Vagueness aside, I am feeling compelled to write words out of their hiding. All of the poems, stories, reflections and essays I create are rarely shared and I am now confronting myself about their secrecy. Why do I keep my words hidden on pages darkened by a closed book? They sit silently on my bookshelf as if they were never written at all, shared only through my imaginings of releasing them in zine form, blogs and articles. I have been the only person to open those books, feeling temporarily recognized by the Other I imagined myself to be as I read my own words. My paradoxical love and fear of self-expression has twisted me into many layers of Fantasy that allow me to feel relief from internal tensions and safe from external judgement. But it is time to stop this tendency that ultimately keeps me feeling isolated from the rest of the world and especially those people I hold most dear. If I have learned anything these past couple of years, it is that participating in the Real and grounded world is where true fulfillment lies. To dream up desirable situations and live them inside my own head is no servitude to personal growth but rather a stagnating habit that makes a fool of me. Time to get real.
No comments:
Post a Comment