Hope in the Silence

The Secret Diary of a Spiritual Vagabond

08.23.2022 3:01am

Dear Diary,

Dear dear dear diary…

I left the silence of the room today.

What can I say? My mind is ever more tortured in this moment, than it was before.

Why?

I can’t answer that.

Well, I can indeed answer, but I do not have any clarity. I do not know what it is that I am answering.

What is troubling me?

What is haunting my thoughts at this hour?

What is burdening my soul?

That is hard to come to terms with.

And where do I even begin?

Not at the beginning. We don’t have all night. I mean, I have all night. Awake or asleep, the same things torment me.

Like my ghost.

In my dreams, my ghost dances with yours. Why?

I want to know why.

In fact… I want to know why so badly, that I screamed out for answers.

Why do you haunt me?

Why must you haunt me?

Why can’t it all just go away?

I cried.

Then I cried a whole lot more.

I was sitting in the cemetery, so this felt like a “normal” place to have a cry. I used to hate crying. I thought it was weak. I felt like it was too vulnerable to cry in front of people. No, not because I think I’m a badass, (which I am by the way) but, not for any superficial glory moments. The real reason I used to hate crying is because I had to learn to bottle up any and all emotions. I was not ever allowed to express them. They were never acknowledged as anything but a problem. I was never heard. I was not comforted, or made to feel like it was okay to be sad, or upset, or anything else.

I learned to think and feel that I was a problem.

And more so if I felt any way about anything.

So, I didn’t.

And that sucks.

I hate it.

I hate that I was taught that my voice did not matter.

I hate that I was silenced.

I hate that I was unloved.

I hate that I still feel that way.

More tears.

Everyone’s voice deserves to be heard.

We all deserve love.

I have learned to love myself and like myself and learn new things about myself.

Since I was denied emotions, my own and the support of others; I was also not ever encouraged creatively. I was told that not everyone is artistic or talented. My gifts were never highlighted or encouraged.

I didn’t think I had any.

I always enjoyed writing. I remember writing ‘chapters’ when I was in like 4th grade. I am honestly not sure what made me stop writing, but if I had to guess, it was a moment like I recently experienced when I discovered a new ‘talent’.

I was sitting in my room during the full moon. (Recent, full moon in Aquarius)

I was pretty miserable.

The energies were strong.

The people around me are toxic.

The moon amplifies that issue.

I try to hide out and avoid any volcanic eruptions.

Then I had an idea.

I had purchased some art supplies for my daughter, and I had this old (empty) sketch book that had recently found the light of day.

I had nothing better to do in this moment, so I started to draw. I was not expecting anything to come of it. After all, I have thought all my life that I am not the artistic one or the talented one. Nevertheless, I started drawing and blending the colors and really enjoying the moment. The drawing turned out well, it was a bit abstract, but it was decent. So, I drew another one and that led to me finding a new hobby that I was truly loving. I evolved to drawing my first landscape and my first face. I was having a blast! And, I was liking how well they were turning out and how I had evolved in just 48 hours. Now about 7 drawings in and on day 3 of my new adventure… criticism darkened my doorway.

I have learned never to share anything with anyone. Not my writing, not my photography, nor my thoughts, feelings, or even my needs… because all that excitement just gets crushed beneath me, as quickly as I had found the original spark of inspiration.

So, there I was, sitting on the floor with all the colors around me, the sketch book in front of me, and my air pods in my ears.

I’m feeling the music. I’m vibing alone with my art. I’m happy.

Then that familiar voice of disapproval and dismay pops out of the darkness.

Suddenly, I can no longer draw.

The moment was ruined.

The vibe was killed.

The art now sits unfinished, and my inspiration is gone.

I tried to go back to it.

Unsuccessful.

The spark was extinguished.

Now it’s making sense why I choose the silence.

So today, I choose to sit in silence and find peace in the cemetery.

After almost running out of gas and a whole anxiety inducing adventure, I drove to the place where I go to find peace.

I know that some may think that the cemetery is an odd choice, but I often find it comforting.

I can sit there in silence, and they don’t judge me.

I speak aloud and they listen.

It was there that I was offered a brief glimpse of hope.

As I knelt at the grave and repositioned to just lie there, I looked up.

I saw in the clouds, up above the small hill and tree directly in front of me, a partial rainbow.

Was I excited? No.

Was I surprised to see it? Yes.

The rainbow shows up for me in moments where I get desperate enough to cry out for answers. The moments that I feel like a crazy person, trying to heal pain that no one cares about or acknowledges.

I barely saw it through my tears.

By the time I went for my camera, it was faded from the sky and did not show up in the shot.

So, I sat and talked, and they listened.

I watched the sun begin to set. (I did get some pictures)

Then I got a weird feeling and I left.

Almost got locked in, but thankfully did not.

Did I leave hopeful?

No.

Not really.

But I am a bit hopeful now.

Years and years of being silenced.

No more.

I do have talent and I do have a voice. It is time that I get to share it, without all the harsh criticism. Or with. It doesn’t matter anymore.

I refuse to remain silent.