Isn’t the real me
What you see is someone behind a veil, a milky, shwoozy shadow of a person whose attitude, opinions, secrets you think you understand. You accuse me of being stupid, shallow, insipid but what do you know? You think you can see through to the core. But you can’t.
I never talk about the things that really matter to me. The kids? Yes, of course they matter, but I don’t talk about what’s going on in their lives–their romances and dramas, health concerns or the things they do that irritate me–only how much I love them. I might read Athena Review or Dr Hawass dot com religiously. I might howl at the moon with my daughter and dogs every time it sits like a Venus of Willendorf over the trees. You don’t know my politics…or my religion. You might guess. You would probably be wrong. Don’t make the mistake of thinking that because I don’t discuss these things or debate them with you that they do not exist.
Quiet is part of me.
In many ways we all live behind veils. We make them, hang them up around us and hide back there waiting for someone to quit trying to see through and pick the damned corner up to take a full-on look. Why do we do this? Why do we hide like we do? Like little hermit crabs in our stolen shells, frightened all of the time that someone will expose our tender little bodies (souls) to the light and air.
Exposure is frightening. Opening is frightening. Letting go of our control is almost impossible.
To those who I have hurt, I apologize to whatever tender part of you I mistreated. To those who have hurt me, you are forgiven.