Pondering: Truth found in silence
by Kayce Stevens Hughlett
Last night at my writing group, our facilitator read us a poem called "Winter Grace" by Patricia Fargnoli and invited us to write for twelve minutes on whatever moved us, either from the poem, our evening together, or life. I never cease to be amazed at the mysteries that lie beneath the surface of our thinking minds. What transpired in those last moments of writing together were inspired, insightful, and at times surprising. With gratitude and a fair measure of trepidation, I share my work with you inspired by the words "more often than not, truth is found in silence."
More often than not, truth is found in silence.
In shrouds of white covering the heads of pilgrims
who walk softly across the oldest ground on earth.
On stones where churches were not built, but
rather set free from the earth that held them
like a tomb waiting to be opened.
Silence digs into our souls like deft archaeologists
searching for the origin of man when perhaps
they should be looking for the origin of woman.
After all, Lucy, those primordial bones discovered in
Ethiopia were female—
a woman’s frame, not a man’s.
And how do men arrive in life if not through
The wombs of their mothers?
Distinctly female.
Feminine.
Finely honed.
Foreign.
More often than not, truth is found in silence.
But first the rage must come…
The breath shaking sobs of birth and anguish.
Silence comes second.
We want to skip the first phase—the throbbing rage that brays,
Release. Let go. Burn, baby, burn.
We want to skip that state because
it’s painful and nasty and hurts like hell.
Hell.
The Biblical place that is anything but silent
with its burning lake and gaping mouths
pouring forth the blasphemy of the ages.
More often than not, truth is found in silence...
and beauty is birthed through pain.
The two are lovers locked in the dance of life.
Sweat pouring off bodies—passionate and inflamed,
mixing with tears and saliva and semen to plant
the seeds of what comes next.
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