Our first instinct in trouble is to text a friend, send a wave of texts, scroll through the phone and vent to a million people. It’s to shout on my social media all the injustice of my life, and secretly hope I get a ton of replies that affirm my shaking fist.
I suspect this is because I need to be told I’m not so bad, that it’ll be fine, that it’ll all work out in the end.
But that’s not my real motive. What I really want is the copdepedent emotional rush that comes from a response so I don’t have to confront the ugliness of my soul. I’m using the Pavlovian-conditioned dopamine of a text message to cover an honest confrontation with the abyss inside, so that I can avoid the monster coiled around my guts for one more day. I use other people’s affirmation like a narcotic to gloss over the brutal self-surgery of my own selfishness. I skate on the surface of my electronic stream of complaints without even processing how I feel first.
To protect my ego: I dump the cargo without letting the wounds make me human.
I’m too much of a coward to say it’s my fault. I don’t want to say that it might not be okay, because I brought it on myself. I don’t want to say it’s too late. I especially don’t want to say I’m my own problem. But sometimes this is all true, and I need to know the weight of my own evil if I’m to apportion the strength to fight myself.
In the silence, I learn who I really am. I learn that I need help, and not from my phone and connected media and the buzz of the “like” button. I need the help that only comes with the quiet digestion of my imperfection. Silence is now our only honesty.
The stillness is terrifying. The disconnection from the plugged-in world threatens to crush me with grinding loneliness. Yet: I need the valley. I need to dig deep. I need to reach into my lungs and wrestle with the smog of my unresolved tension. I need to plunge into my swamp and kill the parasitic crawlers. I want to jump the chasm between the inconsolable chaos of my haphazard heart toward the potential of a far greater self reborn of divinity. This part of the journey is between me, myself, and God.
I need to step away. I need to quit relying on flesh to help flesh. I need God. I will cherish the silence.
3 thoughts on “Silence, Surgery, Divinity.”
Poetry from the dark side. When we are being sinned against (abuse) we need affirmation of our worth. When we are sinning (rebellion, pride, abusive) we need to get a grip on the only Hand that can save us and those around us from ourselves.
Wow. And you’ve just highlighted my problem. I run from silence.
The best writing is done from observation and the best comfort brought from listening.