Wake, Woman!

The heaviness of snow in May.

A discount offer comes to my inbox for a hotel in the Berkshires and oh my God how quickly the truth of my story charges my every heartbeat, every cellular conversion, every fantastical ability to imagine. Whatever is here exists outside of every plan I've tried to devise until finally, I must acquiesce to the idea that there was and is no plan. There is cold May snow falling through soft azalea blooms. Beauty upon Love upon Light.

Suddenly the library work teeters out of balance. I'm out of my depth and challenged to look at what I do not know. How absurd the resistance to this! How cruel the terrorist of fear can be. It doesn't have to be this way. I choose again. In the meantime I begin to recognize how order, precision and attention to form becomes ways of managing fear and disruption.

I wake earlier and earlier in order to write or think or be. I ponder women on a pedestal symbolizing the restricting all other women. The sound of arrested wind falls from earshot. We are affixed in sexual and social roles which leads to psychic and even physical isolation. Is it all just a dream? I consult Medusa, to which she responds, “wake, woman.”

Maybe there is a good reason I despise looking in mirrors. What reflection is trustworthy?