Eclipsed

Copyright 2005 © Abigail Ronck

“Woman Eclipsed”

*This monologue was read aloud at the conclusion of a show inundated with slideshow imagery, couture runway show extravagance and complex dance numbers—by a singular woman dressed in black sitting on a stool, her face spotlighted and her voice without a microphone.

Take every woman, anywhere, and fold her up into a single word, one idea. Then, look it up in the dictionary so you can begin to understand her.

Eclipse, noun. The total or partial obscuring of one celestial body by another. But there are many kinds. Let’s specify, add a prefix. Lunar eclipse—when the moon passes through Earth’s shadow, blocking its exposure to the sun’s illumination; the event is often quite striking for the vibrant range of colors the moon can take on during the totality phase. So it—I mean she—moves there herself, and she looks pretty doing it.

Deeper, right? It’s getting more complex. Let’s add an “ed” to the word, turn her into an adjective. Eclipsed. To be hidden, cloaked, or overshadowed.

You made her into something new and now you can’t see her. There is more though—even beyond that. Go, seek out the thesaurus.

Eclipsed. Other words, definitions, which appear by its side: veiled…shielded. But from whom? Another word of supposed equality: blanketed…protected.  Thank you…but by whom?

The string of synonyms is long, looks endless. Eclipsed…encased, enclosed. She’s safe, but can she breathe in there? Eclipsed…exceeded, surmounted, transcended. Can she see from down there? Eclipsed…obscured…extinguished…withheld…blacked-out. Is she there anymore?

Eclipsed…so many thoughts, too many images, too much to understand…where do we go from here?

Take every woman, anywhere, and fold her up into a single word, one idea. Now—do this. Disregard everything you know, all you have been instructed about, and let her out.

Then—not in revolution against the written word, the dictionary of our lives, nor in submission to it, but somewhere in between…she will define herself.