Speakable and unspeakable.

I’m groping for words, realizing that I haven’t written an essay on this blog in quite a while, and feeling humbled and distraught at how hard it feels to write.  I’m pushing myself, though, reminding myself of why I write at all: to release the logjam of words and sentiments that build up pressure in my mind and heart, allowing those floating phonemes to travel downstream, into the mysterious, great river of language and connection that flows ceaselessly into the vast, unifying ocean.

A large part of what makes it so difficult to write is that most of what’s on my mind is intensely personal, and to write about it would be unfair to a number of other people in my life.  It creates a great deal of tension in me.  I know there are many other writers who have struggled with this– where is the line between fealty to one’s own creative process and need for expression about one’s own life, and the real desire to protect those who have no interest in being written about?  There are large swaths of topics that I wish I could broach here, topics that I feel have relevance to many people, topics that I’m reluctant to shove into the realm of “unspeakable,” but they’ve become unspeakable by default, out of my wish to honor the feelings of others.  My pains, my joys, all that which feels most vivid and honest and real, I’m cloaking, and it feels pretty wretched to me, after all my delving into the realm of vulnerability and disclosure.

I’ve had experience with silencing my own voice and feeling silenced by others.  It never seems to lead to a good outcome within my own heart.  I haven’t figured out a good resolution to this dilemma yet.  How can everyone’s needs be met?  Is that a futile question?

Meanwhile, I’m pondering topics that I can write about.  You may recall my previous post in which I was describing my imminent departure on a long-awaited journey.  Did it happen, and was it everything I hoped it would be?  Yes, and yes.  I can’t recommend adventuring enough.  Even the long days of driving were wonderful; I relished the time to myself, listening to music and being immersed in thought, hurtling down the highway through Massachusetts, New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio…  that first day I stopped in Ohio and spent the night at the home of Joe and Suzanne, who were incredibly kind, welcoming, generous, thoughtful people.  It was reassuring to realize that their voices, their characters, came through so clearly through an electronic medium, such that I could trust their genuineness.  They were truly every bit as nice as they seemed.  And this has been proving true repeatedly, as I continue to meet people through Facebook and then meet them in person: they are real, and they are wonderful.  The following morning, I left early and drove through Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, all the way to north-west Wisconsin, where I remained for several days, and had the great delight of meeting Sam and his family, who were also most kind and generous, as well as a small horde of others, including another Facebook friend, David, and his wife Jean.  There was conversation, and food, and music, and fire, and rain, and the beauty of the fields and forests, and connecting with some lovely new people like Sara, Barb, Diane, Court, Jeannie, and many others.  What a glorious reminder of the inspiring magic of human connection.  It was a privilege to encounter these people.  On my return trip home, I stayed another night with Joe and Suzanne, and then made an afternoon visit to Buffalo to see Liag, then drove until the wee hours all the way home to my sweet river valley.

When I entered my house again, was I the same person that had left it only a week before?  I was not the same.  I was suffused with conviction and blissful confirmation of all that feels good and true, the necessity of taking risks in order to feel fully alive, the rewards of trusting “strangers” and opening one’s heart.  The thing is, nobody ever felt like a stranger, not even for a moment.  All it takes is sharing stories, and the circle widens.