There was once a time in my life that everything was serious. Everything was an inner conflict and me fighting myself to grasp any ounce of happiness. Looking at myself on paper back then to what I see now is pretty humbling. It’s also something that I’m so thankful that I documented…
Letter to myself – August 4, 2010
“Blank paper. Staring at me viscously and in disappointment. How do I take my thoughts and emotions and place them down for everyone to see. How do I allow myself to become vulnerable; Vulnerable to criticism and the unknown. How did others before me do it?
Poe had his demons and an inner rage that needed an outlet. He had no choice. Holed up in darkness, he spoke. He spoke to forces and allowed the energy to flow. Oblivious to the light, he toiled aggressively to his art, to his voice, to the very thing that gave him breath.
Shakespeare captured the beauty. He held tight to the power and tragedy of love. He spoke with confidence and unfolded the amazing feats one was capable of; all to keep love from escaping. Inspiring, challenging and untouchable. Such romance and intrigue has passed. He has bottled up that time of sacrificial splendor and taken it to his grave.
I sit unmoved by my presence. My reflection is screaming at me to recognize an opposition. But I continue to stare with the same brown eyes as I always have. Permit the same amount of breath to enter my lungs and look away as soon the unnerving bumps rise on my skin, and punish me for recognizing nothing new, nothing pristine and nothing rebellious to the expected.
It is impossible to shake myself from within and even more of a challenge to enfold my arms throughout my existence and forcefully condemn the apprehension. But what’s in me, what’s continuing to push the blood through my veins, is not anything scented with darkness or an uprising of warmth impossible to evade. Instead it’s a knowing, a knowing that if I allow the sweetness to settle, the questions to go unsolicited, and the lock to remain un-tampered then I cannot, with the fibers of my very soul, embrace the purpose that’s buried.
And here I dive. Dive to the depths uncharted. Seek what’s to find and hold out the hand of permission to what could change me, to what could break me, to what could enlighten my blind eyes. I have removed the harness and laid down the shield of identity. To fear what will emerge is an emotion that I will no longer toy with.
Now quit the charade and put your big girl panties on.”
Can anyone guess what chess move I was about to make?