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  • Epifania Amoo-Adare

Who AM I? Notes of a Wanton Child

I AM still in the process of evolving, even though I could say that a certain core part of me is more-or-less set, in stone. But if asked to say what that part of me is, I will be hard pressed. All I know is that I am often not what people see me as and I sometimes surprise even myself. I also find that as I have gotten older, certain rooted parts of me have either died off or gone so deep to sleep that I am not quite sure how to excavate them. One such part of me is the daring adventurer, which has gone to stay, alongside the abject fun lover.

I BELIEVE, I can fly. You know, soar above my current existence, which of late has very much felt like someone else’s life that (ironically) has been constructed by me. This is not right, especially for this woman who in her childhood used to dream of flying every night. Where is that free spirit? And what has this staid imposter done with her? That is exactly what I would very much like to know.

I WANT to be me. Surely by now this fact is very clear to you and most certainly it is for me. I want to be the unruly child that I was: the one who aspired to models like Beryl the Peril. Not so much to be naughty, but rather to be free; free from unwanted burdens of good societal behaviour; free from ascriptions of appropriate female demeanour; free of the limitations of becoming a good student; free from the harsh nature of the boundaries of reality’s daylight. You see that is why I always flew at night, in my dreams, where no one could try to stop me. And it is those dreams that I need to resuscitate - giving them mouth to mouth in my mind’s eye. After all, now that I know that thoughts form cells, just think of what I could manifest with the power of my own lucid dreaming.

I KNOW what it is to not be quite me. But what I am yet to know, is how I can get myself to the fullness of being; basically, moving myself to the artless art of an existence that is free and wanton. Not in the Ego’d nature of that word, but rather in the intangible form of the Integral Way, where my life energy cannot distinguish itself from that of other life forms and in that space, intellect is overwritten by the indescribable lightness of being. And now, even I do not make any sense, because none-sense is what we truly are—the complete fullness of being no-thing and no-body.

I THINK too much, therefore I am not capable of being in this present without a weighted anxiety: anxious to be more than what I am, yet recognising that I do not exist in reality. This is a conundrum, one might say. But is that not what all life is? It is simply a puzzle of energy, manifesting in various forms and dimensions, and in many cases cancelling itself out in a Big Bang of coming into being.

I WISH: a loaded term, filled with so much potency and regret, and this has been my current state of existence, fortunately, soon to be sans regret.


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