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I am Caribbean womanWhite-Black-Indigenous.My historical past points the way toward my center.My center is a mystery, a confused abysskept in collective oblivion,a veiled heritage,murky,wrapped in an embroidered veil meant for Sunday mass.A veil that takes vows,a veil of hushed voices,of sweet garmentsand restricted movements.My center reveals a truththrough subtle imagesthat have journeyed with me for so many years,laden with conflicts,with familiar landscapes that seem simple.To enter that centeris to accept repression,is to encounter the often-denied multiplicity of lifeseen from different angles,is to convince my heart of its vastness.To open.To let in.To let out.To summon.To let it flow.My center, formed by fragments,by portions of my life and the lives of others.My center—a woman that is part hand fan, part flower,part Indigenous queen of the mountains,part Black doll made of cloth,part White virgin, miracle worker,part geometric seals wandering,failing in the unconscious desire to hidewhat cannot be hidden.This is me,Caribbean,a woman of all shapes,of all sizes,of all colors,of all roots.A womanwhose centeris a mosaic.MY CENTER IS A MOSAIC