The Idea Of Me
I realize I tend to surround myself
around fears and self-protection,
an emotionally tough lesson I learned
from very early on; the women in my
life, my teachers. I get like this
sometimes, insecure, scared, anything
but confident. I feel so drained, yet
at the same time, I feel a strong sense
of emotional balance. I've learned
to trust my instincts, they're not always
wrong.
Last night I dreamt of wax, paraffin wax,
the kind you make candles with. I watched
it melt gradually over a burner, feeling a
symbolic alignment to it, not so much on
a physical level but on an intellectual level;
the way I arrange thoughts around in my
head, the way they come out of me a certain
way. It doesn't take long for me to find a
rhythm, there's great power in the weaving of
change, great ways to gently start over, with
growth, choice of direction and wholeness.
I feel like I’ve been blindsided again, there’s
that negative energy that always manages to
make itself known when you’re at your most
vulnerable. It seeps in, like the coloring and
fragrance you add to wax after it has melted,
when it calls you to the past, beckoning you
to connect A with B, through issues that must
be molded and resolved. It’s the same sense
I had when I held my sister’s favorite bracelet,
the Mexican silver one bought in Taxco with
the red onyx stones, the one that remains
scented by her. The patterns of colors are the
same, but the texture of the stones is so different,
one from the other. I pass my fingers over it, and
I get the odd sense of years moving backward in
time, and I am joined by the remains that are still
very much a part of my life and my heart. If there
ever was a foolish notion of happily ever after, I am
not consciously aware of it. I think that kind of role
requires trust; faith and support, in sync with soul-
expansion; natural, healthy that doesn’t make you
question your own sanity.
It’s funny how the layers formed on her bracelet. I
wonder if they always felt abrasive-like, when Jose
first presented it to her as an engagement gift, a
promise of true love. I’m sure at one time it needed
some fine tuning, some adjustment made because it
was too big for her wrist. There must have been
reassurances, good, exciting, and worthwhile;
something special that made her feel genuine about
expressing her experience with all; something
awesome before it went scary, before everything
liquefied and slipped away.
I can visualize myself out on the ledge of our high rise
threatening to jump just as she did, when Jose left
her for that Japanese girl, the one he said was sexier
than She, the one who wasn’t carrying his baby. I don’t
know what qualifies full grounding, but I do know
it doesn’t come in the form of loss, and certainly
not in the form of a miscarriage. When the rug has
been pulled out from under you, you tend to fall before
you even know what has happened and I’ve learned that
sometimes you can’t even shake that feeling of
apprehension, that will always be a part of you,
waiting for the crash, the fall. It’s about the same
time where you stop talking, when you no longer
feel the need to keep anything from anyone nor to
tell everyone everything. My mom was the same way.
She had all these vague frustrations that often found their
way to a leather belt, onto my bare skin. It was called
discipline back then, but I knew better. It was in the way
she held that ring. Not her wedding ring, the other one.
All her hopes and desires just exuded from that ring. It
was strange and intense to witness, especially when she
didn’t know I was looking.
My brother, now, he was unique. He was the epitome
of the necessary strength and courage one needs to
go on, intuitive, but dismissive of it. I never saw him show
any sign of emotion other than the one time when dad
passed away from cancer; my brother held my father's
eyeglasses in his hands and cried, there were no words,
and he cried for less than a minute, but I remember. And
I remember he never showed weakness again. Did you
know that some candles hold their sense of peace, even
when there are corresponding physical changes? I’m not
so inclined to color or scent those candles;
I just let them be. I’ve got a better insight now, I think.
Some conversations are best left for later, some, never.
I wonder if all men are like my brother, all women like my
sister and mother, particularly within the family structure;
esoteric. I find it curious what we base knowledge of another on.
For most people, it’s in what is said, you know, that kind
of inherent activity that spills out of their mouths. But, me,
I know better. Individuality is like the dynamics of melting
wax, like the dynamics of most women, who hold deep
secrets within their essence. It's not always what they say
but what they don't say that defines them.
--
Belle Green is a is a self described free spirit and former elementary school teacher turned writer. Her work has been widely published in various print and online magazines and she has received numerous awards for her writing.
