author, death, empidermis, flesh, happiness, joy, life, manifesto-of-a-menopausal-woman, ocean, pain, poet, rebirth, religion, rmonaleza, sadness, sand, sea, skin, storm, suffering, survivor, water, writer
This journey of the funeral and the rebirth has been a long time coming and I really thought it was something that would come to a conclusion with the photo shoots and finishing the book. I was wrong.
Yesterday, it all came to a head. Fifty-four years of life came crashing in on me like the turbulent, gray sea did when Shannon shot the funeral. A well of emotions overcame me like the feeling of peace I had when the sun rose on my back and the water kissed my body during the rebirth shoot.
I stood before the mirror and asked myself, “what now?” I had no answer. The old feelings of inadequacy, fear, and self-loathing began to creep back under my skin. That woman I shed on a stormy August day was calling out to me. She’s the only side of myself I’ve ever known. The more subtle coaxing from the woman that was baptized and reborn in a calm, warm pool of water struggled to find purpose. The internal battle to embrace a new path in life drained me of everything I had left after this journey.
Then, I looked at my manuscript and the title jumped out at me. Rejecting 18 Square Feet, the average amount of flesh on the human body. The woman I shed cannot crawl under my skin, I left it among the waves, boulders, and sand along with the words from my first book, Manifesto of a Menopausal Woman. I threw the burning remnants into the water and the sea brought it back to me, with only a few words that survived the burning:
“concept of being…now, woman, I have become immortality and in return, touch my soul.”
That is all.