She slips through my fingers like memories made of sand.

Know thyself, and you shall know all the universe.

Gnothi seauton...

Sometimes I feel like I can grasp her. She's a collector, a writer. Sometimes she's the eternal child.

Who are you?

I can feel my heart beating. I am breathing. My feet touch the ground. I hear the rustle of play and leaves. I am about to get hungry but I still have some time. This much I know.

"I" becomes "she" again.

A woman wiser than me looked at my palms and said I am better served if I never put myself in a box.

I throw away the collector, the writer and the eternal child.

What is this thing called self knowledge? I see a philosopher sitting upon sandy shores by the ocean, pondering, discovering what science would confirm many lifetimes later.

I start to think about you... are you an electrician? Or a father or a mother? Are you an artist? Are you your work or your passion or both? Are you a dancer? Are you what you like and don't like? Are you what you wear? Does your heart beating in your chest feel the same way that mine does?

I know some of you. You have made dinners for me, with love, and those taste the best. Is this magic sparkling off of your busy fingers as they ready the food? Are you the actions of your loving hands?

She slips through my fingers like memories made of sand and I look at her. She is the whole beach. Some grains I will never touch again in this lifetime, others will appear in my hand and surprise me impacting me from the past, present and future. I look at the waves lapping upon her shores and wonder at how much of her is submerged beneath the ocean.

Maybe, when I look at her tomorrow, she is no longer the beach, but the ocean.

Is this the magic of knowing yourself?