Truth which cannot be shared, cannot be spoken

Such a thirst, for silence.

Such a thirst, for not sharing.

For sitting on that hillside, wind blowing over the frozen lake, eyes tearing from cold.

Feeling joy of silence, wanting to deepen in it, to dive deeper into the silence until it alone lives on the hillside.

So tired of the voices of self, of humanity.

Wanting only to feel the lover of silence, the beloved, the one in which all noise appears and disappears.

Yet I return, again and again, to the personality.

To that which proclaims a self, which separates itself from the river of flowing.

On the silent hillside, recognizing a truth deeper than the surface sharings.  Recognizing a truth which is almost bursting forth like a thousand cattail seeds ready to seed the earth.  Yet I pull back. Again and again I pull back into that which is comfortable, recognizable, easy. 

It gets harder every day to maintain the fiction of a self.  Yet I quiver like that dried plant in the wind, afraid. 

Afraid of what? —the wind howls, laughing.

Afraid of being nothing—I say, crying.

The wind blows relentlessly.

Slowly the dirt on the hillside erodes, even beneath white snow.

I do not know what tomorrow brings unless it’s a new wind, a new snow, a new tossing of coat and hat and mittens into frigid air and dancing naked, yes naked, into the next moment.


12 thoughts on “Truth

  1. Silence

    A day of silence

    Can be a pilgrimage in itself.

    A Day of Silence
    Can help you listen
    To the Soul play
    Its marvelous lute and drum.

    Is not most talking
    A crazed defense of a crumbling fort?

    I thought we came here
    To surrender to Silence,

    To yield to Light and Happiness,

    To Dance within
    In celebration of Love’s Victory!

    I Heard God Laughing: Renderings of Hafiz
    by Daniel Ladinsky. Mobius Press, Oakland, CA, pp. 129.

  2. Such wise words… my world is filled with sounds and colours and noise and activity and to-do lists, so I sometimes feel like I’m running and running and running, but I simply can’t catch up…. coming here to your blog is like finding the pause button.

    Thank you, Kathy.

  3. “The soul, fortunately, has an interpreter – often an unconscious, but still a truthful interpreter – in the eye.”
    ~ Charlotte Brontë

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