am I one?

Who am I?  They often tell me I stepped from my cell's confinement calmly, cheerfully, firmly like a squire from his country house.

Who am I?  They often tell me I used to speak to my warders freely, friendly and clearly, as though it were mine to command.

Who am I?  They also tell me I bore the days of misfortune equably, smilingly, proudly, like one accustomed to win.

Am I really then that which other men tell me of? 

Or am I only what I myself know of myself?

Restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage, struggling for breath, as though hands were compressing my throat, yearning for colours, for flowers, for the voices of birds, thirsting for words of kindness, for neighborliness, tossing in expectation of great events, powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance, weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making, faint and ready to say farewell to all?  

Who am I?  This or the other?

Who am I?  They mock me, these lonely questions of mine.

Whoever I am, Thou knowest, O God, I am thine.

 

-Dietrich Bonhoeffer

After reading this several times, I've decided I'm relieved.  

We are so much more whole than we can understand, but these questions of identity do mock us; they do pick and prod and leave us restlessly lonely.

These questions come from a dismembered and lonely residence, and that is all that they can reflect.  But whoever we are, we are one, not segmented, and not in pieces.  I, of course, struggle to remember and see the oneness in myself: pieces are easier to control and manipulate, if sad and solitary.  Let us be whole beings, believing that we are connected to all of ourselves at any given moment, and as such, we have love and envy and light and anger.  At any moment, we are connected to that which overcomes all things with unmitigated love because we are whole.