Shadow/Self
“Ye who read are still among the living; but I who write shall have long since gone my way into the region of shadows. For indeed strange things shall happen, and secret things be known, and many centuries shall pass away, ere these memorials be seen of men. And, when seen, there will be some to disbelieve, and some to doubt, and yet a few who will find much to ponder upon in the characters here graven with a stylus of iron.”
— Edgar Allen Poe, Shadow—A Parable.
Autumn now greets us in its majesty, and as its throne reflects our hopes back at us, it is heralded as the sunset of the seasons. Within its court, light exposes itself to us head-on, casting the longest shadows; allowing us to expose ourselves in turn. What we fail to see in the budding spring and in the indolent summer, as the underworld comes to life, is the underbelly of reality. As you look behind your shoulder, afraid of what lurks in the dark, you might come to realise that the waters you were born wading through have always been far murkier. To prepare ourselves for winter, the season of hardships, we begin to search for companionship. And it is then that we notice our one true constant companion, our shadow. The darkness that shall set out behind us, and what we must learn to recognise as our own. The hand that we reach out to, trusting that the calluses on its palm will complement our own. The negative space that defines us, makes us more tangible. We are briefly children yet again in its remembrance, human in its understanding; we watch our friend bounce off corners, change as we start to pin it down, and grow up alongside us. Like children, our playmates are the sounding board of our questions when our parents are too tired to answer. Why is it that one's hatred for what is within overshadows any good they have to offer? Why is it that no matter how far we push it back, in our race against time, our shadow still follows? After the blistering heat, is the value of the shade more recognisable? Under a veil, can we still trace lines we are familiar with? Before one lies the crown, the sword, and the quill. What is behind one, only they know. In Autumn’s exalted palace, whose shadow does our eye fall upon first?