A repetitive quality…
Every so often I think about my journey of breaking the silence and speaking my truth, often from a place of fear and emergency and within the context of the specific levels of awareness and information or knowledge I had each time. Also the journey of breaking the silence and finally allowing myself the right to expression, whether that was through words or images, have so far perhaps proven, at least to a certain extent, to be two sides of the same coin. It certainly has not come easy for multiple reasons, like unresolved trauma, the layered texture of experience, harassment, conditioning and cultural imperatives, as well as, persecution, and has in the end being an act of constant courage. I have tried to speak from a place of vulnerability in a cultural environment that does not support or even allow… this. As I look back at the countless posts I have written or created, Let me be, the posters I mounted on street walls or the numerous letters I have sent to public services, etc, I think of how I would now have done things a bit differently or less awkwardly or from a place of better knowing or calm. However, edit or judge all this work or forms of expression of experiences I realise that it probably could not have been done otherwise because it was and is a process and a journey, and it was born out of despair and indignation and a nagging, persistent aching voice within me saying that it is everybody’s human inherent right to be free and safe. It was born out of the need to protect myself and others and to stop the crazy ‘business’ around me and it was born out of my need to safeguard rights and dignity. I think we all live our life according to our level of consciousness and each post or letter or act reflected my level of consciousness at the time and was also defined by the amount of time and energy available and external circumstances. So in some sense I encountered increasing levels of harassment and violations of rights and privacy mostly with the armour of my truth, no matter how fragmented, hurried, partial or anxious it seemed to pour out of me at times. Read more ..