Silence

When I was not quite 17, I came across a tiny volume in my parent's library, that had quotes from different philosophers. One in particular struck a deep chord:  "Silence is the highest revelation." Lao-Tzu. As a quiet and solitary teenager, who often withdrew in books and quiet contemplation and poetry, the statement drew me in, comforted me in an almost eerie way. Being alone did not mean exclusion, but a door to a deeper understanding. It allowed me to enjoy my solitude in a new way, to appreciate the silence of nature at dawn, at night, the quiet of stars, flowers, trees, the sky. It was very exhilarating in a most private, quiet way. For many years later, in the busyness of college abroad, graduate school, meeting my husband, marriage, becoming a mother to my son, who is in college now himself, I lost that inner silence. Then terrible things started happening in my family, and when the dust cleared, my youngest sister had committed suicide, my other sister died of cancer at age 44, leaving two young children, my father had succumbed to Alzheimer's and died, but not before my mother had kicked him out when he was already ill, my mother died of liver cancer, having been a lifelong closet alcoholic, and my brother and I became permanently estranged under the strain and intrigue of our family falling apart. The funeral after my sister's suicide was the implosion: I never saw anyone again after her funeral and that was April 1998. And the trauma started for me in earnest, with insomnia, bad dreams, isolation, nausea, weight gain, which led to therapy eventually, years after the facts.And the silence came back. I soon realized this was a very different silence. This was a silence of loss, emptiness, lack of closure and answers, lack of dignity, compassion; the silence of stupor and humiliation, the silence of why with no clues. It is a silence I learn to live with, it comes and goes, like an uninvited guest. I cannot share this silence with any one, like you can a quiet sunrise, because this silence is the hurt in me, it is not a function of nature or contemplation. That silence is something I can almost touch at times, as I realize that with time, wounds do heal, slowly and with acceptance comes peace and understanding. For many years, silence had been a friend, a kind companion. Now, silence is an obnoxious presence, who often without warning, will tear at my resolve,  my energy, my confidence , my hopes and dreams. I have enormous respect for the animals who live as pets with people and who, even under good circumstances are at the will of their keepers,hoping the people they live with will understand the needs they have to communicate without words. I have always had dogs, and for the last 12 years now, also cats. I marvel at their ability to make me understand what it is they want or need. Perhaps it is because I often feel mute emotionally, trying to communicate feelings and thoughts frayed and worn out  from hidden emotional strain and sorrow. I want to make sure I give voice to my animals' needs, and I also passionately support animal rights causes with petitions and financial support. I started doing embroideries, because it is a way to give expression to feelings of beauty in nature, without words. Silence speaks peacefully when I work on my embroideries, and it has been become a way to start recapturing the sweet silence Lao-Tzu spoke of to me almost 40 years ago.