"The Fog" is what many "Adoptees" come to use as normative language to describe the absence of knowing what happened to us. I learned from Dr. Carr that i need to generate language that can hold my ways of knowing what happened. or, to say it in a me way. in this essay, i bogart The Fog in a black way.
The mirror hung like Fate; in balance- a finicky lie, already. What we called balance presupposed us Atlas. Worlds. Shoulders. Roped into this. Hung, like a body in the Mirror: it was a black body, framed. Like a mugshot: a God captured. in time. What do you call a portrait of a hanging God? Jesus?
The balance i tote like a high wire act is saying i mean what i say when i say i saw Moses as my first mirror- not in it, but as it. The palace? Before they went bankrupt (i was 8) we lived in what i called— at that time— A Mansion. But in The Mansion with the hung mirror and the resonances of sacred old stories, it was me, not Moses. In the mirror, the boy made a choice to forget. Everything. Each and every day…including how i got here.
i forgot that forgetting was a choice i made to survive being alive where i was thrown to. i forgot i was thrown, too. But i never forgot how much i loved reading about Moses. i was told it is called being “Adopted”.
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