My Secret City of Being

Stark silence drips with my troubles of the past, when I, Candace Deegan, a newly married woman, would step upon this green. On my return here, all is not the same. Unkempt shoots of leaves and flowerless stalks blow wildly in the breeze, reaching for the smallest drift of light. My long white dress flaps madly, clinging to my legs and restricting my movement. I do not know what to expect in my present state.

I live in the throes of love misplaced, like Miss Havisham in Great Expectations. My white wedding dress clings desperately to a wifely state that never grew to its full fruition. In this dress, I would run across the long winding corridors of our home upon this green; winding in and out of rooms; trying to find a place to be in the stark, loud absence.

Shiny objects and gifts did not appeal to my heart, which yearned for deeper connection. Still, the dress remained my sole attire, even as it began to fray, its stitches flying loosely in the breeze. It was a dress that was given to me by my mother; her own wedding dress that I had always desired to wear on my own special day. A dress that lingers with my mother's scent and love and my own special transition into wifehood. It is a gown that I feel is eternally shamed by our broken situation.

The house's silence grew louder in my isolation, shrinking me to the size of a hat stand by the front door way. I was barely noticed as Jarad entered and exited; hanging his hat on my outstretched arm, which yearned for his embrace; granting me small nods of recognition and leaving me with an arm load of emotional paperwork to file away. He was a busy doctor, attending to needs of the local village. My matters seemed so trivial and unimportant compared to the more serious illnesses that he would share with me at the dinner table. Parts of myself shrivelled deeply within, leaving me shrouded in an overwhelming silence. It was a quiet that first bit away at me, trying to gnaw its way out of my confused being. After time passed, dominated by my isolation, the silence accepted its state, habitually accompanying me through wifehood.

The time came that silence and its distance reached its limits. Jarad chose to sleep away from home and I did not see him for more than a year. Standing in the big, silent house, I felt as tiny as a single droplet of water in a river. I tried to scream, to release my pain, yet all that escaped my mouth was silence.

The tall, white picket fence arose a month ago, blocking the view of the winding, long driveway that once led me home, amongst the Banksia bushes and tall cedar trees. A path saturated by the rising dust of time spent, which would cling tightly to my white dress, like precious, clutching memories. It was billowing dirt that carried my hopes along this pathway; moments of our limited walks together and my dreams of a happy wifehood. Moments that were ever present, yet distant and far reaching.

At times, when the sun would set, I would feel my being seep into a silhouette, embraced by the increasing darkness. It would be a small moment of comfort, allowing me to disappear from the fading home and marriage that I had once desired to make work with my whole heart.

Presently, my spirit is torn and rising, desperate to peer above our disillusioned walks along the past pathway, which is now hidden behind the picket fence. I wish a bird’s eye view of the path might grant me with a clearer insight into happier ways of life. I could learn to catch my stark, silent drips and help them to form a river. Its waters would crest bravely, expelling my inner torment into the eternal air.

This wild, unkempt green, displays its depths of unruliness. A brave fighter, it is a member of my Secret City of Being. It is a green that is neglected, yet still finds a way to continue to thrive in its loneliness. I secretly admire its courage, under such adversity. Every shoot that persists to bloom in the lifeless soil is a true mark of the green’s courageous survival.

As Autumn’s leaves scatter upon my hair and shoulders, I close my eyes, feeling the wild kiss of the wind on my skin. The breeze is a constant accompaniment for me in the noiseless echoes; pulling at my being; testing my will to continue to stand and to press on ahead. At times, with the wind striking against my heavy, long white dress, I feel like a kite that will not set sail. Instead, I flap about madly and relentlessly in the non-directional breeze.

The enormity of the road trekked alone and its weight have left me overwhelmed with a flood of noise that I cannot settle. This green, now abandoned and wild, still sticks to my feet, reminding me of the life I once lived. An existence that seemed to cast a deep, unrelenting fog in my brain, as I tried to find my way and feet. I was lost in the fog's thick vapour, deeply yearning for love.

A love that I wonder would ever exist at all.

Now my body is a stark, floating vessel that searches wildly for its land. As time passes, the view’s fog thickens, leaving me skimming aimlessly across deep river waters. Depths that I dare to sink my bare feet into, feeling the sharp pulse of my life’s city beneath my soles.

It is a world that I have created for my Secret City of Being. Accentuated by tall, peaked roofs and swinging doors, the buildings in the city crackle with the fire of life’s pulse. Like pit stops, the underwater sites fuel my zest for living, giving me courage to express parts of myself that I have buried for so long. They are a refreshing break from the long, lonely corridors of my home past. To be able to step into smaller, warmer buildings and to reconnect with my emotions, even if I am still silent, is quite a relief. My most private gratification is to stand atop a sharp roof apex and spin wildly in my white dress, a free woman, in the salty waves.

Today as I spin, the drips of my silence finally spark awake. Renewed with vigour, they voice their guidance: Awaken yourself.

My stark, floating vessel kicks into gear, streamlining across the freshly rising river waters. Circling my underwater city, I gather all my thoughts and experiences that are stored privately within its spaces. I no longer need to bury my instinctive feelings, as they are beginning to bloom forth with life.

Raw are the feelings that begin to flutter deeply within me, like loaded messages on unravelled paper. I am flooded by my being that once buried underwater, is now thriving deeply within my soul.

Staring down at my reflection, I pay attention. I am here, my hair billowing in the breeze; my white dress flapping against my skin and my cheeks flushed with the pink of life.

I no longer feel alone. I am comforted by all that I am and who I am yet to be.

I inhale a large breath of anticipation. Mouth dropping open, I release an excited scream that bounces across the breeze, heading towards the uncharted horizon.