The feeling of being unseen is more common among those who search for truth, who look for true beauty rather than blinding glamour.
I am the music heard between the edges of wind and sea. I will speak and follow my deepest felt justices. My heart is an activist for voices unheard and unseen. I walk with the hurt and see into the dark. I listen and feel the stories untold. I am the dreams wrapped around my mug.
To disappear didn’t necessarily mean to die or be ridden of life; it meant to live within its pockets, where no one could see me or disturb me. This was a place I could be airy, like a winged thing, hovering over all and seeing all.
It is terrifying, arduous and painful work to discover, accept, and embrace all of who you really are, to let go of the story of being unseen, and to leave behind the paradoxical safety and comfort zone of your chaotic banging-around pain. It may feel insurmountable or impossible to believe ...