Personal labels have become a great source of disinterest for me. It used to be I was greatly curious about labels. I loved to try them on myself, like a new outfit, to see how they suited me.
“I’m a writer.” “I’m spiritual.” “I’m a healer.” “I’m a poet.”
Sometimes they fit for awhile. Sometimes I found them quite becoming. Other times they got kicked under the bed quickly. I was equally curious about the labels other people chose to wear. I thought this told me a great deal about them. But I realized labels are a deflection from that reality. A label, for me, has become nothing more than clay smeared over who I really am in order to appear as something else.
The clay is dissolving. I am not these things. I only am.