I’ve been meaning to write a blog post for ages – since the results of the US elections came in, in fact. I had failed to grasp the process by which election results are announced in the US, though, so ended up putting off posting any comment until some kind of official definite result was confirmed, by which time I had so much to say about it all (and everything else too), I barely knew where to start
So, I’m not going to say anything about the US election, after all.
It’s funny how having so much to say can lead to silence. For me, there comes a point where it feels like words can’t contain the amount of things I have to say, or adequately express the subtleties of all my thoughts and feelings. So I lapse into silence.
Sometimes this is a good silence. A kind of holy moment of waiting, feeling more than thinking, being present. A space in which humility can fall, reminding me I only have one angle on what is happening. There is surely always more going on than meets the eye.
But sometimes it is a bad silence. A silence that leads to the frustration of unexpressed thoughts, opinions or ideas. A sullen silence, sold out to the idea that no one would listen anyway, even if I found words and managed to string them together adequately.
Recently, I heard someone quote the following. It’s attributed to Maya Angelou, whose writing I love:
“There’s no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you”Maya Angelou
Lately, the penny has been dropping, and I have been remembering some of the untold stories I have inside me. Maybe 2021 will be a year to begin to get them out into the ether? I hope so!
I wonder what untold stories you are harbouring or lugging around, or wondering whether you could find a way of sharing? May you know the joy of being listened to deeply, if or when you come to the point of sharing them. Our stories, real and make believe, are more precious than we know, I think…