Evagrius Ponticus wrote:
When you pray with tears, God will pay close attention.
I just had mine colored. For the first time. In ten years.
It is not as light as I imagined it would be. . . honey brown with golden highlights, so soft and warm I would want to wrap myself in a rusty orange piled blanket as the sunlit hues radiated from my flush cheeks.
Instead, my hair turned a darker brown. Cinnamon. And when I drop that plum top over my head and wrap my neck in a soft salmon-colored gauze scarf, my hair glows with a purplish-scarlet cinnamon hue. Soft. Rich. Vibrant.
This was my hair color when I changed my last name to Ségor. Sexy. Sultry. Razor-edged. Short hair that framed my face. I penciled my eyelids with dark eyeliner and lengthened my lashes with even darker mascara. Painted my lips with deep plum colors. Wore clothes that young skinny women wore. Re-birthing myself through divorce. Freedom to be me any ole way I liked.
Now here I am, re-birthing once again. Divorcing myself from the shell of a work persona that fits me no more.
Were the gods playing with me that day? Even my hair stylist was dumbfounded at the turn in color. “Consider this a beginning,” he said gingerly.
Oh, I don’t think either of us realized the deeper meaning of those words. This hair color for whatever reason has become, once again, my re-birthing color.
Though I many times feel womb-bound, caught in the quiet, dark unknowing, there is a part of me that knows I also am reaching out into a new light.
In the 60s, Hair symbolized, not only a form of defiant expression against what was happening in the USA and the world, but also freedom of exploration and expression in a young generation emerging from the deep pains of war and racism, looking for truth in the world and authentic meaning in their lives. We pressed against the boundaries of what was deemed possible, what we were told we could be. Hair in all its tactile, mangy, eloquent glory was a grounded, physical, visceral expression of our hopes and dreams. Perhaps hair has always carried humanity in this way.
Who knew that coloring my hair would bring up such deep memories, and leave me with renewed meaning and profound encouragement for my journey? Hair. From tired, gray and ashen, somehow missing flaxen; no nest for birds, there ain’t no words for the beauty. . . the splendor. . . the wonder of my Hair. 🙂
Today I can say that I have never lost touch with my initial experiences. All my works, all my creative activity, has come from those initial fantasies and dreams which began in 1912, almost 50 years ago. Everything that I accomplished in later life was already contained in them, although at first only in the form of emotions and images.
to a vast
She feels the
cracks in the
In rhythm with
in and out,
fresh on her
as she snuggles
soft, warm blankets.
She rolls onto her back
The space heater
flashes red and green
Her body sighs
She could take off
rising up on
soaring out the window
an expectant dawn that
over the ocean’s
her return to
Her heart washes
As wind howls
and stars press through
the shadows of night.
incense of a
thousand million years
infuses her body
in this place.
foam to a
she is not
only in a
rusty and worn
over the years.
Reading some of the pieces I have written to date on my Healing Woman Project–seem sloppily sentimental, meandering, skimming the surface of what I want to say, not focused, short. This same thing is true (well, feels true) about much of my heart story writing. Although I believe there are some well-written sections for both.
On one level, I realize that this is a natural movement through the writing process. But there is more to it than that. I want to spiral deeper. I want to take the next steps now. Allowing this critique to filter through as a helpmate for my writing, I have decided to take some action to move my writing along toward being as meaningful, useful and clear as I aspire for it to be. So, here are my commitments to my writing:
And see what shows up. This is a fresh entry point into an endless path. I hope it helps me hone my craft, as well as create movement in my writing between a deep place of knowing and words on the page.
When you enlarge your mind and let go of it,
When you relax your [qi 氣] vital breath and expand it,
When your body is calm and unmoving:
And you can maintain the One and discard the myriad disturbances.
You will see profit and not be enticed by it,
You will see harm and not be frightened by it.
Relaxed and unwound, yet acutely sensitive,
In solitude you delight in your own person.
This is called “revolving the vital breath”:
Your thoughts and deeds seem heavenly.
(24, tr. Roth 1999:92)