There was a time in my life when I was stunned into silence. I unexpectedly received news of harm done to someone I love, two days later met the person who caused the harm face-to-face, and then several days after that received medical confirmation for my loved one of resulting lifelong disability.
It was too much, too fast. I shut down. People who cared deeply about me surrounded me, yet knew nothing of what was happening, or only bits and pieces. Grief penetrated like an arrow so deeply buried that even the shaft disappeared into the aching flesh of my heart. I stopped writing, and I stopped verbalizing anything that wasn’t absolutely necessary for some time after.
I understood why sometimes children cope with trauma by refusing to speak. For some things, there are no words. Painting, however, over the next few years, opened a pathway to healing.
I feel silenced right now, though not from trauma or sadness. I simply feel there are movements in my soul for which words will not come. Or perhaps I am on the other side of speaking. I’ve said much of what I want to say, and now I settle into peaceful listening. Wherever I am, there seem to be only images, painting, visual expression.
I’m not sure when words will return; but for now, colors, shapes, images sing the visions of my soul.