Poetic Reflection

Loosing Silence, an Inquiry

The way of the Warrior: Excerpted from the book The Four-Fold Way (by Angeles Arrien).
“Many indigenous peoples believe that wherever in our lives we stopped dancing, singing, being enchanted with stories, or began experiencing difficulty with silence is where we began to experience soul loss or loss of spirit. Where in my life did stop dancing? Where in my life did I stop singing? Where in my life did I stop being enchanted with stories? Where in my life did I become uncomfortable with the sweet territory of silence?”

My Inquiry

I am silence, like the panther on the full moon hunting spree
Silent like the dog wagging playfully
Silent like the soaring hawk, silent
like the breeze,
But not when it is lightly sifting
through the trees…

I remember standing – quiet – hiding behind my mother’s leg,
My boisterous auntie squealing “She is so cute”.
Holding very still I hear my mommy say “Just like her mother”.
“But I am just like me”

Rememberings do not ask permission to speak.

So where did I loose my silence?
Did you gradually leave, slowly over time, until unnoticed you were gone?
Rebellious teen speaking truth, ‘have some tact’ I’m told. That’s not ok to
speak so bold is what the adults will mold.

Did rebellion squelch the silence?

Ah but silence lives in shyness and shyness is born of fear. Maybe
someday when I’m 21 I will not be shy this way…

Maybe…

Silence – do not say a word, you will only make him mad. The onslaught
of verbal violence – never ending.
Shhh don’t speak.
In crying punishing grows. Shhhh

Silence…

Abuse, drugs, denial, pain, fear and guilt living loudly in the silence.
“Come out they say, speak your truth, you have a voice come out. Leave the wrong, the oppression, the
silence.

We will define you, assign you and align you
This is now your truth…”

Recovery

Obnoxious horns of Taxicab have eerily grown silent. The tears of fallen
towers hidden, broken hearted – too deep to spring forth.
Jet fighters flying overhead, loud noise, empty promising in the silent
dread – but not protecting, it is too late for that.
Sirens do not mean survivors have been found.
Hush now city and grieve your grief.

Manhattan…

I spoke my truth dear brother, of which you could not hear.
The truthing of your sister could not break through your fear.
And the policemen come not knowing of your children or your pain and put a
bullet in you now your silence doth remain.
And I was the one who called you out, though through your
guarded walls, and left you with your frightening shadows in the vibration of the echoing halls.
And now your silence is permanent and I don’t even know where you lie.
What was it you were living in the moment that you died?
And did my silence kill you, should I have again said more?
I found a path to recovery but could not share the door…

And what of this idea of silence I ask in this wounded expedition?
Is it the act of listening or to silence the inquisition?