My Art Voice goes writting
Let go. If it is out of place. If it is the past. If it confounds and confuses. If it eludes and deceives. If it is fake. If it mocks. If it is unworthy. If it hurts without healing. If it diminishes. If it disrespects. If the hands and heart are wounded until raw. Let go. It is not worth it.
Every year there's a date in March supposedly “celebrate” women. In the US there's even a whole month (March) to “celebrate” women in History.
I was always baffled that we need a day (or month) to be celebrated (yes I'm going countercurrent).
Despite the hardships, I've always faced life in a somewhat utopian way. The thoughts:
We should all be celebrated each day as the amazing beings that we are (even if we are the only ones doing so).
We are NOT the image that (a) distorted and biased person(s) has(have) of us.
One is NOT a failure (or looser) just because one wasn't born into money, AND hasn't built an empire worth more than what the average person earns in 4 lifetimes.
A woman is NOT a failure if she's not a mother.
A woman is NOT a failure if she's not a spouse.
A woman is NOT a failure if she got sick because she worried and worked too much to provide for her family.
A woman is NOT a failure if she burnt out while working in a venomous workplace from which she wasn't able to quit (bills are real).
A woman is NOT failure if she flees war to survive and protect her loved ones – a refugee is a complete human being, not a skin or some other physical feature.
A woman is NOT a failure if she flees from violence – or if she barred from fleeing by (an) abusive individual(s).
A woman is NOT less just because another woman decides to belittle her, despite the absurdity of that behaviour
These and so many other thoughts are the cause of me not “celebrating” International Women's Day (or for the US, Women's History Month). Instead, like Kaye Jones , I'm marking the important date(s). Never forgetting the “hard bits”.
The celebration I'll keep for all the other days – when I remember how astonishing it is for us to be alive.
Being heard. Is not enough. The words. The words are everything. I can speak to you for hours. Days in a row even. Just speak. Not talk.
Talking, really talking is something else. So much I wanted to tell you. To share. So you could know. And somehow understand. It would make it easier.
Alas the words won't come out. They are prisioners of an unknown force's volition. Kept quiet and hidden for so long that they fear the light of day and their own sound. Protecting themselves under a torrent of (too) frivolous or (too) formal subjects.
And yet... Yet they long to come to light (or sound). Even in just a simple whisper. The words search for you. Jostling one another eager to reach the person that inspired them. Sometimes one, two, or three eventually come out. However, there is no discernible order nor sense in them. Unfortunately, this leads to awkwardness and further silence.
I would prefer to say the message is funny and quirky. It's not. Just a (not so) hot mess. So... Being heard. Just not listened to. Nor understood. Not really. We do not talk. We do not communicate. We simply speak. Keeping the words – the real ones – inside until all interaction becomes uncomfortable.
Why do we do that? They're only words. Plain. Simple. It shouldn't be this hard. Probably they would help. A lot. If for nothing else at least they would set us free. Or closer. Or both.
For now the words are just mine. And when I open my mouth they don't even try to escape. My silence screams. Until I find a time and space to set it free.
Ever had those “no voice” dreams? You know the type... When you open your mouth to speak. And. There. Is. No. Sound. When one desperately “needs” to be heard.
They call it “bad” dreams. Why “bad”? Because just the thought of not being heard sends chivers down one's spine. Just to be clear – the terrifying kind of chivers. Again – why? Simple. Each and everyone of us yearns to be heard. The possibility of that not happening is felt as if one (as an individual) completely lacks importance. It's similar to the thought “I don't matter”. An incredibly terrifying feeling.
It is even worse when in a perceived dangerous situation one tries to cry/yell “inside” the dream. And. Again. There. Is. No. Sound. Like in that work of art of a movie “Inception”. In your head a complete reality full of everything that you actually recognize as real. “Outside” your body is asleep. Oddly enough if you get severely injured “inside” the dream your body perceives it as a severe (and real) injury and reacts accordingly. So you're no longer in a “bad” dream. You. Are. In. A. Real. Life. Nightmare. Somehow you created your very own “horror movie”-grade inception.
In “real” life though we are not solely at ease when the sound of our voices is heard. Sometimes just our thoughts being out there is enough. Other times the mere understanding by another human being that on a given day our eyes show a particular shade of sad seems to be enough.
So we keep on yearning to be heard. It also means that someone is also yearning to hear us. It's wonderful, marvelous, and so beautifuly rare when both sides meet and intertwine.
Taking the plunge is easier than thinking about it. Thinking about it creates a million scenarios 99.9% of which never come to play. The horror scenes frighten us away from action. They tell us that we are not enough.
Anyway. Here I am taking the plunge at writting. Avoided too much thinking time. Circumvented the horror scenes in my head. Already had too many bad scripts this month. Just needed a different screenplay.
Who knows? Maybe you were also on path of your own. Waiting to take the plunge. Maybe we can encourage each other on our respective roads. Maybe my voice nudges your voice. Who knows...