swing and found woman

I was on a wooden swing, swinging in wide arcs across a large room, back and forth, from one side of the room to the other and back again. The swing hung on thick ropes, suspended from a bar across the high ceiling. As I swung, a conversation was taking place below. I believe I could have been included in the conversation but I preferred to swing, stretching my legs out in front of me as I soared forward, and curling them back underneath me as I rushed back, the wind in my hair.

Next, I observed a family (much like watching a film although I was present in the walls) particularly identifying with a young woman in her twenties. She had gone to live with her new boyfriend, not knowing him very well, about five years earlier. She had noticed that he could be petulant, and even, at times, cruel. Just as she was beginning to have doubts about the relationship, he had an accident or an illness that left him bedridden. His mother and brothers moved in with them, and they treated her like a house slave. They were almost despotic, posing as ‘good’ people and telling her that she wasn’t good enough. They established rules and had ridiculous expectations of perfection, also insisting that she do everything in a conventional and traditional manner. His behaviour too, changed so that he made unfair demands of her and treated her with derision. She responded by conforming to their wishes, feeling somehow responsible to her boyfriend and sorry for him. She became quieter and quieter, doing everything she could to please. She answered questions with what she knew they would want to hear, doing her best to be ‘good’, and eventually lost touch with how she truly felt or what she thought about anything. One day, something triggered a change. She ran up the street, feeling the power of nature, enjoying the warmth of the sun. When she returned, she had found a new lease of life. She began to make things the way that she wanted, not conforming to their rigid ways of doing things. I watched as she made jewelry: she glued different coloured bangles together, one on top of the other, with no concern that each should sit precisely, rather, they sat haphazardly, at different angles. There was a fantastic beauty in the asymmetric design of her jewelry that she loved. Eventually, she left the house; she was not held prisoner, rather, her own submission kept her there. She went to a school where she began to study art and design. She made an emerald green skirt and I observed as she presented it to a teacher, standing on the sandstone steps of the college. The teacher noticed the intricacy of her design, the fabulous colours and detail, as well as the inconsistency of her tailoring. She understood that it was deliberate and saw the uniqueness of it, the genius. The young woman had found herself again.