shards, shadows, and ghosts
October 25, 2012
I have been asked to find a spot, a spot that is mine, that speaks to me with and without words. To sit for ten minutes in silence, letting go of all that came before, all the noise that no one else hears, only me, the eternal internal track running without pause. Until…
I be where I am so I am where I be and I don’t even notice where I am until I see it through the eyes of other ladies and they hoot and the holler and they whoop it up and it occurs to me that what I have is so very good, and more than enough and I need not look because now I can see, and it’s like Amazing Grace, only less dramatic, yes, less dramatic is now me.
I am a writer. Finally, I can own this. First time I said it without thought I was at the doctor and he did not look impressed but why should he, I no longer sell myself. No longer pimp to my whore, no longer negotiate my innocence. I write because I be. I write as though it were air and air it is I breathe. I write, and then I forget. I forget what this means, this honor, this gift, this blessing, this curse, this everything I am so long as I am of the earth.
I am a lucky girl. I remember the first time I breathed those words and he looked at me confused, even doubtful, and I knew then he would be the man with whom I would learn nothing is my everything (yes) and it has been a year, not that he would remember or even care.
Yo soy como la bruja. I know things I am not meant to know and I am told things without words and I am told to keep talking, and to write, and to tell the world. And to not care for proof nor judgment nor reputation, but to simply tell, and to encourage everyone to tell, and if we all tell, there will be no secrets to fear.
And so I write—as I speak, and I discover my voice, my voices, all of those speaking to and for me. But me as I am, me obliterates, me disappears inside of the me that is me, matrioshka is my favorite thing. And so I write—for sanity, understanding, for compassion and fearlessness, To release the shame that vibrates, the fear that you never loved me because you didn’t, anyway.
I say everything and you say nothing and that makes it fair. Or at least even or at least I know I will never forget because I will tell all, but not about you, of you I will never tell a soul. Because
You will be erased, like those who came before, like those who know one knows, for they are not secrets but shards, shadows, and ghosts. They without substance and they without meaning and they without being are simply that. And me, I’m on my exorcism and I purge you from my flesh.