I have been in silence for a long time. Half my lifetime, almost, since I last wrote a word that puts my soul onto paper for others to see. There have been many kinds of silence that have come between me and what I wanted to say.
The silence that fell when I gave up writing the novels I wrote as a child. I thought that I just didn’t know enough about the world. And it’s true that I didn’t know much about the world at the time. But who ever said that writing had to be about the answers? I’m older now, but I have still far more questions than answers. Still, those are the questions of my life. Why should I wait until I have answered them before breaking the silence?
Another silence, then…. the silence of sitting on a hillside meditating. In silence for almost three months. Trying to escape from suffering. Trying to reach a reconciliation with the voices in my head that kept criticising. Trying to… it’s hard to remember all the things I was trying to do. But it was wrong for me, I know that now. I was trying to force myself into a mould that wasn’t mine. Hurting myself. Walking the forest tracks in a search that went nowhere. Until the silence of being alone was fraught with inner voices that were all the more powerful for being silent.
I came out of that meditation retreat into another form of silence. The silence of not really engaging with the world, of keeping my emotions hidden behind a façade of sociability, because if I couldn’t bear them how could I expect the world to cope? A silence of loneliness.
The silence that hangs heaviest on me now is the silence that fell between me and the lover I thought was my soulmate. The silence that he imposed on us, so suddenly that I had no time to realise how much it would hurt me. The silence that rejected all the words of love that I was burning to say, that left me with questions battering themselves against my closed lips. The silence of betrayed hopes and broken dreams.
And in that grief I turned to my singing, that other way of expressing myself that has been part of me for so long. But I could not sing, because my voice was strangled in my dry and aching throat. How could I sing of love and hope when my hopes had been dashed so cruelly? How could I sing at all, when all my voice wanted to do was cry? But then, how could I bear not being able to sing?
So now, I put pen to paper. Fifteen minutes to write about whatever I like. To write, and write, but not to stop.
And I am surprised. I never knew that writing could be so powerful and yet so easy. Words pour out of me like they have been waiting more than half a lifetime to be spoken, and heard. Words that are not inhibited by my tears. Words of healing, and hope, and an end to silence.
Is this fifteen minutes already? I have so much more to say…
This is based on a writing practice from the excellent site red ravine, which inspired me not only to start writing again, but to start blogging - I owe both its authors sincere thanks!
(Photo - Fountain pen macro by Wesdigital at Flickr)
lirone
16 responses so far ↓
freeingmyself // February 12, 2008 at 8:36 pm
Thank you for sharing yourself. This is beautifully written and poetic.
lirone // February 12, 2008 at 8:50 pm
Thanks for such a kind first comment on this blog, freeingmyself. It’s great to know that there are people out there listening!
Hair « Words that sing // February 12, 2008 at 9:01 pm
[...] second post on this site, breaking the silence, started with a 15 minute writing practice, inspired by red ravine. The idea is to write without [...]
ybonesy // February 13, 2008 at 2:41 am
lirone, I just now read this post on hair. It’s such a strong image, the idea of your strands of hair being left behind for your former lover to find even as he tries to move on. I love that notion, that he just can’t quite not find pieces of you, literally.
The topic Hair is so rich, I keep saying this, but every post I’ve read that uses hair as a topic has gone in a different direction. Each direction resonates with me. I have long hair, too, and I find the strands all over (and my husband has long hair, and I find his strands all over). Hair also has a sexual resonance, such that finding that strand means so much more than “she was once here.”
Anyhow, I don’t mean to go on and on. I was just excited when I read this post.
psychscribe // February 16, 2008 at 7:21 pm
i love your writing, and am so glad you have found your voice. I’m adding you to my blog roll.
delyaskip // February 16, 2008 at 7:24 pm
it’s so comforting to know there still are people who meditate as deeply as you do…
lirone // February 17, 2008 at 12:30 pm
Thanks psychscribe and delyaskip - it really is good to know that there are people out there reading and understanding what I have to say!
Taking a risk « Words that sing // February 20, 2008 at 1:48 pm
[...] my earlier posts breaking the silence and hair, this is a 15 minute writing practice on a subject suggested by Red Ravine - this [...]
krkbaker // March 5, 2008 at 1:22 pm
I stumbled over here from the main forum and I’m so glad I did. I am thinking that your blog is one that I will want to read often. I relate to so many of your thoughts. And I love the idea of breaking the silence… kim
lirone // March 10, 2008 at 3:46 pm
Kim
Thanks for commenting - I’m really glad that you like my blog.
Paul // May 31, 2008 at 4:06 am
Even after a few months, this is still one of my favorite bits of writing on the net.
lissa // June 15, 2008 at 3:15 pm
great post. great idea. silence — ahh i know it so well. isn’t it strange how you can be in absolute quiet writing yet it can feel like you’re singing, shouting, and laughing at maximum volume?
Jacqueline // June 16, 2008 at 11:07 am
“Whoever said writing had to be about the answers?” was extremely liberating to read. That takes down all the limitations I have created for myself…
lirone // June 16, 2008 at 11:57 am
Paul, that’s a compliment indeed!
Lissa, that’s a great way of expressing some of the power of writing. Thanks and welcome!
Jacqueline, thanks and welcome to you too. Glad that sentence was liberating for you: it certainly helped me. And I’ve found that writing is in some way a path to finding the answers I’m looking for - or at least exploring the question.
If your blog is your home, show us around… « Words that sing // July 11, 2008 at 1:04 pm
[...] won’t see my face, But you’ll hear my story. My heartbreak and recovery. My silence and my self-expression. My scepticism and my spirituality Serious musings and cheerful humour. [...]
Brian // July 11, 2008 at 1:08 pm
It’s a great time to be a writer.
Leave a Comment