The Story of the Woman Who Could .. part 2

The Story of the Woman Who Could Part ll
By Morgana BraveRaven
~*~

The reflection in the mirror is familiar, and yet not familiar at the same time. The features are all there, eyes, nose, lips, hair, all the same, but changed. There are shadows. There is a shallow, powdery quality to the skin. If a slight breeze should happen through the open window and inadvertently blow across this reflection, it will vanish. Life and its experiences, abrasive, like sandpaper over her soul. Something has got to change, before she is erased by circumstance.

But what can change in this town where there is no room for change? She lives within a dead-end economy, and that reality is much bigger than she herself is. Yet, knowing this does not alter the fact that something must change. No life should be lived from a fear-based center where there is never enough. The constant shortages grate against ones very being, until you can’t remember happiness. Can’t remember laughing until your sides are so sore that you can’t take a breath. Can’t remember the beauty that surrounds you. The river that cut its way through the high cliffs of the valley. The rolling blue ocean that laps at your toes, or thick humid forests dripping with the heavy scent of pine that hangs from every branch, so strong you can pluck it from the air. This is all lost to her now. She is not aware of rivers or blue skies. The ocean has become nothing more than a force that drags her spirit out to sea with the tide. The peace once found along its barefoot shores carried off with the wind.

Looking in the mirror at her own vacant expression she knows that she must pull change out of this muck. She must find hope and a sense of purpose because the weight of it is suffocating, and dinner still has to be made.

~*~


Sitting at the bus stop on a sunny morning in early March, she remembers the card given to her by her grandmother on her eighth birthday. The world is like a mirror reflecting everything you do, and if you face it smiling it smiles right back at you… If it were only that simple, and yet sitting in the warmth of the sun on this bright March morning, it feels as though it could be that simple. Happiness certainly was simple when she was eight, and March mornings were especially grand. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, letting her breath go very slowly. For a moment she can feel the simple happiness of an eight year old. Tucked away in a fold of memory it pokes through like a glint of sunlight reflecting off a still puddle caught in the early morning sun. She smiles a wide, warm smile. For a moment the world feels bright. For a moment there is room to breathe and reprieve from the weight of it. She sits in the warmth of the sun, smiling, and it feels good.

At work it nears twelve noon. Anxiety waxes. It starts in her stomach, and tightens, coiling upward through her chest. It is heavy, the weight of it, and just before it becomes unbearable she closes her eyes and thinks to herself, I do not want this. I cannot do this one more day. She clenches her hands tightly, forcing her fingernails into her palms, I do not want this! She takes a deep breath, and opens her eyes. Outside the sun is still shining, the day still bright. The sun does not care that sandwiches must be made – it just shines.

And then it happened like a quick and unexpected slap to the cheek. Like a switch turned on in a cold dark room and suddenly there is light. Click!

What can change when there’s no room for change? How do you choose when there is no choice? She could not change that moment in her life. She could not choose outside of what was in front of her. At that moment, she was a mother with a job. She had to work, she had to move forward, and she had to let the weight go because it was too heavy to carry the disappointment and the bleakness even one step further. She relaxed her hands and took another breath. She smiled. Orders filled the screen in front of her: ham and swiss, chicken on rye. She made them. The sun still shone.

After work she did not wait for her bus. She walked, and as she walked, she observed the business around her. How long had it been since she had done that, observed rather than just passing through it, oblivious to everything but her own dingy gloom? In the streets children laughed. Someone dropped a coin which bounced with a ting before rolling off the curb. Children shouted. Children cried. Cars raced past sidewalks, traffic lights turned green, amber, and red. Bicycle bells rang, music trickled from open windows. Was that the scent of fresh baked bread wafting down the street?

The sun beat down on her face, and as she walked she became aware of her breath, in and out, so easily, like silk. She looked around. I can’t change any of this, she thought, not one thing. I can only let it go, and let it be. Let it be? Ahhh… not so easy sometimes. She could feel her hands beginning to clench. She could feel tension beginning to climb up her spine. She could feel her breath begin to stick in her chest, and she could feel the weight of it beginning to creep back onto her shoulders. She stopped for a moment, hesitantly. I can’t carry it any more, she thought quietly, and she walked forward, one step at a time, leaving the weight of it behind her.

Morgana BraveRaven writes exclusively for Sykaro Insights.
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Janet Legere, Publisher/Editor
Sykaro Insights
Since May 10, 2000

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