Waiting...

[noted at Just Etchings in this post]

Where is the good in silence? How do I sit in silence when it feels like being in a tent that leaks and the pouring rain has left no dry clothes or dry blankets to wrap myself in. I shiver in the silence. It is not a warm welcome presence with arms and legs and voice to communicate. It is just there and I silently scream inside at it’s arrival.

Silence is what the night holds before daylight arrives.
Silence is what fills the concert hall as the Maestro lifts his baton - just before the concerto begins. Silence then bows out.
Silence is what it must be like in the womb before the precarious journey begins where the little one takes its first breath of oxygen and begins the life long process of breathing in, breathing out.
Silence is when you are held tightly in strong arms and feel safe but no words are spoken.
Silence is what comes after a winter blizzard and a deep blanket of snow covers everything, and the moon lights up this eerie night.
Silence is that moment when the forest is still and the smell of the pine carpet fills your nostrils.
Silence shows up with mourning, anger, disapproval and rejection in tow but doesn’t arrive to celebrate, to accept and to heal.
Silence is a place of absence and not presence.
Stillness is a place of peace and filling, but silence isn’t.
I want to fill the empty places Silence brought but I have no energy to do so.
Silence seems to have brought another guest along – fear.
Silence seems to want me to wear insignificance and invisibility. They are the garments of disapproval and anger.