journals, stream of consciousness

pr\ early winter

It’s not that I don’t want to talk to you. It’s an issue of scarcity. I have run into a shortage of words.

When the phone rings now, there’s nothing but a chirping repetition in my mind. A mimicry of the noise I should be making when I am, instead, entirely composed of silence.

My late husband would tell people that silence was my love language, and they always, always thought he was making a joke. If there’s one thing people know about me, it is that I thrive in the chatter. In a den of din, I am all petal and bloom, all unfurled leaf and sturdy stem.

But I am rooted in silences, nourished in them. Right now, I am cut down to the nub. I quarantine-cut my blossoming down to earth and now most of me is buried beyond the sight of the sun and horizon.

It’s not that I don’t want to talk to you. It’s that I can’t. It’s not that I don’t know what to say, it is that I am out of words.

All I have are thoughts that are meant for the maze of my own mind, and for that alone. Trying to collect a pinch of thoughts to share is like trying to grab a handful of the dust you can only see in the light.

I know this isn’t sustainable. Communities form around words, check-ins, love notes, and chitchat. A blossom has to whisper to a bee. A seed wants to meet the ground.

I want for this type of springtime but right now, the meadow has been cut down and the only way for me to accept this is to pretend we are in early winter. I am standing guard around my voice, letting it rest its ugly gnarled hooks deep into soil. It isn’t a threat, I want to tell people, but a root looks as much like a dragon as a petal looks like a princess, and everyone fancies themselves a hero. Everyone is on the lookout for monsters and dragons, something they can slay, something they can control. A silence is a many-headed thing, a beast even, if you are already on a hunt. Everyone is hunting. There’s a scarcity that calls for it.

It’s not that I don’t want to talk to you. It’s that I can’t. Right now, I am growing from memory alone, trying to make sure that the leaves don’t turn sour. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to you. It’s that I can’t. Right now, I am growing. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to you. It’s that I can’t right now.

241 thoughts on “pr\ early winter”

  2. “My late husband would tell people that silence was my love language, and they always, always thought he was making a joke.”

    Yes, silence and stillness is part of my love language too. I give thanks to Dave for putting voice to this and for you to sharing it with us now, because I didn’t realize that these things were part of my love language until reading your words. 💕

    Take your time to properly take root and grow stronger than you were before. Everyone deserves a bit of time to be silent. ((Sending Dino-hugs & love))💙💚💜

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  3. I can’t even imagine the pressure of being as loved and popular as you are. You put your sweetness out there and people gobble you up as though they were starving…maybe they are, I know I have been at times, and thank you, by the way. Hang in there sweet Ra, this too shall pass. I hope other than a needed break you are well. xo

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  5. Dearest one: I love silence — not that it was the same as what you describe here, but this morning I went out to water the lawn and it … was … silent. I wondered if the neighborhood had fallen into a vacuum as there were no auto noises, no people out walking, no dogs barking. I stood and opened my ears until I picked up the consistent ‘rrrrr’ of a freight train trundling along. I don’t miss all the noise of ‘normalcy’ that was the ‘was’ before now. In that way, I wish the world would stay this way.

    I am grateful for virtual counseling because I am able to be in my space and think while my counselor talks. I ask her for homework and use my silence to suss it out.

    As I write this, I’m listening to the Q&A from one of the virtual writing conference sessions; after the morning lawn-watering and as I wanted to prep for today’s sessions, I sat in silence outside of me, but my mind was loud with story framing. I have multiple pages of mind-map now to help me work on my space epic, which led me to maddened web searches and ‘A ha!’ moments when the silence outside me stopped.

    I pray that you will find your voice to connect to those around you with whom you share audible words. When the time is right. But I also pray that you are in some way recording what comes in the silence — for yourself.

    We’ll be here, when your are ready to share your ‘audible’ again. ❤

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  9. Pingback: Scan City, Population: Me – Suddenly they all died. The end.

  11. This is the first, I am reading your post. Amassed by your writing!!
    If there is no silence the words we utter will be pointless. They are the binary opposites which coexist with each other. Silence and Sound!!

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  20. Don’t even know the emotion to express at this point. The story is just far opposite from the dead me.
    I used to be a bowl without a lid, always ready to spill what had been accumulating for some time which could even go long into years.
    But that nature is dead now and I’m striving and fighting to bring the reality of Holy Silence in me.
    Silence! Silence!! Silence!!!
    People don’t really know what’s behind silence, except the one who wears the silence at that time and the one who did the creation.
    😣😣😣

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  22. Pingback: early winter — rarasaur – New York FEEDBACK Film Festival
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  36. Beautiful beautiful words.
    I’ve been struggling with not wanting to speak to anyone for some time now and it’s not personal, it’s not them it’s me. The clichéd words of a million breakups but it really is midwinter for me and I risk losing my leaves to the cold if I unfurl from my foetal pose.
    May springtime bloom for you soon and in the meantime have some strength that you aren’t alone in the cold ❤️

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  39. Silence is a language that we should not be ashamed of. It is essential and it is healing. I hope you are more surrounded by people who understand your love language. ❤ Sending you my warmest hugs dear. XX 😘

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  48. Pingback: early winter – Wilfredo Santa Gomez MD

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