"Our inner being which we call our self, no eye nor touch of man or angel has ever pierced. It is more hidden than the caves of the gnome; the sacred adytum of the oracle; the hidden chamber of Eleusinian mystery, for to it only omniscience is permitted to enter." Stanton
In her finest speech, The Solitude of Self, Elizabeth Cady Stanton reflected upon that place deep inside each of us where we sit alone. It's here we struggle. Confronting our purpose.
In solitude.
You know of it. That inner chamber called self. Depression's hovel.
We desperately try to share it. For empathy not love. For someone, anyone, to see how we see. Feel what we feel. Agree to our worth.
There's no entry to the sacred adytum. It's known to one. Only one. Self.
Hoping to reveal what's inside, some of us write, compose, paint. We wrap our works in emotional viscera that cannot escape our solitude, leaving mere bones for others to consume.
Here are allusions to a hovel known as my self.
To you they're bones whose flesh could not survive your gaze.
- alk