Naked in the Shadow

The Shadow came and covered my place, my doorway, my face.  It was like having a solid steel block placed over my heart-space while I lay flat on a cold ground gasping for air.  

That damn persistent Shadow...

I have never stopped myself so consciously from writing before.  I never experienced so physically the effects of such mindful resistance.  I feel it now as I write.  

My whole life I've been told to write, or that I would inevitably be a writer.  I never wanted to accept such prophecy because it meant so many things that I somehow concluded would make my life a misery.  It meant I would be alone.  It meant I would never dance.  It meant I couldn't act. It meant I wasn't pretty enough.  I could never be a popular or fun person who attracted the company of other popular or fun people if I spent my whole day writing about all the crap that ran around in my head.  Funny - as nowadays none of these conditions hold my interest.  Well that's not entirely true.  But the recluse I feared I would be as a writer, is now actually how I choose to exist.  It's how I feel safe.  And now my head is full of thoughts that must come out - UNinterrupted.  Ha!  Isn't that it?  Writing is speaking your mind UNinterrupted?  

Anyway despite my resistance, -a lifetime of active resistance through a number of other activities and professions- I would still write.  Since the age of 6 I started writing...copiously.  And when the rush of thoughts would barrel through me, nothing could stop me from recording it.  Added to mounds of journals, I have so many napkins, internal book sleeves, and scrap papers with sentences, phrases, or whole passages scribbled on them.  I can't count how many draft documents I've typed, never written for public consumption mind you, just for the release I uncontrollably needed. 

In fact the only public consumption of my writing have been assignments in college, a mere handful of published essays and articles, and this blog.  I never tried to take it beyond that you see.  But in each of these instances, I was frightened when my work was well received.  The fright was that I made possible the prophecy of being a 'writer', and thus the Shadow that could rob me of the otherwise active life I thought I wanted.  

But this last month I felt suffocated in a way I never expected or experienced.  I would be sitting on my outside stoop or on the train, or doing some other activity when suddenly a rush of thoughts and words would come over me and through me.  I know this feeling so well and precisely how I've always reacted to it. But this time I would literally, consciously decide to let it slip away.  I would plant myself, sit it out,  STOP myself from grabbing a pen or running to the computer to write.  And that freaked me out.  It is freaking me out.  It's freaking my friends out too.  So much so that as I verbally explained this to one of them, my dear Vernice made me sit down immediately to write this in her presence to release myself...

So here I am, ...naked.

And here I will stay...embracing this prophecy.  Many thoughts have bubbled in this winter of introspection.  I was so still that if I wrote anything, it would be the only action and so...resistance. 
It seems awfully obvious now, and reveals me as a bit mad and slow on the uptake...but, of course I can do everything I've done before, just now it's time to openly embrace 'writing' as one of...  But on the way here, maybe it's okay, as Saul Williams said: "to throw away the pad and pen, and simply be the poem." Perhaps all this exploration has been to gather tales and living poetry to share; dispatches from a mad lab of endless searching for wholeness. 

Indeed.  And this search shall take me home, the reports of which will be shared through my lens and my pen.

Sierra Leone.  

It is time.