‘Shadow Work’ by Soramimi Hanarejima

By bus, I go to the mountains east of the city. There, I follow the usual trail through the woods and across the valley. Out in the open, the sheen of moonlight on the scrubby expanse creates a mood of desolate beauty, an atmosphere attractive to a painter with philosophical inclinations who would render this scene as ‘Landscape with Figure and Shadow’. She, the darkest part of the painting, long and thin on the short, young stalks of grass that seem like they should be getting combed down as she passes over them. Because this silhouette of you feels heavy, and it gets only heavier the farther we go, like I’ll soon get tired of towing her across the terrain as she drags across the ground with a viscous inertia that’s unsettling — practically the opposite of the way mine glides right over floors, sidewalks, and lawns. 

But the weight is of course metaphysical and doesn’t slow me down much. I reach the stream near the base of Mt Mindle with plenty of time to carry out the cleansing. At the water’s edge, I take off my shoes and socks then step into the cold current and stand on the rocky stream bed in a spot where your shadow can fall fully upon the water’s surface. Leaning over her, I reach my hands through your shadow and jostle the water. Barely a moment later, emotional detritus comes off her as a plume of minuscule grit that brushes past my fingers and palms before flowing away, carried off downstream. Yet again, I’m amazed that this age-old practice works so well. What would we do without it? How else would your shadow be relieved of the hefty load you’ve long saddled her with?