spirograph/detective’s bulletin board mashup.
