~ from cats, dogs and nature to the flowering of body, mind and spirit ~

Friday, May 4, 2012


What she did not explain was clearly more important than what she did. Hidden behind the words of reassurance and the wide-open eyes gazing steadily was a sadness that led down a pebble-strewn path to a secret she felt no one would understand. How could they? It wasn't that she did not explain what had become, what was happening to her, who she was ... it was that she couldn't. Between them lay a barrier on this topic that neither side bothered to bridge anymore. And that left a great grief, a loss of connection. Only if they talked--and listened--would the gulf between them start to heal.

She didn't want to bring it up again and feel the distance grow, see the bodies move away, see the concern and fear in their eyes. Not just one of them but all--a subject that was off-limits because of fear and intolerance, a matter of great importance because they discussed openly and freely their own views but she wasn't encourage.d So she did not explain and they didn't ask and the 'elephant-painted-red in the room' just stood there, creating an obstacle ... even if none of them wanted to acknowledge it.

She would blurt it out in strange places and at odd times--when they weren't around--to relieve the pressure like a balloon that had become so full of air it was going to pop unless a little pressure, a bit at a time, was released squeaking into the silence.

What was it she did not explain? No less than her Spirit and Soul and the path she was on, the purpose to her being on earth, the Light of Truth that put the wonder in her eyes and the love in her heart and the bounce in her step and the laughter in her voice. All that she was, really, the essence within the body she wore and the roles she portrayed -- that child-construct image they wanted to cling to as the reality of her. So she felt sad but that sadness also opened her to knowing that they, too, were damaged-souls-in-recovery, were holding within themselves a mystery they were too scared to touch, too anxious to embrace for once beheld we are unable to turn away without betraying our own deepest self, our own truth of Being, our own purpose of this precious birth.

She could see in them the miracle of Soul and Spirit, and she held the faith for all of them that one day, someday, they would all embrace as equals in love and Being, honoring each other's uniqueness, even celebrating the diversity that holds at its center Truth a love unbounded by time or space, beliefs and paths honored and welcomed.

So, she did not explain, she chose instead to seek the middle path of Being as True as she could in life, to not judge or feel superior, to not allow ego to take over making her prideful of what she knew as True for her. That would taint and tarnish Truth, hiding it behind the same veils of delusion that wrapped others so tightly they could not move, could not break away. They became mummies confined to their narrow costumes only able to walk one little path with covered eyes and hesitant steps, sleeping in coffins that held them secure and protected from the elemental joys and mysteries and beauty all around out in the Real World. She did not explain, no, she simply held to her ownTruth, opening to love and peace as her garments flowing gently upon her satin skin, allowing dance and delight in all the elementals and all the unseen mysteries of spirit that reveled in the expanse of sky and beyond to ether, the space where all begins and ends and transforms.

What she did not explain was how and why she was so content and felt such peace. They sometimes would look at her and she could see in their eyes Curiosity sitting next to Fear like Cat and Mouse, each waiting for the other to make the first move but then Mouse darts away into his safe hole and Cat remains, waiting for the next opportunity but falls asleep eventually, a deep sleep of inactivity and inattention induced by the drug spread all around which is the control of not wanting anything to change and upset the status quo. And their eyes would glaze over.

And so, what she did not explain was ... everything. The everything she simply was ... herself ... precious ... enough ... happy.

A story explored from a ClarityWorks writing prompt "what she did not explain." The story is a blend of personal experience and empathic extrapolation of a broader range of experiences.
The photo is of my 16-year-old niece.


  1. Powerful writing, Darla, and WOW is your niece is beautiful!

    1. Thank you for your appreciation of my writing style, Diane. And, yes, she is ... she is going through some challenging times right now so is on my mind a lot.

  2. Darla, the look on your niece's face is hauntingly fragile, like a moment that will shatter into a thousand shards of glass if not handled appropriately. I felt angry and sad, could see the hearts of the elders encased in the mud of misunderstanding, and the heart of the girl like a small bud trying so desparately to bloom. I felt empathy for both sides, and that's probably because you as the writer did not choose sides. Thank you for sharing and for your depth of perception into my own writing.

    1. Kaveri, you see with abundant clarity. There is deep practice for me in making conscious effort not to choose sides, for my heart aches for my niece right now.

  3. I think every woman learns that there are things too important to explain...

    1. So right, Vicki, and there is a life-wisdom that comes with knowing when and if to do so.

  4. Your niece is really pretty, Darla. And your writing is lovely. Your post reminded me of a Robert Frost poem that I memorized when I was a teenager because I liked it so much. The name of it is "Revelation."

    We make ourselves a place apart
    Behind light words that tease and flout,
    But oh, the agitated heart
    Till someone really find us out.

    'Tis pity if the case require
    (Or so we say) that in the end
    We speak the literal to inspire
    The understanding of a friend.

    But so with all, from babes that play
    At hide-and-seek to God afar,
    So all who hide too well away
    Must speak and tell us where they are.

    Robert Frost

    1. Beth, thank you for your appreciation and for sharing the poem. I used to love writing rhyming poetry and so, of course, Frost has always been one of my favorite poets. :-)


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