I must prepare myself. With warm smiles, proud of things accomplished, my loved ones open the door to a mountain of stuffs; of papers and books, and packages and essays, of scores of music and paints and pictures. My mountain. Mine to climb. That is everything that is not me but from which I gain so much not-easily-given-up praise and recognition. But not of me. I cannot believe it all fully, yet. But back at moments of home I can be myself, I can now afford to forget all else and remember me, to pursue again the becoming of me. There I find support, permanently, and trust. I trust myself, and I trust them with myself.  I trust what they say to be a reflection of me, even as I do not yet fully understand the reflection, and it is a reflection that is therefore not exactly my own, but slightly altered, slightly expanded, sharper, better.

There I remember: be yourself, everything's okay, you are something beautiful. But what about when they, the builders of this home moment, are not there any more, when I am alone in the world. I must prepare myself. I'm asked late last night why I read so much--with fidgets and stifled stress. "I must read it, it is on the list," I reply, "If I do not finish the book I will not be prepared." I have given myself that mountain to climb, not they, and as I discover more of life I find more to add and build my mountain higher, thicker. "Put the book down, away. Watch some trash on TV, relax and breathe, enjoy yourself," is my answer, and I Remember a little bit more. But what about when they are gone, when this has left me and I am facing the world on my own. I must be prepared. I look for those "eternal partners," to those places "where the candles are kept," to hold on to and keep with me forever so I will always have something to return to when I start to forget again. But even they are never enough.

I must be able to fortify myself, so I set my jaw, square my feet, my fingers close into my palms, holding on to me, and like a bull I lower my head and prepare to ram my horns into that mountain, though I am bloody and bruised. I will maintain my grasp on myself, I will not let loose, I will not lose me, I will not lose, I will not be overcome, I will not forget, I will know that my home is myself and all else is not; the world I know is not this world I see around me; do I lie to myself?  And I will not be discouraged! When the intimacy and security of home, of them, is gone, I will be ready; I will find my place to stand on this earth and be so braced that all stuffs you have for me through that door will not defeat me; and next you see that door open again you will see first the light of Me shining a thousand miles before me, and I will give you more beauty than you can stand to look at!