Skip to main content

naked abandon

revealing, skeleton-like edison bulb

I wrote this piece a year and a half ago.  The prompt was "caught up in the image."


Standing naked under a single bare light bulb, she was exposed.  There were no props, no masks to offer a shred of private dignity or security.  Her soul was stripped of facades.  What happened to the phony veneer of the window dressing she wore?  A pile of fabric lay crumpled at her unprotected feet.

Unfolding vulnerability was not part of her being.  Was it really anyone’s?  Perfection was the desired portrait, unblemished and flawless; performing like a horse or pony in the circus, always jumping through hoops and carrying out tricks at another’s whim.

Caught up in the image painted over her life, she struggled to fracture the confines of other’s applause. 

Under the divulging fluorescent, statuesque stillness enveloped her in quietness.  The deafening silence screamed in her mind of fear and inability, she stood suspended.  She was numb, frozen in time and place, unable to move.  Maybe the quicksand of approval would swallow her ever so slowly, trapping the fragments and debris.

Nakedness reveals flaws, disfigurements and weakness.  Impeccable perfection glosses over the richly etched character and patina.  Letting go in full abandon, she raises her arms high, straining for the single bare light bulb and its exposing clarity.


How often am I this girl?

Missy


If you have been mildly amused, challenged or inspired by what you have read, please pass on my blog to a friend, colleague, family member or even random acquaintance



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

the lights just clicked on

The lights just clicked on. The ones we hung outside last Friday when the day was bright and fair. Today it’s cloudy and cold. It’s dark earlier. So, the lights just clicked on.

It’s pretty. If I squint, the white fairy lights look like tiny gleaming stars. Bordering on gazing at an inky sky, dotted and specked with minute bursts of light.

Two Moravian stars with multi-faceted points hang. They sway with the breeze. Moving to the wind’s breathed music. They reflect in the open window; mirror images, star duets.

Santa arrives in a helicopter descent at the Old Mill. He sets up shop, elves and reindeer to join later. High fives, and shy giggles, the kids approach. Innocent, bright eyes wide open and hopeful.

It’s a magical and expectant season. It’s Advent.

Advent – the arrival of the awaited One – is more than my lights clicking on, the Moravian stars dancing and my grandkids’ wonder at the arrival of Santa. I love each of these experiences and the specialness of the memories.

A baby sh…

the quiet paradox

I'm a music girl, but I like the quiet. So, I live with this paradox. I see other enigmas in my life - some are trivial, others deserve attention.

Look at society. Our current culture is rife in a quagmire of nonsensical. We say we care and want to love, yet do nothing. Or, worse, we simply yammer on about how "somebody" really should be taking care of this or that. I'm guilty here. No stones are being cast.

Ergo, I turned off the music to sit in the quiet. What can be heard in the quiet is unreal; the birds waking up, the guy down the street is warming his truck, the slight ringing in my ears,  my thoughts. I can hear my thoughts instead of drowning them out with sound. Sound that I normally groove on.

When I hear my thoughts, I'm more aware of the paradox. Even as I sit, the furnace clicks off and the sound of the refrigerator is noticeable; a see-saw invasion to my soul searching and hearing.

My interlude with quiet is ending. The sun is pouring through the w…

excellent. how serious are you?

Have you been told you always say something? I have. Evidently, I respond with "excellent" and then ask two questions:

How serious are you? And, what's the vision?
Each could be asked independently of each other or in reverse order, stacked on each other. Answering one leads to the asking and answering of the other. I know, it sounds like a labyrinth conversation.

How serious are you? About a decision, about a change, about a direction or choice? If the answer is some laissez faire something, then nothing will occur. Serious action will not take place, and probably nothing will come of the thought. You see, the degree of seriousness creates movement. Movement, in turn creates a response.

I picture it like the proverbial mousetrap game - the dropped marble starts a chain of events.
What's the vision is directly tied to the serious question. The vision will determine the degree to which we seriously take things. A wishy-washy, obscured view doesn't require much. Howe…