Animé Me

When I picture myself I in my mind, I do so in a variety of ways. There’s the image I see in the mirror, and let’s face it, we all have an inaccurate view of what we see, don’t we? Then there’s the way I picture myself when doing chakra activation, like a hieroglyph picture of a person, all linear and beautiful. There’s Bullet-Proof Girl, who’s more like a cardboard cut-out to put in front of the real me, when Real Me is scared witless. And then, the picture I want to chat about, there’s the (mmm, I’m unsure of what to call her….) subconscious, emotive part of me, I guess.

Her, I see as an animé-type cartoon girl, in a very specific setting. This started probably about 2 years ago, when she started out as this character sitting on an athol probably about 2mx2m, with her head down on her knees. She only very rarely lifted her blonde head, to reveal tired, sad blue eyes, shiny with tears. Then, she progressed to getting up and pacing this Lilliputhian island, calling to someone. I could never quite get who she was looking for, but the emotion she projected was desperation, laced with a tad of hysteria. She stopped calling after a few months, and even the pacing finally came to an end. She sat down again, which in a way, was even sadder than the calling. I made an effort for a while, not to think about her, and not to look for her in my mind.

These days, when I think of her, she’s walking briskly along a dirt road in a jungle somewhere, and doing this funny little sideways jig every few steps. Her heart has lost the heaviness, and her eyes are shining with smiles, like she’s trying hard not to laugh out loud at a private joke. She makes me wanna share the smile, and her happiness makes me catch my breath, before I settle down. I don’t know where she’s going, and I don’t much care, as long as the jig and the sheer joy stays, I’m good!