The silence of words

I have been told, rather often recently, that I don’t write much these days. True. Not because I am too lazy or too busy, nor because I have nothing to say.

Some words are reserved for myself, floating at night in the dark, or coming along with the wind when I pass by St-Laurence river in the morning, or emerging from the steps of my walk at noon, or lingering at my ear in my dream. They are never meant to be displayed on the shelf, never meant to see the ray of daylight.

I see words in the old diary, in the letters that someone once passionately wrote, on the casual paper tearing from some notebook. They exist for that moment, like petals of the flower, so fragile, so vulnerable, so easy to be blown away. Some others are there to be tasted, gorged upon, thought over to survive the days of waiting, the days of fighting in the battlefield, the days of knitting a dream alone…

Sometimes silence is vivid, passionate and dynamic, in the eyes of someone who can read it.

[海伦]

Thank you for sharing your thoughts and the beautiful poem! More importantly, thanks for your true understanding about solitude, about serenity, about allowing space to explore our innermost...

I am hosting a party at New Year'Eve and will invite some friends with whom I can share thoughts, ideas or wonderful moments...If you were in my city, you would be invited because I can feel that you could be one of them...The party will most likely involve fireplace, candles and guitar...for another year!

I am raising a toast to you: To a new start in the new year!

[一苇渡江的行者]

You might not have been writing much recently (perhaps an overstatement itself), but with respect to each piece, you have written so wonderfully. There are feelings, thoughts and words we keep to ourselves and there are moments we indulge ourselves in solitude. Every language has its beauty, English certainly being one, and English has a heavenly word called "solitude", which I have not found a counterpart for in my native tongue. Solitude is a state of mind that allow us to comprehend our true and inner selves. Solitude brings us great pleasure and relief -- there is nothing like being alone and being content.

This writing of yours reminds me of the poems of Emily Dickinson, the introverted and hermetic American poet who kept all her writing to herself during her life time.

Many years after college, I still remember her verses:

THERE is a solitude of space,
A solitude of sea,
A solitude of death, but these
Society shall be,
Compared with that profounder site, 5
That polar privacy,
A Soul admitted to Itself:
Finite Infinity.

Christmas and New Year are never meant for feast. They are time for reflection. Sitting in front of the fireplace with the rooms filled with aroma of fresh cypress, it is time to talk to our hearts. As you DID.

May this holiday season bring you much joy, peace of mind, time to recharge and reunion with family and loved ones!