I am a mystic. A witch who chases to know and celebrate the soul and spirit and the truth of each, unique, amazing person. Yes, I am an Eve. On this Hallowed of Eves. This Eve of Halloween.
Gaze to me. Gaze for me. Oh let my gaze enter yours. Because I’m an Eve on the brink of Discovery. On the whisper of Possibilities. On the Promise of What Could Be and What Shall Be.
So, tell me, fair one. You, there. You. With that look of surprise in your eye. You, as you read my words. You, as you hear my intention and spirit. You, as you feel your own heart’s purpose. So do tell me, Fair One, You. What Shall Be? What, indeed, Shall Be?
On this Hallowed of Nights. On this Hallowed of Eves. On the Eves of Possibilities. Candy or no sweets at all. Tell me true. Tell me so. Tell me precisely because … I am an Eve.
I had the world on a string. I hovered over my own shadow, knowing full well that even if it had been fast enough or light enough or – inspired enough to emerge — it still wouldn’t take me over. Not the world or my shadow. They couldn’t even try.
Because today my hair communed with that of perfection. With the perfectly windblown hair of the impossibly self-actualized female standing out in the open world. Sky and clouds and the gossamer of earth’s leaves swirling about her. impeccably dressed yet artfully rumbled, and all while holding the world on a string. You know this woman, this hair. The perfectly tossled tangle of long shiny strands that cascade and flow about unadorned, clear eyes. They gaze out into the deep…deep into your stares and command respect while simultaneously pretending to be completely unaware.
Yes, today my hair transformed itself into Ralph Lauren model hair. Forget the Power Casual clothes. Forget the now giant polo horse that threatens to leap off of your chest, over your belt, and smack dab all into the middle of your pants.
All of this communicated clearly to me from my shadow.
I walked and mused. The hair in my shadow fluttered long into the day, headlong into the early Fall apple crisp kind of a day it was. The sun smiled upon me. The crisp in the air nipped. I gathered the center of my tweed jacket with one hand, tossed my leather knapsack further back over my shoulder, felt the thick leather tassle of the bag slap against my side, heard the lug sole of my leather moto ankle boots slap into the pavement in a near prance and approached the all-glass front entrance of a building I intended to enter. Then I caught my reflection. And I wondered who this woman was. Strong, feminine, accessible, smart, charming, open, capable, loving, desirable, independent. Long strands of hair blowing artfully into the day. Not arrogant about it. Not apologizing for it. Owning it. Wearing it. Being this.
Yes, I said to myself. There she is. The very type of female profile that just unnerves so very many.
Yes… I’m a Doll.