I am not silent because I have nothing to say. I am silent because there is too much to say. Too much thinking. Too much feeling. Too many questions. Contradictory answers. For now, I will thrash in the silence of my outer world, the clock ticking toward the end (of daylight savings, that is) and deal with the collision of private and public life crashing in my brain, like cars at rush hour failing the social order. Anyhoo… I’m still here waiting for the other shoe to drop; the world to implode; the absolute cessation of anything I recognize as civilization (because that requires actual civility). I am also waiting for people to be kind to one another; to remember that we are all fighting demons and require a little compassion no matter what; for the phone to ring with someone I love on the other end who isn’t depressed, or harried, or angry, or thoroughly cynical.
I leave you with the rumination of that ultimate cynic (and brilliant playwright):
“Everything becomes… too late, finally. You know it’s going on… up on the hill; you can see the dust, and hear the cries, and the steel… but you wait; and time happens. When you do go, sword, shield… finally… there’s nothing there… save rust; bones; and the wind.”