Monday, November 26, 2012

Some Things

Some things are hard to write about. After something
happens to you, you go to write it down, and either
you over dramatize it or underplay it, exaggerate the 
wrong parts or ignore the important ones. At any rate
you never quite write it the way you want to.
~ Sylvia Plath

Come sit beside me and luxuriate in the silence and somber peace of the day, with a renewed appreciation for the overcast Golem sky brewing outside my window. The day suits my melancholy soul. It must seem strange, this need for the absence of sound. To my deaf ears busy movement, is like loud torrential waves crashing against me in vibrato burst. Silence is the calm in the storm from bounding four legged pups and an endless list of things unaccomplished. Moments like these erase the overwhelming sense of lost days and unfinished words.

Unfinished words?  Words, which lose strength and substance in any attempt to pen a single legible thought. They don’t even need to pertain to writing; the descriptive nuances of a day’s bygones seem to disappear like a spirit’s whispered warning in the wind. I wonder sometimes, if my muse abandoned me, fleeing behind this heavy-laden emotional year. Don’t worry your little head, that thought only lasted for a fleeting moment before I banished it to absurdity. Life is the teacher which tempers my days with lessons and experience. This year weighed me down with lessons I can’t even begin to comprehend or know what exactly I’m supposed to take away in experience. Death is a strange elixir that way…

Would you believe it’s possible to be given a gift in death? Neither would I until this year. The death of my muse is teaching me how to be deaf, seven long years after I first lost my hearing. I couldn’t face my predicament in the beginning without *Pickles guidance (my working dog for the deaf). My reliance on her never fully taught me to be alone, truly alone in the silence. Yet, six months later, she’s still teaching me, her presence close to my heart conquers the fear and tempers the anger. The anger which I hid so indelicately, the anger simmering always below the surface, demanding - why me.

Why not me? Who else could learn to hear with their eyes and see beauty and truth where so many can't?  I still refuse to believe everything happens for a reason. Human beings have always been resilient; we learn to live with whatever hand life dealt us. Some of us, like me, may take a few years to figure out how to play the game, but eventually we learn. We don’t have any other choice. So bravery, strength, and fear doesn't define us, only our humanity does. I’m still learning. I may lose myself in brooding defiance on occasion, but even then I'm still learning from my stubborn abstinence. And sometimes you have to take a break from life to finish your homework. 

*You can find a picture of Pickles on my sidebar.



  1. I missed seeing your blogs!

    Wishing you all good things. As always, your Post is such a good read.

    Hugs, Rose

  2. Great quote from Sylvia Plath. She's one of my favorite poets.

  3. We really do learn from life - and it's only when we stop that sometimes we realize what it is we've learned. Somehow I'm not surprised that Pickles is still managing to help :)

  4. I love that quote. Doing justice to life in our writing is a tough but worthy goal. Enjoyed reading your post.

  5. As a one eyed, diabetic,9fused vertebrae, more platinum and stainless steel holding me together. with a box implanted in my ass, fat man who's been sliced diced and cubed...I know what ya mean there kiddo.

  6. You are as eloquent a writer as I have ever read, and you are as kind and gentle a soul as God ever gave to Man - and if you are to return to writing I, for one, would welcome that enthusiastically.

  7. So bravery, strength, and fear doesn't define us, only our humanity does.

    Thank goodness. I'm feeling a bit shy on the first three. I need the absence of sound also (don't get me wrong, I am grateful for hearing) but I think my soul is busy, and sound overwhelms it. There is so little strength to divide. There is too much fear to share with noise. Beautiful post my dear Indigo.

  8. Poor Sylvia, how right she is.

    I have the "Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath" and it's a book I pick up again and again. It's impossible to read it and not feel like writing afterwards.

  9. You & Pickles operated as a unit, now you operate alone...not in every way, but in certain ways. No matter who else you have in your life, that one relationship carried a real centering principle for you that cannot be replaced. That isn't a negative, just the truth of it as I see it. Now you are forming new truths without Pickles.

  10. I like that=..take a break from life to finish your homework...I'm doing just that but it may take a looooong time to finish the homework. as your deafness, so my illness and I let my brooding defiance work FOR me although it's puttering at the moment....this homework I woodn't wish for the birds. it's painstaking, but we press're finding words for me now that elude me. keep writing. it's getting me thru the homework...hugz!

  11. beautiful and sweet to read. Difficult and painful to write.


Thank you for giving my silence a voice, my muse your words, and taking the time to discover my prose.