Day 5

Viewing 3 posts - 1 through 3 (of 3 total)
  • Author
  • #30403
    Leanne Matton

    What is hidden?

    “One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light,
    but by making the darkness conscious.”
    – C.G. Jung

    I am not a mother or a daughter. A divorced only child, long estranged from parents, one of whom is now dead.

    As an adoptee, I did not share history with my family. As a military daughter who moved regularly, I did not share history with my schoolfriends. An unknown, without the prerequisites to grow into myself and be known, I followed the path that led to another identity.

    I was the black sheep and the sacrificial lamb. The scapegoat, the stranger, the sinner. The foreign material pushed out and rejected by the body(s).

    Inside the shadows were the artist, the writer, the musician, the animal lover, the sensitive introvert, the nature lover, the mermaid, the night owl, the listener, the comedian, the adventurer, the thrillseeker, the comrade in arms.

    I shine my light on them all. I welcome them belatedly to my table.

    I also welcome the selves that were birthed beneath the table: the traumatised, the quiet, the introspective, the tearful, the alone. I set a place here for them too.

    Those below I have never truly known, who want most to surface now. Truth and Love and Grief. Keepers of the hidden gold, beginning to light the darkness from within – the truth beneath the lies, the spark that never went out under the layers of Not Me.

    The shadows have shielded and protected me from attention because any attention threatened harm. But I release that story of invisibility. I exist, and as I release the story I uncover the light that was there all along, safely hidden away.

    Shine your light into the dark places. Welcome all that dwells there. Come out of the darkness.

    Tell us, what is hidden?


    What is Hidden? I like the table metaphor. I’ll just type now and see what happens.

    The room my table is in is dark but a warm light shines low over the table. The shadows are comforting. There is a feeling of safety in the room. It’s only us in here. Slowly, gently, one by one, some of us creep quietly forward to sit at the table. Two of us touch hands- we knew each other long ago. Eventually all the chairs are filled. Some of us still hide in the shadows, not yet ready to be part of the melding.

    I cannot hear what is being said, just soft murmurings. There is more gentle, reassuring touch between some of those who are seated. A child slips from the shadows and sits on someone’s lap. A baby is rocked. A man stands close to the table, his tall staff shines with wisdom and strength. Now animals quietly appear. The room is crowded but not uncomfortably.

    There is a pause. A feeling that all who are ready are here. I stop to breathe as my mind is wanting to step in, guessing at what will happen next, trying to prevent anxiety. I see a row of low, sturdy candles on the table and know I am to light them. As I do, more candles appear until there is a row of bright light meeting the glow from above. I can see faces more clearly now.The faces of so many of my lives, so many of my aspects in this life.

    I sit at the table in the only vacant chair. I am one of the many. I belong.

    I am here, I am with you all.

    Leanne Matton

    Seadreamer, such a joy to read this – the gentle tentative kind compassionate coming together of long broken apart pieces, old friends reuniting in the light, and you being calmly present with each and every one ? – witnessing in awe.

Viewing 3 posts - 1 through 3 (of 3 total)
  • The forum ‘Writing Down The Dark’ is closed to new topics and replies.