The Shadow Province

The Shadow Province

I have entered it, the Shadow Province. The part of my mind that is nothing but color and light and glowing fallen stars. I was on We♡It, which is currently my only social media, and I was struck by it. The Shadow Province is what I call it but truly it has no name. It’s the part of me that yearns for nothing more than to write, to create, to build up and tear down. It’s an ice storm and a wildfire all at once, burning my soul inside and out. It’s one of the few parts of me that I actually like. Here’s what the Shadow Province feels like in my mind:

The possibilities are immeasurable.

I have all this in my mind. Yet no one can see it.

The Shadow Province is what created Pocketwatch. My Mythical Zoo. Ashes to Ashes. Aiteall. Sardine, Sardine. The Ecstasy of Wendy. From Peeta’s Point of View. The Seek for Scales. Aaronautics. Sparking Fire. Loophole. Swimming in Stars. Tigers and Wolves. Dreamcatcher Island. Kismet. Red Gem. Peculiar. Dragons, Crushes, and Flying Water Tricks. All the stories I never finished writing. The Shadow Province also gave me the many, many poems that I’ve written over the years.

But what is the Shadow Province?
The Shadow Province is what happens when inspiration takes me over. It is very overwhelming at times and can actually make me exhausted very quickly. Everything I see, all the inspiring pictures… they all have a story to go with them. What happens is I see an image, and then my brain rapidfire makes up a story for it. Like for this one,

This one screams at me violently. It says “Help me escape! Help me, help me!” I immediately see a young woman running, kicking up the leaves that surround her feet. She’s crying, and her nose is running in the chilly autumn air. She wants to get away from her abusive partner and find a new life, but she doesn’t know where to go. So instead, she curles up under a thick-trunked tree. It’s cold. So cold. The wind is ripping at her clothes and the leaves are slashing her skin. Then, out of nowhere, it all stops. The wind is quiet, the leaves are still. She feels warm, as if the tree is enveloping her in a large leafy hug. And indeed, when she opens her eyes, she is not in the leafy woods. She is inside a massive oak, surrounded by the arms of a stranger. At first she fights it, but quickly give in. Her numb bones begin to thaw, and she smells… cinnamon. 😉 And that’s the end of the mini story flashing in my mind.

I can’t stop it once I’m in the zone. It drains me of energy very quickly. So many stories flash across my eyes as I scroll through photos, and it almost hurts. The aching need to be writing is painful. Oftentimes I will have to dance it off or do something creative before the pain will go away. It’s nice, of course, to get that burst of inspiration. But it never lasts.
And so here I am, stuck in the limbo of my heart and mind.

♡, Shortie

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