The Shadows Know…

Posted by admin - 09/07/14 at 08:07 am

A pale cream hue caressed the jagged rocks of the quarry.
First dawn, when pitch darkness turns to light, a time of awakening, a time to watch the shadows melt.

I stand, next to the cacti and gaze across the ridges.
So many nooks and crannies created by shades of darkness hides creatures large and small, hideaways soon to disappear as the raging fireball rises.
“Nature’s magic,” I thought to myself.

I love shadows.
I love to hide in them, the sinister feeling that comes over me when I step from seen to unseen, as if I had my own special secret.
I love to emerge from them into the brightness, a metaphor for overcoming life’s inevitable vicissitudes, sensing and embracing small victories.
I love to stand partly concealed, the mysterious detective observing his prey, neither present nor gone, a limbo state that shifts with a single step to the right or left, in or out of the dark.

Who lurks?
Who sits and waits?
Who visits the terror or remembers the bliss, quiet, alone, in a shadow?

Throughout the day, the shadows dance.
The long, gray tendrils that stretch the length of mountain and beyond give way to short, black pockets, places to take respite.
Later, they begin to elongate, to scratch their way back up the hill, to open up those dens and lairs where daytime critters take refuge.

I look for colors in the shadows, soft purples and burnt reds.
I like the way they turn vivid for a few hours only to retreat into subtlety as the sun turns down its mighty rays.
Not so different from all of us, from passion to stillness, to rest and all stops in between.

How much of ourselves do we keep in the shadows, afraid of what others may think, of judgment, of scrutiny?
What might happen if we let the light bathe us, expose our vulnerability, allow intimacy to take center stage, if only for a brief moment?
What would they see?

I often wonder why we tend so oft to run, to withdraw and withhold, to conceal and shroud ourselves.
What if we didn’t?
What if we cast aside the cloaks and the veils, stood before the world and declared our presence in all its imperfect glory?
Would they vilify or appreciate, condemn or praise our courage?

Does it matter?
Do we so need their approval to show up and play full out?
Yes, no, black, white, light, dark.
Cycles within cycles.

And always, we live the shadows…

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