Becoming myself

Last weekend I went to the amazing Kripalu yoga community to spend some quiet time and do a whole lot of yoga, healthy eating, and introspection.  Before I even arrived, I ran into a beautiful yogi, Sheila McVay, owner of Johns Creek Yoga in Georgia.  She was warm and friendly, and immediately I felt a connection.  I came home to cyber stalk her, and on Shelia's blog I found this poem, and when I read it, I teared up a bit.  This is the path I am on.  I am becoming myself.  True. Grace. Flaws. Hippy tendencies.  All of me. Rooted in love. 

Now I Become Myself

A poem by May Sarton

Now I become myself. It's taken 

Time, many years and places;


I have been dissolved and shaken,

Worn other people's faces,

Run madly, as if Time were there,

Terribly old, crying a warning,

"Hurry, you will be dead before--"

(What? Before you reach the morning?

Or the end of the poem is clear?

Or love safe in the walled city?)

Now to stand still, to be here,

Feel my own weight and density!

The black shadow on the paper

Is my hand; the shadow of a word

As thought shapes the shaper

Falls heavy on the page, is heard.

All fuses now, falls into place

From wish to action, word to silence,

My work, my love, my time, my face

Gathered into one intense

Gesture of growing like a plant.

As slowly as the ripening fruit

Fertile, detached, and always spent,

Falls but does not exhaust the root,

So all the poem is, can give,

Grows in me to become the song,

Made so and rooted by love.

Now there is time and Time is young.

O, in this single hour I live

All of myself and do not move.

I, the pursued, who madly ran,

Stand still, stand still, and stop the sun!