There are days when the air around me holds me up and gives me shape - not just human shape, but the shape of a person who uses her hands to make words, and her right arm to reach things, and who needs warm fingers against her jaw sometimes. My very own unique shape which maybe exists with its own inborn edges, or maybe is made for me, and remade over time, by the breath of Love.
I watched an opinion piece today on what makes us human. It was a poignant celebration of empathy and care for each other - and I came away annoyed. Leaving aside the arguments about man's conscious cruelty as a possible defining feature of our humanness, I personally think the question itself is divisive and unhelpful.
In my own opinion, what makes us human is that we have human bodies, human culture. Other than that, we are the same as trees and cats and blue-winged moths. (Which also have empathy and care for each other, by the way.) All of us souls who are gifted with, burdened with, given the responsibility of, bodies.
Don't ask me if I am human or not. Ask me what I will do for the world with my body. And how I will dance in the hands of the Love who holds it in shape. And what words I will breathe to give love shape.