Sitting in it\u2019s dark ——– just staring<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At the blackness. Blankness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Walls Without Windows.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Screaming so loud that no one can hear<\/p>\n\n\n\n In the isolation of my still infinity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Unmovable arms, muscles pounded by waves.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Strength dissipated by the struggle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Each year another breath of water<\/p>\n\n\n\n Engulfs my being, body and brain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Dying Alive. Dark Death.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Arms at my sides grabbing for life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Rocket screaming energy propels me from a watery grave.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Into the Red-Orange Sky.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n I wrote this piece on May 15, 1978. My marriage was ending. I was about to become a single mother to two young sons, and I was terrified. Since marrying at twenty, I had not worked outside the home. I was facing a frightening future with no particular skills for earning a living. Visions of starvation and homelessness enveloped my very being every day and every night.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But there was a core deep inside me that propelled me. A belief within me that I was born with. A silent confidence. Not something I was groomed from childhood to believe. Not something that was instilled by outside forces. Certainly not something that was supported by outward measurements of success.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I somehow knew I\u2019d find a way to make a life, a good life, for my little family of three. Because of this core belief in myself, I did make that life for us. There were setbacks, tight money in the supermarket at the end of the week, long hours of commuting to a decent job, the heartbreaking sadness my sons were feeling at the loss of their nuclear family. I propelled us forward through energy, flexibility, intelligence, planning, and complete commitment. I refused to be a victim of circumstance but to make my own future.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I did in fact, propel myself out of that watery grave. I showed my sons that I could work hard and build a career. That starting over is not an end, it\u2019s a beginning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Notes on the illustration: In September of 1974, \u201cThe Red-Orange Sky\u201d is the first oil painting I ever made. I was taking Wednesday evening art classes at the YMCA near where I was living in Queens Village, NY. Each week, all the students brought in calendar photos to use as models. A year later, I enrolled in college to major in art.<\/p>\n\n\n\n On November 16, 2013, using Photoshop, I digitally added the rocket explosions and fireworks to the oil painting image to illustrate this earlier writing of mine.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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