Most people get to wait until mid life to undergo an identity crisis. I don't get that luxury.
Who are you, in the twilight, when you're all alone with your thoughts? Who am I?
Not easy questions to answer. Not easy questions to ask.
I am a dreamer. A seeker of knowledge. A soul lost in a vast ocean, miles from any land. Thrown into the waves of upheaval by forces I cannot control. A creative who lost touch with a spirit that drove her. A spirit she now seeks to touch again, needs to touch again, to sustain her. Grasping for a life raft, for something, anything, when it feels like nothing surrounds but emptiness.
So we go back to the beginning. We start again. Find solace in the far away lands and fantasies we were always able to escape to. Where we could be strong, powerful women in our own right, where we were no longer tiny and ignored. Where passion drove us to assert ourselves and demand a place in the universe that was uncompromising, untouched by the pain. Where we twisted loneliness into strength and painted masterpieces with sorrow. Where we were understood without words, where we needed say nothing to open ourselves to others and show the wonder and beauty we held so close.
To dream in color, untouched by shrouded nightmare of reality. A pure place, a safe place.
Start again. Slowly unfurl like a cat stretching in the morning rays of an awakening sun. Shine light in the dark, dusty cabinets and brush away the cobwebs.
When the right words fail, make do with the ones we have. The visions are so much richer, so much realize in our minds that to try to touch them, describe them, share them is an exercise in futility all its own. To not see the forest for the trees, yet oh, the trees.
When nothing makes sense and logic fails, stop trying to force order and control. Embrace the waves. Splash, swim, relish in the weightlessness. Float, flow. Allow yourself to be swept away by the tides. Stop struggling and let go.
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