Marta Luzim’s Writing The Wave: Maya

Maya. Illusion…
A mask of betrayal and denial.
She lifts her skirt and knows that she will have dinner tonight. She sings her song and she knows a red rose will be thrown at her feet. She dances and swirls in rhythmic beats and knows her life sail across a bed of oceanic splendor.

Dreams of night, dreams of day, fantasy. All magic in the mind of a woman who knows only illusion. If she could only cry. If she only scream. If she could only…
I feel a speck of wind. Where did it go? I fall down and crawl across the carpet. I am so selfish that my soul has left to live in another place and time. Inside, deep despair. The kind that eats your insides out. The kind the makes you want to puke. Where is the trap door? Where can I hide? Where can I kill myself? Even death will never satisfy the bleeding hungry tongue that licks away at my open wounds. Will I ever smile again? Frank Sinatra sings. Will I ever dance again? Will I ever feel the rippling sensation of free love and quiet days.
Inside cracks
Good girl victim
Too much
Dead and bitter
Between two worlds
Whisper in the Night—Passion Wakes

My past haunts me like unrequited love. With passionate fury my memories awaken me from the deep slumber of denial and I find myself lost in the world I have chosen to live in…I sleepwalk with ghosts that whisper in the night and I hold my ears blocking their voices, aborting the emotions I once felt. I know if I ignore their lusting they will bury me alive…never to recover to see light of day.

My relationship with God has been dramatically dark and stormy with rays of joyful light at its best and infantile at its worst. I believe if I suffer enough or if I am good enough God will grant me my dreams. When She doesn’t anoint my every desire I hate Him like I hated my father for dying young and depriving me of his love.

Most of the time I run around in circles pretending I am dancing so no one will know that I am terrified. I live on the edge of fulfillment never being able to fully receive the magic and mystery of life…although I touch the mouth and eyes and lips of the unknown every time I blink or smell the fragrance of a rose…

My fantasies have built a prison around my heart and my inner eyes cannot see anything but my wounded past. I hurt like a broken winged baby sparrow fallen from its nest and relentlessly judge how I victimize myself when I am rejected or outcast by someone or something. This is my shadow and she follows me around like a stray cat, clawing at my soul. I can’t seem to shake her off my leg, and she is never satisfied no matter how much milk I pour into her black dish.
I cannot take her to the theatre, or to a restaurant or to the movies because she wants to sneer at everyone’s good fortune and draw blood from all who want to touch her. She is my incessant nightmare and before my head drops on to my bed-pillow at night she is the last voice I hear—and she says, oh so sweetly “You might die in your sleep tonight.”

I am seduced by exhaustion, my eyes wide with fear, trying to stay awake, but nonetheless my eyes droopily close to my dying. Darkness descends upon me and I dream another dream of life that shines light through the cracks of my window. I spiral into the void where I exist beyond the masks and veils I wear below the illusions I weave around myself.

Ah! Ha! There I am! Ah Ha! But who walks in the footsteps of my shadow self?
Who runs with the ugliness I call myself? Who? Who? Who? It is I the only person you
have ever really known. Come a little closer I say…I cannot see you…Are you a wolf in
sheep’s clothing?

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