Silence Interpreted.
In my privilege of silence, I think deeply.
I have few ways to communicate my thoughts most days. My tendency is toward long, deep dives into the inky, bottomless depths where all the darkness, depravity, pain and despair reside. When evil is unleashed in the world, I live with it inside. It catches in my throat.
I have no words for the agony. It’s not an excuse, nor is commiseration sought from those ravaged. I pour my heart down the well of hope for humanity in the face of abomination.
My Christian ancestors’ souls are not clear. I cannot stand and shake my head at brutality. I cannot ‘tsk, tsk’ at bloody revenge. I shudder with shameful rage for humanity’s inhumanity. What is allyship — it takes on water that turns to blood.
The binary choices of showing up:
“Shut your mouth.”
Are there any words? Saying something painfully stupid is worse than silence, no? “I’m sorry,” feels bereft and worn thin in the face of catastrophe.
“Speak out.”
Opinions appropriately choke the speaker. Speaking on behalf of the voiceless, dead and dying assumes a point of view that brings my privilege and ignorance to their mouths, defiling them and drawing blood in an endless cycle—mothers, daughters, sons and fathers slaughtered in memoriam.
An eye, for an eye, for an eye, for an eye until generations are blind. There is justification and no justice.
Foolish still, I try to explain away the dark agony I feel and do not communicate.
I want a silent presence to feel like help. In a world of presentational outrage, memes permit the witless to spew their thoughtlessness on the screen. Silence, too, is interpreted.
My silence reveals my ignorance, sorrow and failing allyship in the face of the unfathomable. My insufficiency and feelings of disgrace are on full display.
The beauty and depth of your writing is only surpassed by the beauty and depth of your soul. Thank you for being goodness in the world. I honor your silence and I, too, "want a silent presence to feel like help."