I like to think I’m independent.

Unique.

Self-contained.

I treat my actions

like they only belong to me.

I’m never acting alone.

I’m always in relationship with and to something.

Not with other things.

To other things.

Inside of other things.

A system.

A pattern.

A whole.

I don’t exist outside the system.

I exist inside it.

My choices interact.

My presence echoes.

I forget it.

I look at a part of it.

My part is to make sense of the whole.

Like trying to understand the body

by only studying the hand.

Or judging the health of a tree

by staring at one leaf.

It doesn’t work.

The part doesn’t tell the story

without the whole.

The loop of individualism without integration.

The illusion of separation.

The myth of autonomy.

When I focus on my task,

my tension,

my truth,

I lose the thread that connects it all.

I stop sensing the system.

The human body doesn’t live

organ by organ.

It lives as a whole.

The heart doesn’t get to say,

“Not my problem.”

Neither do I.

What helps me remember,

re-member:

I’m not apart from.

I’m a part of.

When I return to the whole,

my actions find context.

My contribution finds connection.

My meaning finds alignment.

We are always inside a system.

It’s not a matter of choice.

It’s a matter of awareness.

Are you relating to the whole

or performing a part?