The Honey in the Lion: An Elegy
By Gelissa Leveille
I used to read the Bible a lot as a child. The stories felt mystical and surreal, and amongst this was the story of Samson. I’d always felt an affinity for that story and for the temptation laced throughout. Samson’s temptations were lust, power, and hubris. In many ways, literally and figuratively, it was attached to his hair. When it was taken from him, by his own fault really, he had to find ways to become a person who was not defined by the power his hair gave him.
Hair is a common theme in the Bible, especially as a source of pride for women. These tales became fertile ground for the deep roots of a certain kind of fear.
The fear of short hair is perpetual. For something as lifeless as a head of hair, it’s power over its owner is immense. To be afraid of hair is something that I’ve had to deal with for a long time. Unlike my right hand, which I trust and would find difficult to live without, my hair has been like a stranger attached to my body. No matter how much I tried to tame it, to love it, to care for it, my hair still never cared for my efforts. It was a disparate relationship. During the natural hair movement of the late aughts, I was moved by the love other’s felt for their hair. It seemed that I should have had that same experience. Whether it was true to me or not did not matter.
My hair was not something I was even capable of understanding. It showed me that I was lacking something that others had figured out. Most of my life was spent searching for what would let me inhabit a body that felt so foreign to me. Something inside me insisted that if I could mend my relationship with my hair, I would be able to form a better relationship with myself. The problem with my hair was a specific misunderstanding of its role in my life. I thought that if I could control it, I would have a better understanding of my presentation to the world, but the whole time I learned that was false. My hair was not something that was meant to define me. So, I decided to cut it.
Samson too was at odds with himself upon the cutting of his hair. Who was he without it, really? Who would he be without his strength? Would Samson—as he had always known himself—remain who he thought he was? This man, ordained by God with innate power, was brought to his knees all because of his hair. In his lowest moment, Samson came to realize that his relationship with himself did not have to be superficial. His power came from deep within himself, from a place he couldn’t sever if he tried. Once he came to that realization, he unlocked something he did not know he had access to.
When I was 19, I was alone in a foreign country and the only thing I had real control over was my body. It was not a conscious decision to cut my hair, but it was instinctive and I followed it. Seeing my hairless head in the mirror was a weight lifted off my shoulders. It felt like freedom.
My relationship with my hair has always been a segue for a relationship with myself. For a long time, people asked me why I had cut it, as if it was a defining moment. It never felt defining, but something did change. The oddest thing about cutting my hair was realizing that for most of my life, I never knew what I looked like. My face was a mystery to me, and it was only afterwards that I realized the anchor my hair was to my sense of self. Severing myself from my hair released me. It wasn’t until I shed myself of that weight that I was able to enter my body and see myself for the first time.
Gelissa is a writer, developer, and reader from sunny Florida. Her writing hopes to touch on the doubtful parts of life. She loves to write poetry, drink an unhealthy amount of coffee, and watch an inordinate amount of movies.