Who You Are Becomes You

Your life purpose is not about who you become as much as it's about what you release. Chords and String

What becomes of you? What becomes you? You become...what?

In Time, you become yourself.

Whoever you are -- who you can be sure to be at least until today -- you have already become. You are already everything you were meant to be. It's from this point on that you become more.

The life you have left to make reboots every second. If we stop the clock now -- what are you holding?

Wireless thoughts, digital string... Let's build your instruments.

What do you have? What do you do -- what are you doing -- Whom do you love?

Right Now THAT is what you have to work with -- That Stuff, Those Relationships, These People -- down here with you... all of them. The rest of your life is what you will make from this beginning. You're about to be cast into your future again, cast away on islands of now.

If Time were to bray out at you -- a loud buzzer, here, now a still frame capture on another button -- if we stopped the wheel of the world like a game of musical chairs -- what you got? Where are you standing?

Look around. Turn out your pockets. Turn out your corners, the closets, the creases in what you wear and the folds of what you pretend... Take a real good honest look around at the stock of your life.

It's not a test of character -- there is no judgment -- it's just an inventory... Take the simplest stock of your life.

Find all the Somethings you love, and all the Somebodies, gather them close enough together to embrace all of it as a whole -- THAT is you -- take note of what the whole of you exhales. Now, call out the two silliest, craziest pieces you got -- the two that least go together, the ones you think don't fit your picture -- and stretch a cord between them. Finer than a hair, thinner than a thought, big enough to be a notion.

Pluck it -- THAT is a note of your song. THAT is one second of your soundtrack. Strung out and strung together, these are the voices of your chorus. It's an orchestra you command and compose for.

If Time were to shout Stop -- pencils down... What are you playing? You're basically left holding -- at best -- a piece of paper and a string and a stick to write with...or break into a kite-frame.

Take stock of what you love here. Unravel it back toward the sky you found it in. Write it down and fly it back out there -- what only you can hold of life.