Journal

영

I've grown to adore my mother and see her with an air of equal light and darkness. Sometimes I'd shift and the light would change as well. Shadows surround her as she would beckons me into the recesses of her mind, showing me her train of thought and the different stations she harboured. Other times, the light would be so bright it seemed blinding, singing my fingertips that were reaching for her and making me equally as wary of her.

In these moments I have to shield myself with my own shadows and ready an offensive tactic to act as my spear. I would say this mirrors the extent of my emotional intelligence once put under pressure. Some may call the use of a shield and spear primitive, but others call it a catalyst for development and expansion.

The darkness provided room for light to see and by extension guiding others engulfed in their own shadows. I'd have to say what baffles me the most would be how she too seemed blinded by her own light. Unknowing of how I was hurt by her passionate outburst of light, she would continue to show me her arsenal of weapons bearded towards total destruction, leaving me no room to discover the expanses of my own mind, held captive to the light.

I'd blamed my mother for so long. Unable to produce my shadows, I thought she'd forever blinded me, left me defenceless to a world full of deceivingly glimmering souls who only sought to sear people. I hadn't realised I was glimmering so brightly, fuelled by my anger, grief and resentment towards the people around me, that I dazzled myself and charred those who tried to teach me. I felt like Phaethon, unable to control my sun, and I was growing weary. Was I too destined to leave a burning trail in my wake and struck down?

I grew tired of beaming and blazing, searing those who came near me. I wanted to extend a hand in turn, throw up a sign of surrender and be welcomed into the cool arms of those I'd burned. I isolated myself and shrouded myself in my shadows and left no hope to shine through. Afraid to see my world, unfinished when it was turned to ruins and ashes. I began rebuilding, feeling around in the dark for the correct placement of each and every brick, only hoping I was putting the pieces of my life back together in the right order.

I'd have to thank her, however, for the lack of sight allowed me to hone my senses of touch, hearing and smell. I'd stumble around, falling on the ashes of my mind. Now, I walk with a mild sense of confidence, a softer touch mindful of the ruins, aware of the fading fetid mess of what was once fresh. Instead, I rely on the sound of the crumbling stations of my mind that left nowhere for my train of thought to dock. Although, I was left to wonder how to turn the ashes into walls and boundaries successful of deflecting more capable offensive strategies.

As the occasional person would come around and scoff at the rickety structures that were my terminals, I grew weary. My heart grew black. I grew absorbent of emotions around me and I grew aware that in the dark there is safety and danger. I took comfort in the dark, it told me when others around me were brimming and incandescent. It whispered to me the functions of and maintenance of the meagre stations I built, training me for attacks and teaching me defensive measures. It encouraged me to build more stations when I felt like burning them down. It felt as though Nyx was with me, showing me how to rebuild my own Hades and turn away from the Tartarus that had become of  the light. She came to brandishing a promise of the sceptre and horn of plenty, and I eagerly accepted.

I needed to learn the beauty of the dullness of  grey. I still have to learn when to become grey and deflect to protect myself, to let go of some emotions so as to not remain brimming with other peoples sentiment's. The various shades of grey provide both protection and reprieve.