Welp, it’s been a year, hasn’t it?!
Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I was ever going to come back to this site, or to writing, or maybe even, to myself.
I didn’t know if I was going to come back to myself.
It’s been one heck of a year.
I’ve been like Alice lost in wonderland. Lost in the wonderland of my mind, lost in the wonderland of my soul, and in the wonderland of the universe. MY universe. And it has been a journey.
“Whoooo Arrrrrrrre Youuuuuu?” says the caterpillar. His voice and question repeats in my mind like the soundtrack to this elusive consciousness of mine.
How many times do we have to go through the looking glass to find and understand all the tiny facets of our complicated souls?!
I suppose the amount of visits isn’t the point, really, but that we keep the Journey Of Self going. We keep moving and shaking and grooving, and sometimes, even breaking. Breaking to the point of no return, or wait, of new construction. New dreams. New ways of being.
Obviously, this is not my first rodeo in wonderland. I mean, I’ve lived enough decades to know the rabbit hole exists and the questions are always illuminating. Maybe it’s my mermaid nature. Fluidity to a downfall–so easily swept away with all the currents and tides in life. Maybe, though, it’s just the human condition.
If there’s one thing I DO know (besides being a mermaid, of course), I definitely know that I am a writer. I know that when I design patterns of words I feel better.
So, here I am. . .moving and shaking and grooving to the beats of this thing we call life.
Lately, I’ve been stuck on a song. Does that ever happen to you? I discovered it at random and the lyrics just went ZING in the crevices of my soul. The words and thoughts are put together as if they came from my very own lips, I swear. It’s a song called ‘Alaska’ by Maggie Rogers and it goes like this. . .
Poetry has held me in its arms since I was a little girl. Words said in such ways that paint pictures and feelings and so many emotions like deep reflections of the self totally make me stop everything and ground.
There have been many times in my life where I couldn’t process a situation and I just needed to “walk it off.” Exercise is a great stress reliever, but there’s something about walking specifically when I’m upset that really burns it off. With every step, the pain, or frustration, or sadness just melts away. “And I walked off you. And I walked off an old me.”
The imagery in the opening words of the song are so vast and serene. It makes it seem like this situation needed a really, really, really, long walk. And I get that. Too much. Footsteps shedding away old layers of time and self like a snake crawling out of its old skin. These notions are like soul recognition, and I dare say, damn good imagery. I can see every line so clearly.
But the line that really got me, the line that sealed the deal. . .
“Cut my hair so I could rock back and forth without thinking of you.”
In my early twenties, I had a moment in the shower where I felt so frustrated with my current situation that I wanted to just shave my head. Like, do something drastic, instantly changing. Hair stores so much information. It absorbs the surroundings, it grows from your thoughts, and it defines uncountable notions.
Cutting off hair is like cutting off old energy, old memories. Maybe the length of hair reminds you of the place someone used to touch your back, or how it felt while dancing, the thing that was admired, or the way you define yourself.
“Rocking back and forth” has connotations similar to this, but it also expresses deep emotion, perhaps even, a sort of despair that is so visceral and utterly, passionately tangible. In those dark moments before a rebirth of consciousness, we return to the womb.
I won’t bore you with the countless experiences and situations that I’ve had to walk off in the past year, or in my life so far, but I have deep respect for space and air to breathe when the time comes.
“You and I, there’s air in between.”
That’s how I feel about wonderland now. The rabbit hole of my mind. The situations. The thoughts. The feelings. The memories. There’s air in between. There’s space for me to process, to reflect, to let go, and to think about what the caterpillar says while I’m above ground.
Like finally coming up for a breath of air after dwelling in the bottom of the sea. . .as mermaids do.