your shadow | no shame
Three weeks ago, after a Somatic Session, I spread a blanket out in the center of the studio’s garden for a picnic with a handful of my beloveds.
The occasion?
Taco Bell. Specifically, the 2016 Throwback Menu - an annual event wherein a person can experience the nostalgic flavor combination of a meximelt and a piping hot caramel apple empanada, among other savory special-menu items.
An occasion worthy of a precious little picnic?
Depends on who you ask, but if you ask the people I love, they’d tell you that this is an experience beyond compare, one that should not be savored alone; and so, because I trust my people on these topics, we gathered together.
Surrounded by enough grease-soaked bags to feed a family, we covered conversational ground that we hadn’t really walked in many months, and as the warmth of our remembered connection grew alongside the pile of discarded wrappers in the center of our circle, I started to notice that the sun had set.
Look up, I said quietly, more to myself than anyone else, but they all heard me, so we turned to see what the sky was doing with what was left of the light.
Now I’m not shit-talking a clear-skied sunset because I’ve sat on plenty of shorelines and watched with wonder as that glowing ball of fire crawled toward the horizon, but nothing holds a candle to what it’s like when there are clouds to catch the light as it leaves. It is as if the sun requires a witness, something to catch and reflect her light, something solid against which she can throw herself to remember just how stunning she is. And on this night, we were being treated to that kind of show. What started as a warm amber glow in every direction faded into specific points of focus where I’d call the color fire if fire could be a color. It was a scene that couldn’t be described. It was spectacular, but it wasn’t really the sun that made it that way. The light on its own was just light, but when it hit something solid…. well, that gave us the shadows and it was the shadows that made it so special. It was the shadows that made the experience feel sacred.
Which made me wonder:
Are we not the same?
And if we’re not now, could we be?
While I know that this culture of constant self improvement, of relentless Be-Your-Best-Self branding, would have us believe that we are nothing if not something to be fixed, I’d like to suggest that when it comes to our darker parts, they got it all wrong. They are not something to be solved. They are a reminder of the miracle that, against all odds, we are still solid, still standing, still able to reflect the light in ways that defy our ability to describe what we see.
Because, after all, there is no color that can capture a human who holds the balance of being both dark and day.
And so today, as the Fall Equinox draws our attention to this same balance in nature, may we remember that even the earth only holds the balance of both for a moment; so if some days are darker, then so be it. The light will return. She always does.
And when it’s time, may we be ready to our part.
PS - this reflection took root many months ago when I wrote this poem for our Outer Circle mailing, so I wanted to share it with you, too. There are just so many ways to see our shadow and I want you to have access to all of it so that you, too, can understand your darkness differently.
