They were not holding hands, but their shadows were... All the time, no matter what they were doing... the three shadows that shot out their feet to the left held hands. -beloved A thought that has been on my mind is the experience (or, for those of us who are used to more technical jargon, the phenomenology) of the shadow. The shadow accompanies us wherever we turn. The light--that external something that supposedly allows for other things to emerge--is foreign to us, is not a part of us, is not us. But our shadow--our perpetual companion in the foreignness of the light, the blackness that always reminds us of our presence, connection, and relationship with the world--is us; it is who and what we are, part of our personhood, our self-understanding. And for this reason, it appears that all of us, despite our race, despite our desire to separate according to whatever set of parameters one might decide to draw up, must reckon with the blackness that is us, is part of our being, is our reminder of our being-in-the-world. Blackness is generative; and the shadow reminds us of the generative potential of blackness itself.
Posted on: Thu, 06 Mar 2014 15:59:15 +0000
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