My mother would give my dad the silent treatment,
sometimes for days, when they argued.
The house would shimmer and shake in the deafening quiet
My sister and I never knew what he did
or what she was so angry about
No one in the house knew what would break the cycle
of nothingness. No smile. No looking into the eyes.
Nothing that could suggest connection was necessary.
Curt words dealt with the home
Terse body language everyone could hear
screamed her rage with no sound.
I used to think my own dance with anger was anything but silent.
An F-bomb in quiet prose is more my style
A measured tone with surgically precise language
describing the offense, the affront to my world, my body
Lots and lots of words seems to be more my style.
I’ve learned the verbal choreography of anger
necessary in the worlds of men.
But seven years ago, I woke up to a Reality
I had resisted seeing for decades:
the centuries’ long abandonment, the inexcusable abuse
of women, girls, little boys, all of creation.
Silenced. Shoved aside. Raped. Pillaged.
God protects us from nothing,
even if He sustains us in all things (says James Finley)
Goddess seems to have lost the battle, if not yet the war (says me).
She came too late, really, for this little girl to not be abandoned.
For many, this signals a rupture of faith,
a departure from the faith community,
errant in its ignorance
culpable in its persistent choice to neglect.
But how do you leave something that is five decades
embedded into your very cells? your sense of purpose in the world?
You don’t. At least not without spending the rest of your precious years
on this mysterious twirling sphere of abundant grace
fighting what is already a part of you.
Then I realized today that my mother was onto something.
What else can a woman disempowered in a dangerous world
do with her righteous anger, her abandonment as an infant
by the Sacred, a little-girl-to-be who wouldn’t know
she was beautiful as a girl, she was perfect as the girl she is
until she was an older woman, nearly fifty years old?
She can give All That Is Holy the Silent Treatment.
Perspectives—how they change with experience, reflection and age....Thank you for this...
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