Lisa Jackson
spirit
While a drum beats in the background, a jaguar stalks majestically through the jungle, its powerful muscles rippling. It emits a throaty growl before ambling playfully over and lying down at my feet. ‘It’s far too big and mighty – this can’t represent my Authentic Self,’ I think, desperately trying to conjure up more appropriate, less ferocious animals. How about a tortoise? As a slow marathon runner, I am convinced its ‘persistence pays’ persona is more me. Or a raucous macaw, embodying my fondness for chatting? But no, the jaguar keeps returning until, eventually, I am forced to acknowledge it as my Authentic Self.