eclipsed

I am my body of work.

Ever incomplete. My changeling child always in utero, delivered to me from some more supernatural source in exchange for a portion of my humanness. An inward spring that moves the vessel.

The lines between my body, my art, my home, my appearance, and my words should become, according to my wishes, absent.

I have eclipsed myself. I am more than the human I was.

We are required by cycle and alignment to transit our own umbra. Head turned in shame of shadow self, only to unveil more absolute and lucent than before.

[red pencil on black cardstock – drawn at moon in umbra]

Hemingway said, “There is nothing noble in being superior to your fellow man; true nobility is being superior to your former self.”

This night, we watched a full, harvest moon eclipse. A supermoon as well, in perigee. This super blood moon eclipse last occured 33 years ago.

At present, I am 33 years of age.

At present, I have eclipsed all former selves.

A practice of chest expansion, shoulder blades pushing together, stretching fascia between ribs, pulls forward and up the heart.

[graphite on cardstock – drawn at moon in penumbra]

There is a groaning release of pain and a slow gasping in of abundance.

The term “eclipse” comes from the Greek ékleipsis: “the abandonment”, “the downfall”, quite literally to “forsake” or fail to appear.

I have seen the crumbling of my old structures. The downfall.

And in our own death, is our own birth.