My feelings take me to the edge. The dark and stillness whispers, nothing is quiet, but always these talking voices. They go this way and that, twisting and turning, tumbling and weeping. How should I contain the way I feel? Because sometimes the soul is overwhelmed, filled to the brim, it aches, it throbs.
What actions make us human? What actions make us their dark replicas? How should we act? Is every moment etched in time like words soldered in iron or can it be erased? Is every moment like shifting sand? Sometimes I have trouble distinguishing, as if the memories have drowned in to the bottom of a vast ocean, but thrown up by a raging storm, catching the moonlight, and finding a way to enter my mind, rousing my emotions, almost as if the waves were playing…
What is there that scares me, hidden beneath the waves of the storm? What is there that makes me stop, and why can’t I face the smashing walls of an endless sea? It roars, surely it should give me power, surely it should make me rise out of the vast depths, rise into the sky, unafraid, facing my fears. Yet I am but the remains of a long forgotten boat. I feel that I have lost my fight, lost the will to fight the waves, the sea. I have the air of one who floats, just floats… And lets the water take myself, my rusted hinges, my lost oars- lets the water take it all away.
We think those lyrics are cheesy; dreams, love, lights flickering, a pulse beating fast. It’s exactly what it feels like. The words suddenly make sense, the voices inviting. Blood pounding in my ears, I’m waiting and I’m watchful- should it feel like I’m touching 18 once again? It’s a blast from the past; the hope, the awkward smiles, the silence stretching out but no one leaves.
For me, was it the smile that crinkled at the corners of his mouth? The shine that lit his eyes? Infatuation… It’s a strange thing. I liked his presence, his walk- leaning back into the breeze a little, almost flowing but solid, steady. It’s when the music swelled in my mind, I swear I could hear the chords slamming. It’s when the lights played out to a vibrato that shook the air, that almost shimmered. I would have walked straight into those arms, had to grasp myself awake, out of the pleasant daydream, out of the inevitable.
We weren’t born wearing masks. Cloistered in the middle of a mardi gras parade, what’s the best defense? Like balloons, we can float. Like puppets, bossed around by the wind, hiding our faces, darkening our looks, kohl covered eyes, cherry stained lips, flitting from place to place. Pushed hard in the small of our backs, like going uphill on a treadmill, out of breath, searching for the flatlands…
Freedom is a strange thing. For the first time, I could walk on the streets, I could wear a skirt. I was free. I was free to feel, I was free to fall in love. Free, I could laugh, feel, I could drink in the rain and let my dress blow in the wind. But free doesn’t mean easy, free doesn’t mean there are no hard lessons, free doesn’t mean I can catch up to decades of progression in a blink. Everything is different but I belong; and everything is familiar where I won’t give in. Do I feel I’m too old for dresses? Could I sleep forever if I had the chance? Would I give up an awakening, a ray of hope? No, even if every day is dark and the sun never comes out, I won’t. There is something about life that keeps me here, something about chances, love, truth, that keeps me here. There’s something about emotion, hope and songs that keeps me here. Something inviting, a temptation, a taste, that keeps me here, that makes it hard to give up. To taste it again, to breathe it in, it keeps me alive, it keeps me sane. There are days I feel like I’m lost in a storm, days where I walk and endlessly walk. There are days it keeps on raining, keeps on falling, a constant tapping on the streets, on the window pane. For a moment, the sun comes out.
It’s one of my favorite lines from Carl Sagan’s Cosmos,
“The nitrogen in our DNA, the calcium in our teeth, the iron in our blood, the carbon in our apple pies were made in the interiors of collapsing stars. We are made of starstuff.”
I designed some self-prints and tried to give them a cosmic, meditative feel. I backed the frames with a sky blue painted wood texture (I also added barely-there embossed wood carvings to the texture).