I can't see myself in the mirror

Magenta Wise wrote this story, included in her 'Kill and Cure' collection, to illustrate how women are viewed in the patriarchy.

"Women have so many talents," says Magenta, "yet all too often are judged by how we look, rendering us invisible, especially as we get older. It also seems relevant regarding the covid virus, and how more isolated we have become as a result. I never thought I would write fiction, but one day I got an idea for a story, then another and so on. They are all in different genres and voices, some uplifting, some challenging, but hopefully all entertaining. In addition, I have published two collections of poems, a book about Archetypes and human consciousness, and I am working on another collection of stories. I use my own artwork for the covers."

Pay a visit to Magenta's author page author.to/MagentaWise

I’m Invisible

I can’t see myself in the mirror. On the occasion when I can get the attention of other people, I ask them if they can see me. They act as if I’m mad and say of course they can see me. But to my eyes, I’m not there. I look and there’s never anyone there. No matter how many times I peer and squint into the glass, whatever time of day it is, or the size, angle and location of the mirror, I see nothing but my surroundings. I’ve tried wearing different outfits, dresses, jeans, different coloured tops, but it makes no difference. As I’m told I do have a reflection, I suppose I’m not a vampire. I don’t feel like a vampire, I’m not one of those people who fantasises about them and wants to fall in love with one and drink blood and become one. In fact, I find all that kind of thing distasteful, and of course other people say they can see my reflection, so I’m definitely not a vampire. What am I though? Most of the time I’m invisible.

Sometimes I don’t care, but at other times I have what you could call a panic attack. I feel so scared, I want to cry and shout and scream, but I can’t catch enough breath and the sound of my thumping heart would probably drown me out anyway. You see, in spite of what people say, I’m not entirely convinced I’m actually here. I know that sounds insane, but for years now I’ve noticed that people ignore me. It really is as if they can’t see me. I can be standing in a shop waiting to be served and the sales assistants always attend to other people and leave me standing there. The other customers don’t seem to see me either. It’s the same in restaurants, I seat myself at a table and the waiters take orders from people at other tables and don’t notice me. In the past I would shout really loud to get attention, and so I must become visible when I try really hard, but these days I avoid going anywhere that necessitates other people seeing me. It’s too much like hard work. I’d probably have starved to death if it weren’t for those serve-yourself tills. I can go round the shop, whisk the barcodes through, enter my money or credit card, pack and leave without the stress of having to make myself seen.

I’ve always been like this. I was not what you would call a pretty child, with my mousy thin hair, small brown eyes and skinny body. The cute girls got all the attention, particularly the blonde blue-eyed ones who knew they were pretty because people were always telling them so. I noticed how they made the most of it and got more attention as a result. I wonder if they’re invisible too now, or have they retained some visible glamour? I had no choice but to fade into the background because I was so plain and uninteresting. My brain and any talents I might have never got a chance to develop because no one saw enough of me to care. Sad to say, I was not a late developer. I remained thin, mousy and uninteresting all through my teens and into adulthood.

Now I’m getting older I’m fading much more. Men had never found me attractive, so I didn’t get married and have children. The office work I did before I retired demanded little interaction with other people. They treated me like a machine, depositing piles of paper on my desk as they passed by, without so much as the minimum greeting, never mind a please or a thank you.

A few weeks ago I had one of my attacks in the street. It was not far from where I live and a neighbour actually saw me and took me to the local doctor. It was a pointless exercise, he wanted me to go on some kind of pills but unless they were magic make-me-visible pills, I didn’t think they’d do me any good. I thought the sleeping pills might come in handy though. There were years when I scrimped and saved every penny I had, which wasn’t very much because the rent, bills and food used up a big chink of my wages. Even so, I managed to accrue a decent amount, but it was never enough. I wanted cosmetic surgery, you see. I was sure it would help me to be seen. I wanted breast implants, a bit taken off my nose and my eyes widened. I have nice legs which I keep covered most of the time, but I intended to bring them out of hiding when I was glamorous. I dreamed of having a makeover once all the swelling had gone down and learn to apply makeup and get my hair dyed blond and permed to give it more volume. That’s a lost dream, and I’m worse off now than before as far as being invisible is concerned.

I can’t be bothered to look after myself at all. I stopped caring once I no longer had to go to work. The flat was a mess, which didn’t matter, seeing as no one ever visited me. I have no friends and I can’t blame people for not wanting to know me. Who wants to be seen with someone who’s invisible? Haha. That’s funny. It amuses me. I barely bother to eat anymore, I have no appetite. I have the occasional shower, I haven’t lost all my self-respect quite yet. During the last few weeks I’ve been getting everything in order. I’ve had a clear out, I’m getting rid of almost everything I own and I’ve made a will, which is with a solicitor. You may wonder, what does someone like me have that’s of any value to anyone. Well let me tell you, you may not be able to see me now, but you will come to know me very well once I’m gone altogether. You will wish you had known me and will yearn to see me.

This is because I have a secret. For years I’ve been writing novels and short stories and they’re very good. I might go as far as to say they’re a works of genius. Before you decide I’m delusional, let me tell you that I belong to several online writers’ groups and I’ve had superb feedback, and no, they weren’t just being nice. I’ve been approached by three different agents, all begging to represent me, with publishers lined up ready for a bidding war. I’m told that hundreds of thousands of pounds will be involved. Why don’t I grasp the opportunity you may ask? Well these days it’s not just about the work, it’s also about the author. They would want me to have my photograph taken and do book tours, signings and appear on radio and television. Once they see how insignificant I am, if they can see me at all, they’ll either drop me or try persuade me to allow someone else to pretend to be me. Someone young and attractive. They play these tricks. They’re only interested in money and exploiting people.

So I’ve decided to leave my work to a local animal sanctuary because I think that animals are so much nicer than people. Those who run it do such good work and are always struggling to keep going. My bequest will allow them to expand and to keep going for a long time. Along with my will, I’ve deposited my manuscripts and the letters from the agents to prove that my work is valuable. I know they’ll make a fortune. These will be handed over to the sanctuary on my demise. I’ve also written to the agents informing them of the whereabouts of my work. It’s up to the sanctuary which one they choose.

My being dead will fuel curiosity and make my work increasingly precious, as there won’t be any more. Artists are always worth more dead than alive. There will be no photographs of me, nothing at all to indicate who I was. I’ll be the mysterious woman who kept her gift under wraps and left no trace of herself, other than her name. It pleases me to think of other creatures benefiting from my slight presence here, only possible because I wasn’t born pretty.

I’ve had my shower and soon I’ll be ready. Most things are packed up and ready to go to charity. A van is coming today to collect the furniture and the few other pieces I own. The rest has gone in the bin. I’ve sent a letter to my doctor, the police and my solicitor, instructing them to come to my flat tomorrow with the greatest urgency. I mean to keep unpleasantness to a minimum. I do hate maggots and flies. All that is left is my bed, a pretty nightdress which I bought specially for tonight, a glass of water and the pills.

LIVE FROM YOUR CENTRE - advice from a real Wise Woman this Hallowe'en

This Hallowe'en we are privileged to host the words of a genuine practitioner of the old ways, Magenta Wise. Take some time out to enjoy this reflection on the meaning of Samhain, how to honour your departed and get in touch with deeper levels of consciousness.

Happy Samhain! This festival, now Hallowe'en, was once named Hallows' Eve, meaning holy or sanctified evening, and had a deep spiritual importance in the ancient Pagan calendar. It still does to those who follow the ancient ways, when we were more connected to nature and each other. Also known as All Saints and All Souls day, this is the eve when the veil between our world and that of spirit parts and the ancestors may be contacted. This is the Witches’ New Year, when we are shown the path ahead for the coming twelve months. As it approaches, perhaps we find our thoughts turning to those departed, and we might ask if they are close and wishing to communicate with us.

I wondered about the tradition of carving turnips, and pumpkins, and placing lights inside. It occurred to me that, as they resemble skulls, it was significant. Then I had a vision of village graveyards, where folk would gather round the graves of their loved ones and place the carved turnips on the graves. It seemed to me that the light was to attract the spirit and invite it to enter the turnip and communicate with the living.

Although I appreciate it’s fun and exciting, Hallowe'en has become overly commercialised and overlaid with greed and consumerism, children knocking on doors and expecting to be given many sweet treats for no other reason than it’s Hallowe'en. When I was a child in Scotland, we called it ‘guising’. Yes, we dressed up, but not in anything ugly. Maybe a white sheet or whatever else we wanted to wear. We visited our neighbours, and we had to work hard for our one sweetie, piece of fruit or a few nuts. We each had to do our well-rehearsed party piece. Some of us sang, told jokes, recited a poem or danced. We might also sing in chorus. This delighted the adults (I’m sure they found us hilarious) and we were satisfied with our sensational performances. It had little to do with sweets, the fun, participation and appreciation was the main part.

If we wish to return to a more spiritual experience of Samhain and engage with the departed, we have need to alter our consciousness away from the everyday and logical, and enter into deeper parts of ourselves. We must delve into our ancient wisdom, the innate memories of times gone by, and into our intuition, our psychic consciousness, that we may become mediums and receive that which our loved ones bring to us. These forms of being are not popular in today’s world, being mostly ignored, derided or ridiculed, yet they are essential to a balanced life. 

Wisdom is found in the Wise Woman and psychic powers in the Enchantress, two of the Twelve Archetypes portrayed in my book, ‘Live From Your Centre – on the Wheel of Life’. This work is based on the Four Elements and how their interaction gives rise to a maximum of twelve types of consciousness. There is an identification of the Twelve, each one fully described, with sections on how to recognise which ones we and others are using, and which ones we need to develop to evolve more of our true selves, which live in the Centre of our circle.

This is a big book, with many illustrations, including colour. It contains guidance on how to call forth these other parts of ourselves, that we become more balanced and well-rounded. It must be stressed that, although there are six female and six male Archetypes, they do not apply to men and women in stereotypical sexist roles. All Twelve are available to both sexes, as are all Four Elements. There are three Water Archetypes, three Earth, three Fire and three Air. It helps to think of them as Yin and Yang. Men can also be wise and psychic, just as women can be warriors and scientists for example. 

This is a brief description of the Wise Woman and the Enchantress, bearing in mind that if our consciousness identifies with only a small part of the circle, it becomes stagnant, and we may exhibit some of the negative aspects of the Archetypes in which we are stuck. Practising others and awakening them in ourselves purifies them and we begin to feel more movement in ourselves and in our lives. Below, there is a link to my blog where you can read the entire first chapter.

The Wise Woman is an Earth Archetype, she is a storehouse of treasure of all kinds. In the material world, she stores our food for the winter and our money in her banks, but she also stores memories, including racial ones. She carries within her all the wisdom gained through the ages, she has inner riches, she values things, she cares for the earth, which makes her an excellent conservationist. She hates waste, and has concerns as to how we are laying waste to the land. We must not confuse her with Mother Nature, who grows our food and suckles all her children, all species on earth. When overused, the Wise Woman can become a suspicious, miserly worrier, but when balanced with other Archetypes she is a great blessing. We turn to her to invoke the memories locked safely away in the depths of our beings and call forth the souls who rise to greet us.

The Enchantress is a Water Archetype, she is our feelings, the deepest part of ourselves, as the ocean floor is to the earth. She is our intuition, our psychic abilities, so of course we have need of her when contacting the other realm. She is the medium, she has visions, her feelings are an essential guide, giving direction as to good choices and warnings of bad. Unlike the Actress, the Archetype who expresses our emotions, the Enchantress’s feelings are usually not known to others, unless they themselves are in the Enchantress. She is enigmatic, magnetic and mysterious. Perhaps this is why she is practically outlawed, she can sense what people are thinking and they fear her for it. Negatively, she can become melancholic, depressed and will weep tears for all the pain and suffering in the world. She also prophesies, so she could be seeing horrors to come, for unlike most, she has not lost touch with the collective consciousness, and it’s not a comfortable place to be in these times.

So, this Samhain, if you want to receive those who have passed on, have your turnip or pumpkin in front of you with a tealight in it ready to light, or only a candle if you prefer. Sit in a circle if with others, or comfortably if alone. Switch off the electric lights, imagine a protective bubble of light around the room and light your candle or tealight. Go quietly and deeply into yourself, empty your mind and wait for what may come. It could be the sense of a particular person, or a vision, a thought, some words, numbers, a recalled scent or sound. Don’t judge or question what you get, simply flow with it. We may not think we have received anything at all, but in the following days something might occur that makes us think. If in a group, take it in turns to share if desired, you may have messages to give to each other. When you feel you have finished, thank the spirits who have come, bless them on their journey home, and let the bubble of light dissolve. As soon as you can, write down what came to you, you may not realise you were in a light trance and, like a dream, things can easily slip away. I hope you have an enriching and comforting experience.

I wish you a wonderful Hallowe'en, however you are spending it, and may you go forward into the new year with renewed hope and energy. Blessed Be.

https://www.magentawise.com/post/read-the-first-chapter-for-free-here
mybook.to/LiveFromYourCentre

Also by Magenta on Amazon.
Poems – ‘Messages are Dancing in the Rain’ and ‘Dancing with Shadows and Ghosts.
Short stories – Kill and Cure.
https://www.magentawise.com

Have you seen the Invisible Woman?

Magenta Wise is this week's guest writer. She's kindly given us permission to use this powerful poem. Here's what she told us about it: 'This poem came about when I was writing a book of short stories, one of which is called I’m Invisible. It’s about a woman who, throughout her life, was never noticed because she was not attractive, yet she had a great talent. This, of course, is one of the ways the patriarchy treats women: we are judged by our sexual attractiveness to men, but oppressed and blocked from reaching our true individual greatness. Once we "lose our looks" we are disregarded, by men who no longer desire us, and even by younger women who no longer see us as a threat. When women do create great things, their achievements have frequently been stolen by men or ignored altogether. This theme led me to express these thoughts in a poem about the invisibilities of women in society. I have read it out at poetry gatherings, and it’s amazing how many women say they’ve heard it before, even though they haven’t. “That’s about me, it’s my story,” they say. It could resonate as almost every woman’s story, I think. It’s time we rose up: the world needs the input of women if we are to create a fairer and happier society, based on cooperation rather than competition. We are needed now more than ever. It’s time to shout our truths, to show who we are, to come together and sing our soul songs, that they may they be heard, that they may heal, that we may be seen and no longer be invisible.'

 

Have you seen the Invisible Woman?

 

You might catch glimpses of her peeping

through art galleries, creeping behind

the crowd of artworks done by men. Then

here and there you can catch sight of her,

the light of her, until she sinks once more

into token representations. Her creations

in the past may last, but she herself has

tarnished, vanished behind many

a man’s signature.

 

Have you seen the Invisible Woman?

 

Have you heard her music, composed,

transposed, morose now, played by a

man’s name, the notes of her being drowned

by a cacophony of false identities,

enemies singing from oppression’s

song sheet.  Her Siren’s wail, her chants,

her symphonies of meaning lying forgotten

under the famous. She chants her mysteries

to ears deafened by explosions of war

and pain and anger.

 

Have you seen the Invisible Woman?

 

Have you read her wise words, she of the first

autobiography, the first novel, now a fossil,

dreaming lots and scheming, her plots, her poetry

ancient, silently recited in the desolation of

stone circles, languishing in the dust, no longer

published, her stories, her nouns and verbs,

Her literature bound in a ligature of the choked,

yet still reciting her tales, biting through the gag.

 

Have you seen the Invisible Woman?

 

Open a newspaper, is she in there? Very little

but a report of her murder, plunder or rape.

Oh wait, there she is, decoration, naked  breasts

displayed for his pleasure, to enjoy at his leisure,

boobs and a hand or string over her pubes,

pictured next to fully clad men doing important

things like running the world, shunning the world,

conning the world. Cunning clay kings.

 

Have you seen the Invisible Woman?

 

You’ll see bits of her from scaffolding, building sites,

cat calls from ugly dogs, what a sight, whoa, great tits,

look at that arse, don’t pass, I could give her one,

hey beautiful look at me, fuck you then you whore,

you slag.  She walks in space men call their own,

turns her face, not safe, no place for her, so smile,

it may never happen, it has just happened, it happens

everyday in fearful ways. The night is dangerous,

don’t walk alone, stay at home.

 

Have you seen the Invisible Woman?

 

Rape culture, victim blaming, slut shaming, wearing

the wrong clothes, drunk, teasing, not pleasing when

she says no, short skirts, long skirts, trousers, burkas,

dresses, medical dressings, children, old women,

sinning for being female, not about sex, it’s power over.

Even when sober she is accused, responsible for the

aggressor’s pride, she tries to hide as they hide

behind lies and mad eyes that see an object

and fail to respect her.

 

Have you seen the Invisible Woman?

 

We spot a sprinkling of her in parliaments,

But she may not last long, her hair will be wrong,

Her dress sense called into question, a session

devoted to her shoes and the pitch of her voice.

Assassinations of character or shot by bullets,

She is little seen in politics although recently,

increasingly she stands, so catch her while you can,

promote her, vote for her, remember suffrage.

 

Have you seen the Invisible Woman?

 

She’ll keep running and jumping and throwing

and be the best in the world and enjoy temporary

praise, and they raise her, cheer and count

her medals but it’s clear they don’t count

her opinions, rape-threatened for speaking

against sadists, told to shut her mouth or else.

Otherwise she goes unsportily unreported

on the sports pages, paid little, no interest,

it’s only women after all, chasing a ball,

no one cares.

 

Have you seen the Invisible Woman?

 

Where is her credit, due for her brilliant inventions,

in your computer right now, the intentions to steal

her work, in the sciences, in medicine, engineering

and design, disappearing, in psychology, in every field

plus cooking, cleaning, shopping, washing,

childbearing, caring, a servant and a grow bag,

always working, earning less, cracked red hands,

no equality, her human rights neglected,

but bright, young and blonde on television.

 

Have you seen the Invisible Woman?

 

She is cloaked in age, grey and lined,

maligned, ignored and bored with ignorance,

wrinkles of wisdom of no seeming worth on earth,

no longer ripe for sex or breeding, too tired

to be a housework prostitute, a good-for-nothing

hag. Her years of experience pouring into

incontinence, shrivelled and fading,

a walking corpse, courage in her bent spine,

despair in her heart.

 

Have you seen the Invisible Woman?

 

Amidst the carnage, bandaged as she is,

eyes blood red, masked behind blue, purple,

black bruises, limping and weeping, I seek her,

bid her come forward, onward, to wear her

bright colours and be seen, to sing her music,

loud, proud, insistent, making its way into

closed ears, to push her way, be visible,

let her views be news, let her run swiftly

round the arena, waving her victories aloft,

reclaiming her activity, her creativity.

 

How much we owe to her yet do not know her.

I see her, I’d free her, I recognise her achievements

and bow to her, adore her, beg for more from her,

and tell her how very much she is needed with all her

findings, to remove her bindings and cast them windward,

to rise in all her glory to scream her story.

She has always been here, near, creating, waking,

making, aching, baking, quaking, shaking,

but not breaking.

 

Now do you see the Invisible Woman?

Biographical Note
Magenta lives near Brighton, England and has had several careers and interests, including psychic skills, teaching healing, Tarot reading and related subjects. She has been a web designer, video producer and active in the performing arts with One-Woman shows. She has published three books, one of short stories, one of poems and one on evolving human consciousness. She is also an artist, committed vegetarian, ecologist and Feminist.

Website www.magentawise.com

Books: Short Stories, ‘Kill and Cure’

Poems: ‘Messages are Dancing in the Rain' mybook.to/MessagesareDancingintheRain

‘Live From Your Centre’ - mybook.to/LiveFromYourCentre