kalokagathia
“Any ritual is an opportunity for transformation. To do a ritual, you must be willing to be transformed in some way. The inner willingness is what makes the ritual come alive and have power. If you aren’t willing to be changed by the ritual, don’t do it.”
I showed a friend my blog.
It’s too conservative, she says. It doesn’t feel like you.
What do I feel like?
A curve. There are less acute angles and more subtle bends. You are not a line.
When I was a child, I only wore black.
I wanted purple and thought it too bold.
Onyx. I was porous as the stone.
It took me a decade to learn the art of purging without self-mutilation.
The shadow will always be there.
A lesson in living is how to exist in the split of sunlight and shade.
I enjoy witnessing my dissent: it’s the angst that keeps me wanting.
The wanting is my raison d'être.
Desire is the distinction.
It is the willful hum that propels me through the moments of silence.
I appreciate the episodes of terror by virtue of my desire.
A young woman, I dress in seafoam green and calla lily.
My ritual of writing draws out the more delicate aspects of the wandering animal.
I crawl on all fours and become upright to clasp a leaf of paper and pen.
I write to purge. I write to disappear. I write to hold to insignificant details.
I write to be seen.
It is not a choice; it is a fundamental aspect of my being.
Upon waking, the thing I crave is not water, release, or nourishment.
I wake with desire; I wake to transform.
I wake, to write.
Photo, source.
