The winter is here, leaving us shut inside, left with only our thoughts, which, given with whom we might share them, might actually be beyond words. This is where I find myself these days.
I just happened on to something Stephen King wrote, which expresses well what I feel:
“The most important things are the hardest things to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them-words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were In your head to no more than living size when they’re brought out. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you’ve said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That’s the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller but for want of an understanding ear.”
Stephen King, The Body, Different Seasons
I keep the wood stove stoked, keep the dishes washed, until I run out of water, and sit in my chair, wondering if there is another soul on this planet with whom I dare share my innermost thoughts. I end up letting go the question, for I realize I have too much fear. Besides which, sometimes I feel the nuances I experience are way beyond words.
Ah, the patience learned via being home bound is also almost beyond words!