i. Writing by candlelight is not nearly as romantic and inspiring as it sounds.
ii. I am so very afraid of revealing myself.
iii. I have a deep longing to be known – to have those I love know me fully.
iv. The dim, flickering light makes it difficult to write, to stay in between the lines and keep my writing legible (yes, plain old pen and notebook!) Those stories where the heroines write volumes of perfect prose by the languishing light of a solitary candle?
I’m sure Austen had an oil lamp, at least.
v. The wavering light of a lone flame sort of evens out the visible; it lowers the contrast between light and shade. The shadows aren’t as deep and the places the light reaches hang behind a yellowy-grey veil which is never quite lifted.
vi. I think I’ve lived most of my life in candlelight, afraid that a light source with more integrity and stability might leave me exposed and vulnerable,
every wrinkle and dimple clearly visible
stark contrast between what the light illuminates, and what it casts into shadow.
vii. A candle allows you to see – but only just enough for outlines and glimpses and impressions. It’s sort of like watching a parade through thick, foggy, smudged glass. Everything is hazy and muffled. The candlelight smooths gently over imperfections, but it also dulls those beautiful realities – it raises the valleys up but lowers the mountains. A candle casts eerie shadows and plays tricks with the eye.
It is a means for disguise.
It allows illusions.
viii. I think the closer I am to someone and the more invested I become in a relationship, the further back I tend to shrink into the dim places of the candlelight. I live my life in those ephemeral shadows. The closer I am to someone, the more I have to lose if revealing my true self results in rejection. And somewhere along the way I became absolutely convinced that to reveal myself in the full noon sun of a summer’s day will result in rejection of the acutest kind; that if I step out of the candlelight it will be revealed. I’m not afraid of being disliked – I think I could handle that – I’m afraid of being passed over, of going unnoticed, of not mattering, of being no importance. That if I no longer fulfill a purpose, and become
just only what I carry in the confines of my skin and my fragile soul
that it won’t be enough.
ix. My greatest desire has become my greatest fear, and I have watered them both down, numbed them out, brushed them off – because to acknowledge them disturbs the equilibrium that I have convinced myself is real life, and as good as it gets.
x. doing anything by candlelight is really hard on the eyes. wearying. it makes me drowsy, inefficient.
But it gives me something to compare to sunlight.
What about you? Do your greatest desire and greatest fear seem to correlate?
(Is anyone else as self-analytical as me?)
I have made changes to the comments section, let me know if you come across any difficulties and I’ll see what I can do to fix it.
More thoughts on sunlight to come.